Take Care, Sara

by Lindy Zart

  The house glowed with lights, music and conversation floating out to her. Scraggly trees loomed in the yard, cloaking the scene with a layer of foreboding. It was silly to be worried about him, really. Obviously he hadn’t driven off in a rage. Lincoln would never abandon her. You thought the same about him. Sara flinched, refusing to dwell on that too much. He hadn’t meant to leave her; he’d had no choice. That’s what she told herself.

  Sara turned in a slow circle, wondering where he could have gone to. Then she saw him. He stood on the other side of the truck, near the tailgate, facing away from her. Lincoln was hunched over, his back rigid. She slowly walked to him, her boots sinking into the soft ground, each step filling her with something. Relief. And something more, something Sara couldn’t put a name to, not yet. Her hand trembled as it reached up, just barely grazing his hard shoulder.

  Lincoln whirled around, his face cast in shadow, but not enough to hide the way his eyes zeroed in on her face and locked there, as if she had the power to ground him, as if she could heal what wounded him. His eyes were tortured and Sara’s heart hurt seeing that look in them. He hid it better than she, but he was hurting just as much as she was.

  A tick in his jaw pulled her gaze to it. Sara focused on that, her breaths short and hurried. They were changing; she and Lincoln. She felt it, and it scared her. It terrified her. She didn’t know how or why it was happening, and that scared her more.

  “I miss him.”

  Her eyes jerked to Lincoln’s.

  “I want my brother back,” he said in a ragged voice.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “But he’s not coming back.”

  Sara wanted to deny his words, but logically, how could she? She looked down at her rain-covered boots, saying nothing.

  Lincoln sighed loudly. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  The drive was silent and awkward. When the truck pulled up to the house, Sara stared at the dark structure, thinking even in the daytime it was still dark. His light was gone from it, tossed away from one mistake it had taken a second to act out, and a lifetime to relive. She grabbed the door handle and pushed.

  Lincoln’s hand grabbed her arm; his touch like fire on her skin, stopping her. She looked back, his features obscured in the dark. His hand fell away. “Good night, Sara.”

  Her held breath left her in an exhalation. “Good night, Lincoln.”

  8

  Guilt was her companion when she awoke. Sara sleepily opened her eyes, a creak in her neck as she sat up in the recliner, flipping the blanket off her. Her head hurt and she winced at the bright sunlight streaming in through a window. She’d laughed and smiled and had fun without him, in spite of the situation. How could she have done that? Sara covered her face with her hands as the night’s events came back in a wave of regret. She had no right to live, to enjoy anything, not when he was where he was and she where she was. It should have been her. Why hadn’t it been her?

  “There’s a reason for everything.”

  Sara went still, dropping her hands from her face, and slowly raised her head. The room was empty. She really was losing her mind. Was that what grief did? Made a person go insane if they couldn’t deal with it?

  “Sometimes you can’t see it and it doesn’t make sense, but eventually, in time, it does. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s bad. Something good happens because of it.”

  She shot to her feet as a sob left her, whirling around in a circle, searching for the face that went along with the voice she heard. Sara grabbed her hair and pulled, the sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. Or maybe they’d already been there. They always seemed to be. Sara’s eyes were overworking waterfalls of grief.

  Her hands shook and she stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the wall and clutching it to her. Don’t call him. She had to call him. You’re becoming too dependent on him. Sara slammed the phone back, her attention drawn to the scrawled handwriting on a Post-It stuck to the fridge.

  The phone rang, making her jump. Sara swallowed, staring at it, her heart pounding. Her hand slowly reached out to pick it up. “Hello?” left her in a choked whisper.

  “Hello, is this Sara Walker? This is Georgia from Dish Network calling to see if you’d like to reactivate your account with us.”

  Sara’s shoulders slumped and a sigh of relief left her. “No. Thank you.”

  “Now—“

  She hung up the phone, resting with her back against the cold fridge. Sara didn’t understand how everything in the house reminded her of him so much when she’d removed everything she’d thought would do so as a way to deal with the pain. Didn’t matter; he was in the woodwork, the air, her. She couldn’t escape him; she couldn’t escape the ache that had made a home inside her chest. That ache was him, for him, and would never leave, not while she had a breath left in her body. It wasn’t that Sara wanted to forget him, never that, she just wanted it to not hurt every time she thought of him.

  She tried not to think about it, and sometimes, Sara forgot. It made her feel terrible that the escape from the past was like a blessing. She’d lost him and she’d lost a part of him before that. Was Sara not meant to have any of him? Her eyes went to the room down the hall and a barrage of memories hit her, one after another, bringing her to her knees. And along with the remembrances came him. Always.

  “We’ll have more babies, Sara. We’ll have a houseful of little munchkins that will drive us absolutely bat shit crazy and we’ll be worn down and exhausted to the point of never wanting to have sex again.

  “We won’t speak; we’ll grunt. Talking will require too much energy. Your legs will be hairy and your hair a matted mess and I’ll get a gut and have dark circles under my eyes and we’ll be so unbelievably happy it won’t matter.” His voice cracked and he paused, exhaling deeply, his hands tight on her face, holding her gaze with his.

  “Don’t cry, Sara. Okay, cry if you want to, but know that baby knew you, if only for a moment. That baby knew you loved him or her, and that baby is loving you even now. And we’ll have more babies and they’ll love you too. So cry if you have to and be sad.” He swallowed. “But don’t lose hope. Don’t give up. Don’t hate yourself. And don’t forget what I just said.”

  Tears streamed down her face and Sara’s feet moved in the direction of the closed door. So many closed doors. What did she think she was accomplishing? Did she really think she could close away the memories and the hurt inside a room? It wasn’t working, if that’s what her subconscious was trying to do. Sara’s hand reached for the doorknob and turned.

  They’d painted the walls celery green. The curtains were blue with yellow stripes. In the middle of the room sat an unused crib made out of pale wood. A cream and pale green checked comforter rested on the sheeted mattress, never to know the feel of a soft little being or be snuggled in a tiny hand. It smelled like baby powder in the room and Sara inhaled deeply. She tweaked the teddy bear mobile and watched as it gently swayed back and forth. It had been too soon to know what sex the baby was, but they’d been excited and hadn’t wanted to wait to decorate, so everything had been made neutral.

  After she’d lost the baby, Sara would find herself in the room, just staring, not really seeing. He’d come and get her, wrap her in his arms, and bring her back from the brink of nothingness that had threatened to erase all she was. He wasn’t here to do it this time. He wasn’t here to do it this time because he was the one she’d lost and mourned. Sara wondered who, if anyone; would save her this time. Maybe she wasn’t savable. Maybe she was already gone, like her baby, like her parents, like her husband.

  ***

  “Well?”

  Mason gave her a pointed look Sara ignored. She poured herself a mug of coffee after handing him one. “Well what?”

  “Show me your creation.”

  He was irritating and bossy, but at least Mason didn’t hide anything. Sara had to respect that about him. He didn’t try to avoid the world, like her. Still, she wasn’t ready to talk, n
ot about herself, not about her husband.

  “That woman…at Spencer’s, was she the reason you found to move on? To live?” Sara fiddled with the hem of her shirt as she waited for Mason to answer.

  “Nope.”

  “Then who was?”

  “I’ll tell you, after you show me your painting.”

  Sara swallowed as her gaze went to the closed door. It was only a piece of canvas. It was only a piece of canvas that symbolized her whole world and all she’d lost; all she’d had at one time and no longer did.

  “How did you and Spencer meet?” she hedged.

  Half of Mason’s mouth quirked. “He arrested me.”

  “I’m not really surprised to hear that,” she muttered.

  “I’m not really surprised to hear you say that either.”

  Her lips tried to smile at Mason’s dry tone and she bit the inside of her lower lip to halt it. He didn’t need to know she found him a little amusing. Then he’d probably never go away.

  “What did he arrest you for?”

  Mason sighed, rubbing his face. “I really don’t think it’s necessary for you to know.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  His hands dropped from his face. “It was in my, quote unquote, bad stage. I was drunk. I peed in public. On Main Street, actually. Right in front of the cop shop.”

  Sara snorted. “Nice.”

  “Oh yes. It was my way of sticking it to the man and all that.”

  “Sounds like it was counterproductive.”

  “Maybe. Slightly.” Mason grinned, then sobered. “Just so you know, Spencer feels bad about the other night. He said he called Lincoln.”

  Sara hadn’t seen Lincoln since Friday night. He’d stopped by yesterday and she’d sat in the dark until he’d driven away. Not that she hadn’t already been sitting in the dark; wallowing in stifling emotions she never fully escaped. Or if she did escape them, they came back even worse. The phone had rung intermittently and she’d let it. Sara hadn’t had the strength to do much of anything. Yesterday had been a bad day, to summarize.

  “That’s good,” she mumbled, picking at the jagged edge of an uneven nail on her thumb, thoughts locked on Lincoln.

  She’d wanted to open the door; she’d forced herself not to pick up the phone. Sara felt awful about the way she’d avoided him, but not awful enough to call him back or go see him. She was toxic and Lincoln needed to stay away from her. He was better off by himself. He’d hate her before too long anyway. It was best to distance herself from him. Sara wondered if he’d let her.

  Mason rubbed his forehead, letting out a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. I know you want to be alone so you can hate yourself in peace, but…that’s not going to happen. You have people that care about you. You have people that are worried about you. Humor them. Talk to me. Open up. Did you paint, Sara?”

  Sara swallowed, giving an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Did you feel better afterward?”

  She thought of how the urge to create had taken over, how she’d been mindless with the need to paint and hadn’t felt or thought anything for joyous seconds or minutes. Then she remembered the letter she’d seen on the floor after dropping the paintbrush.

  Sara looked up, meeting his eyes. “No. I felt crazy.”

  Mason frowned. “What? Why?”

  She pushed herself out of the chair and stared out the kitchen window above the sink, not really seeing anything. “You want to know what I’m thinking? You want me to open up to you, talk to you?”

  “It doesn’t have to be me, Sara. Anyone. Talk to someone. Talk to Lincoln if you’re the most comfortable with him. You two seem close. Just don’t keep it all inside. It’ll ravage you from the inside out if you let it.”

  It already had. It had torn her up. She was a bloody, throbbing mess of pain; a wound that never healed.

  “Can you do something for me, Sara?” Mason stood and walked toward the door, pulling his coat on and then his boots.

  “What?”

  “Can you try to forgive yourself?”

  Her answer was immediate and needed no thought. It was a resounding, “No.”

  He sighed, opening the door. “Well, that right there is your first mistake. See you next week,” Mason mocked, shutting the door behind him.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you answer the door or phone?” his voice immediately demanded, gruff with annoyance.

  Sara inhaled deeply, something as close to peace as she was allowed trickling over her at the sound of his deep voice, even if he didn’t sound happy with her. Didn’t matter. Her breathing evened, her pulse steadied. All from that one sentence.

  “So you’re going to do that again, are you? Avoid me? Not talk to me? Fine. Try it. I’ll keep calling and I’ll keep showing up. Next time you pull something like that I’m not leaving, Sara. It was too cold yesterday to hang around outside, but next time, I’ll be prepared.”

  Lincoln paused, picking up steam as he went. “Next time, I’ll wear my snowmobile garb. Doesn’t matter if I haven’t worn it since high school and it doesn’t fit me anymore and I’m in dire need of new gear. I’ll still wear it. So you’ll make me look ridiculous on top of it all. Is any of this sinking in?”

  A small smile started to manipulate her lips. Sara rested her elbows on the table and held her forehead in one hand, the other holding the phone to her ear.

  “And FYI, you’re coming with me tomorrow to pick out a Christmas tree. Be at my house at nine. Wear a coat this time. And a smile. Those are my rules. Don’t even try not to be there. I’ll hunt you down, Sara, I swear. Are you going to say anything?” He blew out a noisy breath full of irritation. When Sara remained silent, Lincoln sighed and said, “Anyway, hope you’re okay. Take care, Sara.”

  She set the phone down, feeling lighter than she had been before she’d placed the phone call. Sara didn’t like feeling the way she did most days, but the thought of being anything else caused guilt to overrun all other emotions. She was stuck. Trapped. Sara was lost. But every time she began to lose herself or fade completely away, Lincoln somehow managed to find her, just a sliver of her, but it was something.

  It was enough.

  Sara got up from the table, her eyes traveling along the bare walls that whispered of her past. She turned in a circle, remembering the photo they’d taken of each other the day they’d danced by the creek. It used to reside on the refrigerator, held there with a heart magnet. Longing and euphoria washed over her, trickling down her scalp in shivers, his scent and touch coming with it.

  They danced. Around and around they twirled, eyes locked on each other’s world. The sun beat down on them, heating their skin. When the sun touched his face, it made his features shine and sparkle, his rugged beauty amplified and breathtaking, his eyes blue gems in a sun-kissed face. The creak trickled beside them as nature’s lyrical music. Grass poked the bottoms of her bare feet.

  Sara let her head fall back and closed her eyes, complete in his arms. She’d never been so centered, so whole, as she’d been since that day he’d smiled and asked her name. Sara opened her eyes, lifting her head, and caught his soft smile. Emotions overwhelmed her, brought tears to her eyes. She’d never thought it could be like this with another person. Sara never thought she could be so happy, especially after losing her parents. It scared her and thrilled her and made her sick and she never wanted it to end.

  “What are you thinking?” he murmured close to her ear, his clean scent, the tickle of his breath on her skin, the sound of his voice, him, making Sara melt. One look and she melted. The power he had over her; it was astounding.

  “I’m thinking I love you and I’ll always love you, even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

  “Ditto,” he said, spinning her around until she was dizzy.

  “I will never be old and wrinkly, just so you know,” Sara said, laughing when he dipped her.

  “You will most definitely be old and wrinkly, but you’ll still be beautiful a
nd I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you, even after I’m dead and gone and am nothing. My love will linger on. It’s that awesome, that strong, that real. Have no doubt of that, Sara Walker.” His eyes held her in place, the conviction in them, the set of his jaw, telling her he spoke the truth. He straightened then, pulling her up with him, his chest noticeably rising and lowering as his lips pressed together.

  “What is it, Cole?”

  “I just…I love you so damn much, Sara. It makes me weak and stronger at the same time and drives me absolutely mad and I wouldn’t change it for the world, not for nothing.”

  “Ditto,” she whispered, her throat tightening.

  He pulled her to him, one hand on her back, the other gripping the side of her face as he turned those lips that spoke so passionately to wreak havoc on her mouth. Her stomach dipped, her body reacted as it always did, and Sara kissed him back, telling him with her mouth what she couldn’t find the words to say with her lips. All she wanted, all she ever needed, was right before her.

  Sara opened her eyes, going still. Her throat was painfully tight, her heart thundering in her chest. Why couldn’t she remember him without it hurting so much?

  ***

  “What are you doing?” she asked, staring at his gloved hands packing snow into a round, firm ball. Sara’s breaths were visible and she crossed her arms in an attempt to keep some of her body’s warmth from leaving her.

  Lincoln glanced up at her, his eyes shining silver against the white atmosphere. “I’m making a snowball.” The sun glowed behind him, making him appear haloed all around.

  Sara slowly backed away. “I thought we were finding you a Christmas tree.”

  “We are.” He straightened, a flash of white teeth showing as he grinned. A dark blue stocking cap covered his head and he wore a brown coat and gloves that had been a birthday present from her and his brother one year. Lincoln’s breath left him in frosty puffs of air and he looked like an ad for an outdoorsmen magazine.