Take Care, Sara

by Lindy Zart

It was all so anticlimactic. Sara didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been the quiet, somberness of all those around her as the mask was removed from his face. She stared down at him, not recognizing the still being on the bed as her husband. Maybe Lincoln was right. Maybe he had left a long time ago. The doctor and nursing staff were silent and still; this was just another regrettable task they were designated to perform within the course of their workday.

  His heartbeat didn’t quicken like she’d hoped. His chest didn’t continue to lift up and down as she’d told herself it would. Lincoln held one hand and she the other, the two of them trying to force life into him from theirs. His parents stood behind Lincoln, his father stoic and his mother quietly weeping. There were some things that couldn’t heal, no matter how long the wrong had been committed. She knew her relationship with her husband’s parents was one of those things. Their connection was cracked beyond repair. It didn’t matter, not now.

  She looked up at the same time Lincoln did, saw him breaking on the inside though he remained impassive on the outside. It was in his eyes; his gray eyes were shattered. She had to look away before she shattered as well.

  Sara leaned forward and rested her forehead against his cool one. “I love you, Cole. I always will. Be at peace,” she whispered, teardrops falling from her eyes and landing on his expressionless face. She watched one tear trickle down his forehead and touch the corner of his eye before moving on to rest on his too prominent cheekbone. It was as though he cried as well.

  For the merest of seconds, his face was as she remembered it. The piercing blueness of his eyes, his lips lifting into a smile; it blinded her and tore her breath from her lungs like he’d sucked it away and back into himself for one stolen minute of life before all existence was gone. Sara saw him as he’d been before the wreck, and then once again, she saw him as he really was.

  The beats lessened, slowly trailing off and ending. Her breaths became quicker as his became nothing. Sara was trying to breathe enough for the both of them, but it was pointless. The countdown until he was officially pronounced dead had run its course. She was frozen, her eyes glued to his face. Move. Make a sound. Come back.

  Nothing. There was nothing.

  The monitor stopped with one terrible, never-ending beeeeeep. Sara’s entire body jerked with the pain of her heart being severed and ripped from her as the realization that he was truly gone and would never come back slammed through her. Someone unplugged the machine, a faceless being registered with her peripheral vision.

  “I’m messy and a slob and I like beer a little too much. I work long hours and I like to be outside more than inside. I’m restless and reckless, and yes, I admit, a pervert. Upon occasion. But I love you. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Sara. Never will. I want to be with you until I take my last breath, and even when I take my last breath, I want it to be next to you. Please. Redeem my selfish soul and make it better, make me better. Say you’ll be my wife.”

  The last breath was a sigh, an unspoken final goodbye, and the world stopped. No one moved; the silence almost intolerable. The quiet was filled with pain so thick to utter a single word would destroy her, him, all of them. Sara watched him, willing him to breathe on his own, to make his heart start again, willing him to open his eyes. The minutes dragged on, the profound loss unbearable to her. Sara pressed a lingering kiss to his stiff, cold lips, saying a silent farewell. She pulled back, unable to look away from the soulless shell that no longer housed her husband. Come back. Sara knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t stop her from wishing it anyway. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. Never again.

  She unconsciously cried out and fell back against a desk, close to collapsing. She wanted to lie down, close her eyes, curl up in a ball, and become dust, nothing, erased. Instead Sara turned and blindly fled from the room, bumping into a nurse on her way out. Sara’s heart pounded so hard inside her chest she thought it was going to slam right through her body. She couldn’t see. She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew she had to escape.

  There was a buzzing in her ears, getting louder and louder, so loud she wanted to scream just to hear something other than it. Never again. Sara stumbled, almost falling over as a wave of pain hit her, slashing into her midsection with a knife of agony. She bent at the waist, trying to shield herself from the inward ache there was no relief from.

  “Sara!”

  Sara shoved her shoulder against the metal door that led to the stairs, jarring it at the impact. She rushed forward and swayed at the edge of the winding steps, almost tumbling down them. For an instant she contemplated letting herself go, but instead her hand reached out for the railing. Never again. A sob was torn from her lips, grating to her ears. She was falling again; falling on the inside, falling on the outside.

  The world swayed and Sara sank to the cool floor, shaking and dizzy. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, the buzzing in her ears was now a roar, and she thought she was going to vomit. She leaned her head forward and a flash of his lifeless face greeted her. Sara whimpered, covering her face with her hands and rocking forward and backward.

  She sat there, images and words and emotions hitting her one after another, overlapping and melding into a collage of him that was heartbreaking to endure. The way his laugh had made her laugh. His eyes that had always looked at her so intently, so focused on her and nothing else. His arms, warm and sure, enveloping her within them, making her feel safe. The way his kisses had taken her breath and given her life at the same time.

  Never again.

  The arms wrapped around her from behind, two muscled thighs cocooned her frame. Sara stiffened. Her first inclination was to move away, but she couldn’t, not this time. She needed to feel a connection with another human and she knew Lincoln needed it as well. It fit, somehow, that they should mourn together. Sara’s hands gripped his forearms of their own accord, and when he rested his chin on her shoulder, she felt the tears from his eyes dampen her skin through her thin shirt. His citrus scent was familiar and welcomed; the feel of his soft hair against her cheek a caress of empathy. She slowly relaxed, her eyelids sliding shut. Lincoln’s chest trembled against her back and she cried for Lincoln as much as she cried for herself and for him.

  Time ticked by, slow and painful; that horrible thing inescapable no matter how much she wanted to. They quietly grieved him and each other. He was gone, and so was a part of her, and so was a part of Lincoln. Sara inhaled and exhaled, gently pulling away. She moved down a step, still sitting with her back to Lincoln, but not touching.

  “He always wanted to be more like you. He said you had all the brains and talent and he just had the brawn. He said it annoyed the piss out of him because he was the older brother and you were supposed to look up to him, not the other way around,” Sara said softly, staring at the white wall.

  A long pause ensued before Lincoln said brokenly, “I looked up to him.”

  She nodded, blinking her eyes against the endless tears. “He knew you did. He loved you so much, Lincoln. If we…” Sara swallowed as a fresh wave of pain washed over her; a different kind of pain, but as profound as the pain of losing him. The pain of a lost child never held, never seen. “If we’d had a baby, he said he hoped he or she took after you more than him. He said, of course, he or she could take after me however much they wanted.” Her voice cracked.

  Lincoln didn’t say anything for a long time. Sara knew why. If he tried to talk, he would break down, lose control. She’d been there. She was there now.

  His voice was strained when he finally said, “Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee. Or not. I don’t care. As long as we leave here. I don’t want you to be alone. And I don’t want to be alone either.”

  She heard and felt him move behind her and a hand appeared before her face. Sara looked up, flinching at the damaged look of Lincoln. His shoulders were hunched as though to protect himself against unfathomable anguish and there were brackets around his lips. Without thought, Sara stood and grabbed him, p
ulling his stiff body to her. He slowly hugged her back and when he did, it was crushing, but essential. They were struggling, both of them. It was real. How could it be real?

  “I don’t want to be alone,” Sara whispered. If she was alone, she feared she’d disappear and never come back. She’d lose herself and be trapped within herself, like him. Sara would disintegrate.

  She began to walk down the steps, her legs stiff, her movements jerky. The walls and stairs moved around her, shrinking and growing before her, and she paused as a wave of dizziness plowed into her.

  “Sara?”

  He’s gone. Sara closed her eyes, swaying back and into Lincoln. His hands gripped her shoulders and steadied her. Nausea formed in her stomach and Sara stumbled down the rest of the stairs and outside, falling to her knees and retching in the bushes beside the tan-stoned hospital.

  She dry-heaved long after the small amount of food in her stomach was gone. An acidic taste in her mouth and over her teeth and tongue, Sara grimaced. The cold chilled her more than she already was, biting and unforgiveable. It jabbed at her, stabbing its hatred toward her into the sensitive skin of her flesh. Even the wind blamed her. You just killed your husband, it shrieked. Her body jerked from the icy air, from the guilt. It registered in her head that Lincoln was behind her, holding her hair away from her face. It was too much. Sara hung her head, the pain building and building and rupturing from her in broken sobs.

  “Come on, Sara, let’s take you home.” Lincoln let her hair fall through his fingers and reached for her.

  Sara let him help her, let him escort her to his truck. Her teeth chattered. The ice was crawling up her legs, entering her heart, and freezing it over. When he buckled her in, she wept harder. Sara was dying, dimming, fracturing. Lincoln stood by the door, saying nothing. He didn’t have to. Finally he shut the door and got in on the other side of the truck.

  ***

  The thought of going into their house, knowing with an aching finality he would never be in it again, was something Sara couldn’t deal with. Lincoln somehow knew that and had wordlessly driven to his house instead of hers. How long they’d sat in the unmoving and quiet truck, Sara had no recollection.

  The truck was off. She stared straight ahead, seeing him standing on the deck, adjusting his baseball cap, laughing. She could smell the dirt layered on him from work, the somehow sweet taste of beer on his lips. He turned and winked at her, his blue eyes promising he’d love her in all forms once they got home. She sucked in a painful breath, bending over from the agony of it. It was happening. Sara was finally crumbling, splintering into so many pieces she’d never be able to be put back together again.

  “Sara?”

  Lincoln’s fingers grazed her arm as she fumbled with the door handle, falling out of the truck and landing on the cold ground. She stayed that way, crouching, wanting to sink completely into the ground. Sara’s fingers clawed through the icy slush; her nails finding grass and dirt beneath it. Choked sounds of pain left her and Sara crawled, head down, out of her mind with grief. She wanted to be where he was; if he was nowhere, that’s where she wanted to be. Let me die. Let me close my eyes and not wake up. Let me be with him. Please. I never asked You for anything. Just this one time I’m asking You. Let me be with him! Sara flung her head back and howled. She screamed and screamed with all the agony living inside her. It wasn’t enough. It still hurt. She was full of anguish, would never be able to get rid of it all.

  Strong hands grabbed her under her arms, pulling her up and away from the cold, hard ground. Sara fought. She didn’t know why. She just knew she had to. He would thwart her plan. Lincoln would keep her away from what she wanted. Death. She wanted to die. She wanted to be with her husband. Sara kicked her legs and slapped at him, tortured gasps and cries bursting from her. She was hot; she was on fire, why didn’t she burn up and melt? Pieces of her were chipping, falling away, leaving her. What was she? Who was she? Ugly. Sara was ugly. She was ugly without him.

  “Let me go!” she shrieked, turning around and shoving him.

  Lincoln stumbled back, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his chiseled features.

  “I killed him! This is my fault! I killed him! He’s dead. Because of me. He’s dead.” Sara couldn’t breathe, she continued to breathe, she wanted to stop breathing. In and out, in and out, still she breathed. Sara breathed too fast, she breathed too heavily, but she still breathed. Her lungs were on fire, her body scorching, her throat dry flint ready for the littlest of sparks. And then she could burn up and die.

  “Stop this,” he pleaded in a low voice, a voice Sara barely heard under the roar of the flames burning her from the inside out.

  Sara tried to speak and only mewing sounds found their way out. The flames licked at her soul, turning it to ash. She was numb. Nothing was left inside her. It was all gone. Burned up. Dead. Ashes. Dust.

  Lincoln opened his arms, his head slightly tilted. He waited. If Sara went to him, he’d burn up with her too.

  “I killed him.”

  He shook his head, not speaking, arms still open. Waiting. Always waiting for her.

  “I want to die,” she confessed. “I’ve tried…I want to die, Lincoln.”

  Lincoln’s face distorted. “Don’t you fucking say that, Sara!” he thundered, storming toward her. “You don’t ever say that again, you understand?” Lincoln’s voice shook. “Stop saying it, stop thinking it.” His fingers dug into her arms, showing her she wasn’t dead, not yet.

  “I’m lost. I’m lost and you can’t save me, Lincoln.” Sara stared up into his pained eyes, caressing his features with her gaze. He was always trying to save her.

  His jaw clenched and his grip turned painful. “Yes. I can. I will. I just lost my brother. I’m not losing you too. I’m never losing you, Sara, never. I’m not letting you go. Ever. Your life is worth living. You don’t get the right to throw that away.”

  The conviction of Lincoln’s words, the way his eyes were locked on hers, nearly made Sara believe he could, that Lincoln had the power to save her, to hold on to her tight enough that she wouldn’t be lost, wouldn’t fade into nothing, wouldn’t burn up and disintegrate. She almost hated him for it.

  ***

  Everywhere Sara looked she was hit with something that reminded her of him. She sat on the couch, an untouched cup of coffee cooling between her fingers. It was heavy and she set it down on the coffee table. Lincoln was in the bedroom that used to be his parents’, fixing it up for her to sleep in. They had gotten a hotel room, refusing to stay in the house full of him. Sara understood. This house was close to being as unbearable to be in as hers was.

  The meltdown outside was a locked subject. Hours ago, it still replayed over and over in her head; the look on Lincoln’s face, the fierceness in his tone; the overwhelming despondency that was with her now even. He’d brought her back from the brink once again. But he wouldn’t always be around. Lincoln wasn’t responsible for her. He thought he was, but he wasn’t.

  Her eyes shied from the framed photographs hanging on the walls of Lincoln and him growing up, and then went back to them anyway. Her breath shuddered as her throat tightened. Sara covered her face with her hands, unable to cry, which should have been a relief, but it wasn’t because she was overflowing with grief and had no way to release it.

  How could he be gone? Agony had wrapped its arms of heartache around her and wouldn’t let her go. Sara understood how her mother had died of a broken heart. Why wasn’t she worthy of the same? She didn’t want to live without him; she didn’t want to exist when he didn’t.

  The stairs creaked, alerting her Lincoln was near. Sara dropped her hands from her face. Seeing his grief-stricken eyes pulled a choking sound from her. He didn’t speak for a long time. And when he did, Lincoln’s voice was gruff with emotion.

  “I got the bed ready.”

  She nodded, her throat tightening.

  Lincoln blinked his eyes, angling his body and face away from her. “I sat in his room for
a while.” He inhaled sharply. “I remember one time when I was five, I had a bad dream. I woke up screaming, scared. Cole came in, told me a story about baseball until I wasn’t afraid anymore. He always did stuff like that. He always looked out for me.” His hands fisted and opened, fisted and opened.

  “Lincoln—“

  “A part of me is gone, Sara. A part of my childhood, a part of my world is just…gone.” Lincoln stared at her, not really seeing her, but maybe seeing enough. “I thought he would get better, at first. How stupid is that? I really thought he would get better. Why wasn’t he strong enough to get better? And then…and then I knew he wouldn’t and I was so pissed at him. I was so angry at him.”

  Sara slowly rose to her feet. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes narrowed as his lips thinned. “It’s not your fault. I never said it was your fault. I never hinted it was your fault. It’s not your fault, Sara!” Lincoln slammed a fist into the wall beside him, knocking a picture loose and causing Sara to flinch. The glass shattered as it hit the wood floor. “Fuck.”

  Lincoln fell to his knees, hanging his head. She looked down at him, feeling helpless. He was so strong and so fragile at the same time. She had to do something. Seeing him like this, it hurt. Lincoln’s pain on top of her pain was devastating. Sara went to her knees beside him, staring in misery at the toothless gray-eyed boy grinning at her from a picture with shattered glass over it. That boy was gone; that boy would never come back. She put her hand on his back, feeling the muscles tremble beneath her fingers. Lincoln turned to her, burying his face in the crook between her neck and chin, wetness trickling from his eyes to dampen her shirt.

  She wrapped her arms around his shaking frame, her cheek coming to rest on his soft hair that smelled like lemons. She let her eyelids slide shut; listening to Lincoln’s pain, wishing there was no reason for it, wishing she could somehow remove it from him and from her. His hands grabbed fistfuls of her shirt near her back and clenched, holding her, clutching her, as though afraid she would disappear if he let her go. Chances were she would have. It was impossible for her to disappear with Lincoln holding her. He seemed to know that.