Dinner, as it turned out, was very good. Logan did cook well and it was fun to eat elegant food and drink a glass or two of good wine. But afterwards, when she found herself outside in the darkness, walking to the bus, Grace felt strangely let down. Somehow she'd expected more -- a midnight confession, secrets revealed. Instead, the evening had reminded her of nothing so much as the kind of thing you did to welcome new neighbors or pay a duty visit to a relative you hardly ever saw. There was obviously so much that was hidden from her and was meant to remain that way, even though on the surface everything was perfectly gracious and welcoming. Even the normally enigmatic Bling had made an appearance, smiling, friendly, joking a little. Yet it all left Grace unsatisfied. Perversely, after her initial fears, she found this Logan far less interesting than the man she'd first met. And worst of all, they had simply said goodnight. To be honest, she actually felt a bit rejected. Professionally, of course, she told herself. Not personally. Don't even think of going there.
So she was flattered (and secretly pleased) when he continued to show up at her hospital office regularly. It was never a big deal - a quick hello, a cup of coffee, sometimes a "walk" around the block. Usually, he said he'd been visiting his doctor.
Little by little she learned more about him. He was from wealthy family, which accounted for the huge, elegant apartment. Once or twice, he hinted that lately there had been some financial setbacks. He was an investigative journalist, he said, though he never asked her to read any of his writing (which was quite out of character for any writer Grace had ever known). The injury that had put him in the wheelchair was somehow connected to his work, but he never gave details (and Grace didn't mention her surreptitious peek at his chart that first day at the hospital). Bling was both an investigator and an assistant to Logan personally. On the surface, that was the sum of his entire life. Of course, Grace knew better, but her few glimpses into his other world were never acknowledged in any way.
Mostly, he encouraged her to talk about her life at the hospital. He was curious about anything and everything having to do with her work; she guessed it was the journalist in him. But he hardly ever questioned her about the why of her work, or about her religious beliefs, and once or twice when she ventured just a little in a spiritual direction, he gently turned the conversation back. Sometimes, describing scenes from the hospital, she'd touch on certain topics, just to gauge his reaction: death, illness, disfigurement, grief, separation, loss. He never seemed to be especially affected ... except one for morning when she could hardly keep her eyes open, having been up all night tracking down a priest so a dying patient could confess and receive absolution.
"Does that happen a lot?" he asked.
She was yawning so hard her eyes were filled with tears. "Yes," she said finally, sniffling sleepily. "Most of them tell the nurses, though. They're afraid to wait for someone else to come."
He was silent for a moment, then asked, "What do they say?" Something in the sound of his voice caught Grace's attention and she tried to focus a little better. "It's funny," she said quietly, "they hardly ever confess some deathbed secret. It's almost always about regret. Regret, and guilt, for the things they didn't do, things wish they had done. A lot of them want to say I love you to someone. All they want is to make sure the message gets to the right person." She hesitated, then added, "'Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.' I think Voltaire said that."
He turned his face away then, and after a moment said abruptly, "I have to go. Late for a meeting." Before Grace could even stand up he was halfway down the brick path, and suddenly she was wide awake. Wondering.
Predictably, though, the subject never came up again, and Grace was baffled. What exactly was this man looking for anyway? In the end she decided it was simply companionship. Despite his mysterious life, or maybe because of it, he was alone. And here she was, kind, unthreatening, willing to play by his rules and respect his privacy, always there to talk and listen. She began to suspect that her line of work was partly what made him comfortable with her. He probably assumed that she was off-limits sexually. He didn't want sex and he didn't want religion, just a quiet little haven in what seemed to be a rather troubled life.
Finally Grace gave up the idea that he would ever tell her his true story, and after that, she began to enjoy his visits on their own terms. He was very intelligent and had a sly sense of humor that revealed itself little by little; he was becoming less serious and more lighthearted. It wasn't long before Grace found herself anticipating his arrival and feeling anxious and disappointed on those days she didn't see him. She never tried to contact him, however. Some instinct warned her that he trusted her not to ask questions. Only if she honored that trust would he keep coming back.
Of course, once Grace no longer expected anything to happen, everything changed.
One chilly afternoon they sat together in the courtyard outside Grace's office, sharing a lukewarm cup of coffee. Logan was almost jubilant that day; a piece of his investigative work, he told her, had just put a corrupt official in jail. Without thinking Grace teased, "So, you're actually a crimefighter posing as a mild-mannered journalist. Maybe someday you'll reveal your secret identity to me." He looked so startled that Grace panicked, thinking that she just crossed some kind of a forbidden line, and then he said quite seriously, "Well ... I could tell you, Grace, but then I'd have to kill you."
For a few seconds Grace almost believed him. Then she saw a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes and they burst out laughing together. They laughed for such a long time that Grace knew somehow they had turned a corner. It suddenly seemed absurd and silly that he was keeping so much from her. When they finally calmed down and he invited her to dinner that night, she began to believe that one of these days he might just open up to her after all.
But her lighthearted mood evaporated later that evening. Bling left when Grace arrived. It was raining so heavily that the windows were dark mirrors reflecting back the flames of the candles she and Logan had quickly lit when, without warning, the power went out after dinner. Neither of them had been very hungry anyway. It was clear to both of them, Grace thought, that something was different tonight. After the table was cleared Logan gestured to the living room. After Grace seated herself on the couch Logan rolled to the window and sat watching the rain. Grace said nothing. Shortly Logan smiled at her, but she sensed he was grateful for the barrier of the couch between them. And then he began.
"Her name was Max," he said. "That's her picture in there." He indicated a framed photograph on the computer table in the other room, and in response to Grace's unspoken inquiry, nodded. She walked into the other room and picked up the photograph. It took her breath away. Max had been a startlingly beautiful young woman. Unexpectedly Grace felt tears come to her eyes. Gently she set the photograph back on the table, returned to the couch, and sat down. And for an hour he talked, and he cried, and Grace listened.
It started, he said, a year and a half ago. She'd had a nightmare childhood, orphaned, subjected to a series of foster homes, some better, some unspeakable. But she had somehow survived it, even thrived in some ways. She had been working in a menial job, alone, supplementing her income with the occasional theft. This was no shock to Grace; a lot of good people had been forced to steps they never would have taken had it not been for the Pulse, and of course she'd always suspected that not all of Logan's activities were entirely on the straight and narrow ...
They'd met, he explained, when she tried to break into his apartment to steal some art work. He'd hired her to do legwork for him, helping with the investigations. They'd fallen in love. And then she'd been given a tip that she could locate a member of her family. She had pursued it instantly. Having a family had meant so much to her. He had tried to stay in touch with her that night, but she was in a dangerous area, and she'd been shot. He found her, but too late. She died in his arms. And then he'd blacked out, to awaken in Metro Medical the next day, when Grace entered his room.
Then came the hardest part. He had held Max at arm's length for a long time, he said. He'd thought he needed to be out of the wheelchair, on his feet, to love her properly. He'd tried everything, expensive treatments, leg braces, anything. He'd thought they had forever, that he could wait until everything was perfect. And then, the night she died, there hadn't even been time to tell her he loved her.
By this time he was crying. Grace did what she always did in these circumstances. She brought tissues and water and listened and brought more water and waited until he had talked himself out. Then, when exhaustion overtook him she extinguished the candles, gently touched his shoulder, told him to take care, and that she would call him in a day or two. Then she quietly let herself out.
At home, she sat awake in the blackout dark for a long time. So Max had died. Tragic though it was - well, these days, the world was a dangerous place. A damaged life, an early death; they saw it all the time at the hospital. But he suffered over it. Grace felt freshly ashamed of how cavalier she'd been that morning at the hospital, how little she had understood and how quick she had been to judge Logan that day. She hated to think what he must have felt the afternoon he caught her outside his apartment, in some sort of grotesque replay of his first meeting with Max. Later, she realized with a little shock that the earpiece she had returned that day must have been used by Max the night she died. In some way it made her feel a little better, that she had done one thing to help him, and then she was able to sleep for an hour or two until the alarm rang and it was time for work.