by Lindy Zart
The knock came. Sara ignored it, staring into the black depths of her coffee. Go away, Lincoln. You make it worse by giving me joy only for it to be snatched away as soon as you go.
Her head began to pound along with the door and Sara finally gave in, unlocking and opening the door to see a furious Lincoln staring back at her. A tick throbbed in his jaw as he glared down at her with his stormy eyes. “Why…didn’t you…answer…the door?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Sara didn’t say anything, simply turning and walking away to let him enter.
Lincoln followed her inside, shutting the door harder than he needed to. “You can’t just not answer the door, Sara. I need to know…I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have Thanksgiving with your parents or something?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Sara asked, curious.
“Don’t worry about it. Going back to feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” He whipped the stocking cap from his head, tugging his gloves off next. Lincoln slapped them onto an end table beside the recliner. His movements were jerky, restrained.
“Don’t worry about it,” she tossed back at him, moving to sit on the couch.
Lincoln tore his jacket off, his boots thudding to the floor next. “I see you got your little bed all set up still too.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the couch.
Sara grabbed the blanket and held it to her as though it would protect her from the onslaught of his words. When Lincoln sat down in the recliner Sara lurched to her feet before she knew she even was.
“You can’t sit there. You know that,” she gasped out, her pulse racing.
Lincoln lifted one eyebrow, his expression carefully blank. “I can’t? Clearly I can, because I am.”
Sara wrung her hands, wanting to literally remove Lincoln from his chair. “This isn’t…fair. This…you…Lincoln,” she pleaded, unable to form words for the panic she felt. It was crushing, insurmountable in its entirety.
“You know what? You’re right. I don’t feel like sitting. I’m kind of tired, actually.” He stood and walked toward the bedroom door.
She didn’t think; she lunged. Sara grabbed his arm, tugging. “No, Lincoln. Don’t. Please don’t.”
He couldn’t go into her bedroom. He couldn’t put his touch on the room; mask the room’s scent with his. Lincoln would change it. Lincoln would take over it, like he did with everything. She could see it happening; Lincoln was sweeping all that was him away and replacing it with himself, whether it was his intention or not.
Lincoln swung his head around to pierce her with his gaze. Sara’s hands slowly fell away. His nostrils slightly flared with the force of his breaths. “You didn’t die. You’re not dying. You don’t get to die, Sara,” he ground out. “Start living.” Lincoln grabbed the door handle and swung the door open.
She didn’t know what she expected to happen when he opened the door. Her breath hiccupped at the view of the room. It was normal, nothing to mark it as a room filled with ghosts. It smelled faintly of the vanilla lotion Sara favored. The room was cast in shadows. The king-sized bed was to the left, under a set of windows. The dressers were against the wall and a full-length mirror was along another wall. The walls were painted a marshmallow white; the bedding was lavender with brown accents.
He walked inside and Sara’s heart cried a little. Lincoln stood in the middle of the room, his back to her. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Sara hovered by the door, unable to walk into the room, not with Lincoln in it.
“You moved it in already.”
She frowned, not knowing what he meant. Sara followed the direction he looked and saw the hope chest at the foot of the bed. “Yes.”
“You walked into the room you never sleep in to put the chest I made you in front of the bed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he demanded, his broad shoulders tense.
Sara stared at the back of his head, scrutinizing a wayward lock of hair that curled up on the nape of his neck. His shaggier, unkempt hairstyle fit him better than the shorter one had.
“It had to have been hard to move it. Why do all that?” Lincoln turned, his features swathed in nothingness. His face was perfectly neutral.
“Because…” She searched her brain for the right words.
“Because?”
“Because…” Sara looked at the bed she hadn’t slept in for over a year. “Because the room isn’t so lonely with it in here. It’s not so sad, with that…with what you made me in here. I know that sounds dumb, but…” She shrugged.
Lincoln approached her, the blank expression shattering and sadness and ferocity; a strange combination, bursting through the shield he tried so hard to keep erected. “It doesn’t sound dumb. It sounds…”
He swallowed, looking like he was struggling for words. “It sounds fucking beautiful.” Lincoln rubbed his eyes, sighing. “I can’t believe I just said that. I swear I’m turning wimpier the longer I hang out with you.”
“Adding the swear word made it sound more masculine.”
He dropped his hands from his eyes, a grin forming on his lips. “Ya think?”
“Definitely.”
“Good ‘cause that’s what I was aiming for.”
“Spot on,” she murmured.
He laughed and Sara realized no one had laughed in this room since him, the night of the accident. Lincoln said her name and her head jerked up, a question in her eyes. He held out his hand and motioned her forward.
“No.”
“Come on, Sara. I’ll help you. You know I will. Take my hand. Take it.”
Sara blinked her eyes, turning away.
“You’ll never heal if you don’t face what hurts you.”
She whirled around. “How can I heal when I know he’s about to die, Lincoln?” Sara hissed, storming toward him. “I can’t heal from that. It’s like he’s dying all over again, twice.”
His eyes darkened with grief and anger. “He left a long time ago, Sara. You know that.” A muscle jumped under Lincoln’s eye. “It pisses me off that he did what he did.”
Sara jerked back. “What?”
“It wasn’t fair what he did, giving you a countdown, dragging it out for a year. You’re stuck in limbo. You can’t go back, you can’t go forward. And…there he lies on that bed, a shell of himself, a piece of who he used to be, but not him. It’s not him.”
“He did it—” Teardrops fell from her eyes and her throat tightened, making it hard to talk. “He did it to give us time, to give him a chance to come back.”
“But he hasn’t. And he’s not.” Lincoln’s eyes watered and he took a ragged breath. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better. He would have shown improvement by now if he was going to. I understand why Cole had his will set up that way. I understand the hope he had that if anything like this would happen, he would somehow recover.
“It wasn’t fair of him to do that to you though. It was selfish of him, making you wait, making you watch him die. You can’t heal from the loss of him when he’s lingering, not really alive, and not really dead. And you have to heal. You can’t live like this. You’re…you’re…” Lincoln closed his eyes, rubbing his face.
“I’m in the room,” she whispered. It was unbearable to see Lincoln in such pain. He hid it so well. Take it away, Sara, somehow take it away.
He opened his eyes, showing Sara his sorrow even when he smiled faintly. “That you are, Sara,” Lincoln said quietly, not reaching out a hand this time.
Sara reached for his instead, linking them. The room wasn’t so overwhelming with Lincoln in it. The world wasn’t so tragic with him before her, holding her hands. Sara even thought maybe she could get through anything if Lincoln were with her. Their eyes connected, and in the strength of his gaze, she found hers.
“What has the last few days been like?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
> “Yes, you do. Tell me. Did you have fun at all?”
“I guess.”
“Did you forget to be sad, did you laugh, did you smile?”
“Maybe.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “You can still miss him; you can still mourn him, without giving up your life. You just have to have a reason to keep going.”
Sara stared at him, her brows furrowing at the truth of his words; at the fact that Lincoln was the reason she had to not give up. She turned away, not wanting it to be true and unable to deny it. He was it for her. It was Lincoln. How had that happened? Maybe it couldn’t have been anyone else, or any other way. Maybe it had to be him.
“Sara?”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” she said quietly, facing him once more.
He looked down. “I’d do anything for you, Sara.” Lincoln’s head lifted. “You have to know that.”
She did. Sara closed her eyes, nodding. “I know.”
“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Even when you don’t want me to be. Even when you don’t think you need me to be, or you don’t think you deserve me to be. I’ll never leave you.”
Sara touched a wayward lock of his, surprised by how soft his hair was. He went still, his gaze locked with hers. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. But Sara smiled. It was enough.
“Come here,” Lincoln said in a gruff voice, moving toward the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked warily, watching him as he sat down on the bed.
“I’m not trying to seduce you, if that’s what you think. As much as your blue rag turns me on, I will somehow manage to restrain myself.” Lincoln patted the bed, his eyebrows raised.
“I don’t—I can’t…” Sara shook her head, her chest tightening painfully. It was all wrong; Lincoln on their bed. It would be ever more wrong if she joined him on it.
“Just come here. Please.”
Sara closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gingerly sat down on the bed as far away from Lincoln as she could get without falling off it.
“See? Not so bad, right?” He stretched his long-limbed body out and put his hands behind his head. “Your turn.”
It was too intimate. Sara couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even lie down on the bed by herself, let alone with a man other than her husband next to her.
“Sara.”
“You’re evil,” she muttered, lying down on the bed, her hands on either side of her body. Her arms and legs were stiff, immobile, like she was frozen by some kind of tragic spell.
“Close your eyes.” Lincoln’s voice was low, hypnotic.
“No.”
“Do it.”
Sara obliged, her teeth clenched, her body hot with annoyance. “What is the point of this?”
“You’re reacquainting yourself with your bed. It’s such a small thing; sleeping in your bed, and yet it holds such power over you,” he mused. “You have to realize you’re stronger than the pain and the sorrow, Sara.”
“I’m not,” she choked out, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
“You are,” Lincoln said with conviction.
“You know I’m just going to go back to the couch at bedtime, right?”
“That’s fine. At least I got you here now.” Lincoln paused. “Every memory I have of my childhood includes Cole. He was such a big part of my life, big brother and all. It’s hard going each day without him being a part of it. You know what helps me get through it?”
She shook her head, eyes still closed.
“At first I thought by not thinking about him, I’d be okay. But I wasn’t. Instead I made myself think of him and it hurt, a lot, but the more I thought of him, the easier it got. The more I did things I didn’t want to do, the more able I was to function without bawling my eyes out on a daily basis. The more I remembered him, the more I could think of him with happiness instead of sorrow.”
Her limbs loosened a little under the influence of his soothing tone.
“I mean, yeah, it still hurts. It always will. Cole’s my brother. I love him. I also hate him, just a little. But I love him more. You don’t have to accept what’s happened to him, Sara, but you have to find a way to live with it. Know what I mean?”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. A hand, warm and calloused and strong, clasped its fingers around hers and squeezed. Sara held Lincoln’s hand, both of them silent, and felt oddly whole for the moment.
12
It was time. How could he have put such a burden on her? How could he have thought it was right to ask such a thing of her? She couldn’t decide such a thing. Sara would never be able to do it. It was like she was killing him all over again, for a second time. And still she’d had to do it. Sara had done it. Dr. Henderson had sadly smiled as she’d signed her husband’s life away, offering no words of sympathy. Maybe he realized none would be sufficient enough. The antiseptic smell of the room made her stomach roil and though she wanted to run from the room, her feet remained rooted in place.
“No one else can do it.”
Her head shot up and she looked around the room, her eyes taking in the white walls, the beeping monitor, the hospital equipment, and finally, slowly, slowly going to his still form. His skin was waxen and gray-tinged. He looked unreal, like one of those celebrity replicas found in a wax museum. Tubes ran in and out of his body, giving him an inhuman, robotic quality. She hated the thought; she hated the truth of it. His chest rose and lowered with air that wasn’t his, stolen breaths of life that kept him alive, but not living.
His light brown hair was thick and waved around his head. She lifted a hand to touch it and let it fall back to her side. His body was shrunken in size, the muscle and tan gone from his form. Sara closed her eyes, not wanting this to be him, unable to accept him this way, seeing him this way. He should have been laughing, smiling, spending his days working and loving and living. How could she have signed his death warrant?
“No one else could do it, Sara. It had to be you.”
She slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes stinging with tears. Sara stared down at him, her pulse jumping in incomprehension. It had sounded like his voice. He was silent and unmoving on the hospital bed before her. It wasn’t him talking, but for the first time, Sara realized it had always been his voice talking to her. She just hadn’t heard it as his before; she hadn’t been able to accept it was his voice in her mind. Chills went up and down her arms, encasing her in icy revelation. How could that be?
“You have to say goodbye now. It’s the only way you’ll be able to move on. It’s time for you to move on.”
“I just…I just want to see your blue eyes, just one last time. Please,” she whispered brokenly, hot tears of sorrow making jagged tracks down her cheeks. “Cole.”
Whatever had been keeping her together, sheer will maybe, finally abandoned her when his name fell from her lips. It was the first time she’d spoken it since the accident. It was real. Saying his name made it real. It hurt so much. A sob left her, broken and weak; like Sara. She hung her head as the tears made a river out of her face, her throat painfully tight. Sara wrapped her arms around herself, pretending they were his.
She couldn’t do this. How could she do this? He was her husband, her love. He was her life. Sara couldn’t say goodbye; she refused to say goodbye. Her shoulders shook and she held her head between her hands, trying to hide from the terrible act she’d set into motion with a signature.
The air shifted behind her and two arms overlapped hers, warm and strong and alive, and for a second, she let herself pretend they were his. Sara turned into the embrace with her eyes closed, not wanting reality to creep back in yet, inhaling his citrus scent, and just like that, the spell was broken. She opened her eyes, moving away from Lincoln and closer to him.
An unknown emotion flickered in Lincoln’s eyes. “Dr. Henderson and the nurses are ready, Sara. They’re waiting outside.”
Resignation and defeat warred with a hopeless faith that maybe he’d come back to her. He’d ope
n his eyes and be miraculously healed in all ways. He’d be hers again. Sara took his cold hand in hers and brought it to her lips, softly kissing the stiff fingers, her tears falling to his hand. I need magic tears to bring you back to life, Cole. You’ve been sleeping so long and all I wanted was for you to wake up. Why wouldn’t you wake up for me? Why wasn’t I enough to bring you back?
Lincoln was on the other side of him, blank-faced as he stared down at the shell that was now his brother. “It’s not him, Sara,” he said in a raspy voice, eyes downcast. “He left a long time ago. This isn’t him. This is a way for us to say goodbye.”
“But you said—“
“Forget what I said. I was pissed. I mean, I meant it, don’t get me wrong, but…I’m choosing to believe this.” He inhaled deeply and lifted red-rimmed eyes to hers. “From this day on I’m choosing to believe he held on for this, for us to come to terms with everything, for us to be able to let him go. And I don’t care what you think or say, what anyone else thinks or says. This is what I know to be true. This is my truth.”
She felt her face crumple and her vision blurred with tears. Lincoln’s expression turned pained and he rapidly blinked his eyes, swiping an arm across his face. She’d done this. She’d taken Lincoln’s brother from him. Now she was taking him away again, for the last time.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” he warned in a menacing tone.
Sara looked down, unable to speak.
“I’m sick of you blaming yourself for something out of your control. This is what we’re gonna do now. We’re going to respectfully say our goodbyes to my brother and your husband. There’s no room for guilt in this room, not today. You got that, Sara? You take all that guilt and you shove it away. I mean it.” As if he thought he could will the culpability away, Lincoln glared at her, tight-lipped and stony.
To be so sure of something, to have such faith when you had no reason to; Sara envied that about Lincoln. She inhaled deeply, briefly closing her eyes. Be strong. If you can’t be strong for you, be strong for Lincoln. Lie to him without saying a word. Sara opened her eyes and gave a stiff nod just as a knock came at the door.
***