by Lindy Zart
The room was the size of a small apartment and located on the second floor of the motel, complete with a kitchenette with fun-sized appliances and furniture. The walls were creamy white with pale pink, white, and celery green accents for furniture and fabric. It was uncluttered with a bed, dresser, a pale green chaise lounge with a neoclassic design, and a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. A small closet housed her clothes. The bathroom had a garden tub with a skylight above it. Sara loved it. If she had to pick a room to live in, this would be it. You are living in it, at least temporarily.
A pamphlet in Sara’s motel room boasted: “Waupun comes from the Indian name of “Waubun” which means “dawn of day.” In fact, Waupun was originally supposed to be named “Waubun” but the State of Wisconsin made a spelling error, and Waupun never bothered to change it.” She snorted when she read that.
Sara lay on the comfortable full-sized bed with the pink paisley comforter, staring at the white ceiling fan and light. Where did she belong? Not in this foreign city she’d escaped to, not in the past or in the house they’d bought together. Maybe Sara didn’t belong anywhere, but with someone. She’d come to Waupun to find herself and instead she was finding Lincoln.
His eyes glared at her in their powerful way from the recesses of her mind; she felt his arms around her in the warmth of the sun; she longed to hear his deep voice that spoke so passionately and kissed just as passionately. You’re stupid, Sara, for leaving. She tried to make herself feel better by telling herself she wouldn’t have realized that if she hadn’t gone. It was little consolation. The point was she was wasting time she could be spending with Lincoln; the man who’d awoken the fire inside her she’d thought forever snuffed out. And still, she couldn’t return, not yet.
She hadn’t told him where she was going not because she was afraid he’d come after her, but because if she had she’d be more likely to return before she was ready to, which really didn’t make sense, but was true all the same. He didn’t know she was only about three hours away, so it was as though she didn’t know how close she was to him either.
It was as she looked so long at the light bulb she began to see spots that Sara finally accepted it. Somehow the light made her see all she hadn’t wanted to. It was a literal epiphany. She’d been in limbo, unable to move on, unable to go back, while Cole had laid there, some part of him unable to let go as well. Sara would have kept waiting. He’d known that too. That was why he’d written that paper and that was why he’d given them a year to find a way back to each other.
She had pushed it past a year in hopes of his recovery, but it hadn’t mattered; their time had been up. At least, in this life. But never in her heart. He would always be in her heart, always. Sara just had to learn to think of him without it hurting so much. She had to learn it was okay for her to live even when he didn’t. Sara had to say his name, think his name without falling into an abyss of despair. Sara was trying. It was hard, but she was trying. She had to do all he’d want her to do. She had to breathe. Lincoln makes you breathe. It was true. Lincoln made it possible for her breathe and took her breath away at the same time.
He’d been such a brute lately, but Sara couldn’t fault him that; frustration and helplessness did that to people. She knew. He’d wanted to force her to see things she couldn’t, not then, but now she could. Sara had had to see them on her own, as all things in life. No one opened their eyes and really saw the truth until they were ready to. Sara was ready to now.
She closed her eyes and gray eyes in a sharply chiseled face greeted her in the darkness of her shut eyelids. Guilt tried to accompany the pang of longing that hit her hard and she breathed deeply to center herself. She sat up and rubbed her face; wondering what he would think of this, wondering if Cole would hate her for having feelings for his brother. He would want to punch Lincoln in the face. He would punch Lincoln in the face.
“True. I did punch him in the face once, didn’t I? You deserve to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you, Sara.”
Her hands dropped from her face, the smile at hearing his voice sliding off her lips. Why did she keep thinking she heard him? That hadn’t ended when his life had. If anything, it seemed to happen more often. It came from out of nowhere, but seemed to come from within her as well. Was that where he was? Nowhere and everywhere? Was he nothing and everything at the same time? She was glad to hear his voice, whatever that said of her. It was a little blessing, a small piece of him that hadn’t disappeared with his life. Sara got to her feet and walked over the to the easel awaiting her near the glass doors that led to a small deck, absently twisting her hair up into a ponytail as she stared at the empty canvas.
“Paint for me, Sara. Paint me and let me go.”
She inhaled slowly, trying to find a calm that wanted to evade her, and did as commanded by a figment of her imagination, a ghost, or her unstable mind. Sara painted his profile in grays and black. She captured the powerful gaze, the straight nose, the thin lips. Portraits were capable of imprisoning a piece of the soul for all eternity and in her art, she was able to keep a piece of her husband close to her. Even when his voice left her for good, she’d still have this. Sara stared at Cole’s silhouette, her eyes caressing his features. So different from Lincoln’s. Sara turned from the easel, wiping her paint-splattered fingers on her old jean shorts. Maybe a walk would clear her head. Clear it of what, she didn’t really know. All the jumbled mess of emotions she couldn’t make sense of.
What do you know as truth? she asked herself as she searched the counter in the kitchenette for her sunglasses. You love Cole. Cole is gone. You love Lincoln. Lincoln is here. You blame yourself for Cole’s death. You have to stop blaming yourself. You feel guilty of the feelings you have for Lincoln. You have to stop feeling guilty. Sara found them on top of the refrigerator, shoving them onto her face. If only it was as easy as telling herself to stop doing one thing and to start doing another.
“Not easy, Sara, but worth it. It has to be worth it.”
She rolled her eyes at Cole’s voice, leaving the cool interior of her temporary home to face the humidity and sun of Waupun. It was going to be a scorcher of a day, even for June. As far as scenery went, it didn’t differ that much from Boscobel. There were lots of leafy trees, swaying from the warm breeze, and green grass galore. There was even marshland near the town, another similarity to Boscobel. So basically she’d gone from Boscobel to a bigger Boscobel. Flowers scented the air and awed her eyes at the rainbow of colors as she walked along the sidewalk. Sara had always loved flowers; she just wasn’t good with them.
As she was crossing the street, her cell phone rang in her pocket, blaring out ‘That’s Not My Name’ by The Ting Tings. Sara paused under the shade of a tree, quickly pulling it from her shorts, her breath hitching at the name and number. Her heart pounded harder in anticipation and her palms turned sweaty. He hadn’t missed a day yet. She didn’t want to think about what it meant when and if he did.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly. As was routine, he didn’t say anything back.
Noting a public bench farther down the street, Sara walked to it. “I go for walks every day. Something I used to do and got out of the habit of doing. It’s so quiet here. I mean, there is noise, of course, but it’s like everything inside me is quieter. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m calmer, I guess. Not so sad. I can think clearer and I see things in a different way than I used to. It’s good for me. But I miss you like crazy.”
She sat down on the bench, the metal branding the backs of her legs, but not uncomfortably. “It’s strange to think of us. You, me, Cole, and how we’re all connected.” Sara watched a blond-haired woman walk by pushing a stroller and swallowed, turning away. “You remember when I lost the baby? I was inconsolable. Cole and I were barely speaking. We were both hurting so bad and didn’t know how to comfort each other. You told Cole you were going to kick his ass if he showed up to work one more day in a piss-ass mood. It was the first time he smiled in days.”
Sara tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes on the vehicles ambling up and down the road. A set of modest houses ran along the length of the street across from her. “You made us sit at a table and talk. You started by mentioning the weather. Then we had to say what our favorite colors were. Then you said something about how bad I was at sports and Cole agreed. Totally ridiculous stuff, but the point was; we were talking. You brought up funny memories and told some bad jokes. Before long, Cole and I were laughing and looking at each other as we talked. You saved us. You’re always saving people, Lincoln. But what about you?” She took a deep breath.
“You’ve always been there for me and Cole. You were there, even then, shoving us back to life. You’ve always done that, Lincoln, but at what cost to you? It had to have been hard, loving Cole and loving me, and wanting us to be happy, even though it meant you couldn’t be. You sacrificed your happiness, again and again, for mine, for your brother’s. You are truly an exceptional person,” Sara said tightly, her throat thick. “Take care, Lincoln.”
***
Freshly showered, Sara tugged on a pair of lightweight pink shorts and a yellow tank top, the emptiness of the motel room somehow soothing. She’d done some minor shopping at the local grocery store earlier in the day and had the preparations for a salad. Salad made, she sat at the small table by the windowed doors, staring out at rolling skies of gray clouds the color of Lincoln’s eyes. A storm was coming. She wondered if it was storming where Lincoln was.
It was strange how a difference in atmosphere had the power to alter her view on things, but that was life; full of ironies and impossibilities that happened. Like the wreck that had ultimately taken her husband; like the feelings she and Lincoln had for one another. Never, ever would Sara have thought she would love him the way she did, or that he’d loved her for so long without telling anyone. The burden that must have been, carrying that around for so long. Sara couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like. Like you feel now, only twenty times worse. Sara feared she might burst from holding all her feelings inside. She wanted to shout to the world how much she loved Lincoln.
She took a sip of water, almost upturning the glass when her cell phone rang. The number was Lincoln’s. Her nerves played havoc with her as she grabbed the phone. He continued to call every day. Lincoln called every day, but never said a single word. It was a mixture of respite and torture to partake of these silent conversations with him.
“Hello, Lincoln,” she said, her voice rough. Sara cleared her throat, pushing the salad away. He didn’t say anything, but that was what she’d expected. “It’s storming here. I love thunderstorms. Cole did too. You already knew that. We would sit on our porch outside and watch the rain fall down, blanketing the earth in water, listening to the sound of it, listening to the thunder rumble. It was relaxing. Even the lightning cracking the sky was comforting. It made me realize how insignificant and small I was compared to the world. It made me feel sheltered, like I was in my own shell of safety. Then Cole would look at me and I’d realize how wrong I was about the first and how right I was about the second. I’d like…” Trailing off, Sara swallowed and continued, “I’d like to do that with you sometime…watch a storm, I mean…if you want.”
She heard his breathing, closing her eyes to focus on that one small part of him she could have even with the distance between them. It was silly and illogical, but just hearing his even breaths made her feel at peace. Sara could imagine them lying side by side, sleeping in the same bed, their limbs intertwined; she falling asleep to the sound of his steady breaths.
“I’m glad you called, I’m always glad when you call, but I have to ask you something.” When he didn’t respond, and she’d known he wouldn’t, Sara sighed. “How did you stand it? All those one-sided phone conversations? I guess I deserve your silence. Apparently you’re better at this than I am, because really, I just want to reach through the phone and force your lips to open and words to come out of your mouth. Although, on the one hand, maybe it’s best that you aren’t speaking to me. I can’t imagine you have anything particularly nice to say. Not that I blame you. I was kind of a mess before I left. I mean, I’m still a mess, but a slightly less psychotic one.” She rubbed her face, suddenly tired, imagining him inwardly snorting at that.
“I painted him a few weeks ago. I painted Cole and I thought of you. I close my eyes and I see yours. I came here to find myself, but I’m finding you instead, Lincoln. How does that work?” Sara chewed the inside of her lower lip. She just wanted him to say something, anything. But maybe it was better he didn’t. It had to be about Sara; she had to be the one to make the first move, the one to reach out, the one to talk; it was her time.
“I miss you. I miss you so much,” she said raggedly, blinking her eyes against tears. She heard the sharp inhalation of air on the other end of the phone, knew he ached for her as she did for him. “You know, I never really thought about your eyes that much before. I never realized how they followed me through a room, how they were always on me, how whenever I looked at you, you were already looking at me. Was it always like that? Of course it was.
“I was so blind about so many things. I suppose I needed to be then. I shouldn’t have been noticing you when I had Cole. So I’m glad I didn’t. But now, now I remember so many things, only in a different way. I remember how your eyes lightened to a paler shade of gray when you looked at me, like your whole being amplified when you saw me. I remember how you stood up for me, no matter what, even when there was nothing to stand up for me about. I remember your protectiveness; I remember how your smile had a certain tenderness for me alone. I remember you, Lincoln, the real you, finally. Take care, Lincoln.” She said softly and ended the call, heavy with yearning.
Sara wanted so badly to return to him, to be with Lincoln, but something held her back, something kept her in Waupun when everything she wanted was in Boscobel. She knew what the problem was, or what part of the problem was, at least. Sara was scared. That was obvious. It wasn’t just about Cole and moving on without the guilt and being able to say goodbye to him without it aching so much, although that was a great part of it. What she was scared of the most was that if she was open about her feelings for Lincoln, what was to stop him from being taken away from her? Her mother, father, Cole, and their unborn child; they’d all been taken from her. Maybe it was irrational, but it made all the logic in the world to Sara. The fear was part of her, looming over her every second of the day and even at night. She loved someone: they died. Was Sara being punished for something she didn’t know about? She couldn’t think like that, she knew, but still she did, even if it was fleeting and sporadically.
If You can hear me, if You’re really here…I just want to know why. Why did they have to die? Sara’s throat closed with emotion. And what’s to stop it from happening to Lincoln? He can be taken away too.
“Stop thinking like that. It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?” she whispered, eyes closed, elbows on the table and hands on her face.
“Just hold on, Sara. Hold on to what you have and forget about all the rest. And…have a little faith.”
She dropped her hands from her face, staring at the shadowed room with bleary eyes. Thunder rumbled outside; lightning cracked, and the sky cried a flood of tears of joy or pain; she didn’t know. Give me strength, please. Give me strength to live, to love again. Who was she asking? A shiver went down her spine as lightning struck her eyes; momentarily blinding her with white light, the only answer to her unspoken question.
***
The knock came at exactly eight in the morning. Sara finished braiding her hair and snapped a rubber band around it as she walked to the door. Sunlight and Dana greeted her. Sara was blinded more from the sight of Dana than the fiery light in the sky.
“Morning, sugar,” she said in her brittle voice that was lilting at the same time it was abrasive. She held two steaming mugs of coffee and a white bakery bag was tucked under one
arm.
“Hello, Dana.” Sara blinked repeatedly to bring her eyes back into focus and stepped away, allowing Dana to enter. Dana knew there was a coffeemaker in the room; she’d put it there herself, but Sara figured she was lonely and liked Sara’s company. Sara had to admit the same to both. As long as Dana was willing to bring her coffee and doughnuts in the morning and chitchat for an hour or so, Sara was happy to accept.
Her hair was teased up around her head, a white-blond Q-tip with a brown stick-like body beneath it. Her brown eyes were lined with black eyeliner and her eyelids were shadowed with midnight blue. Rouge cheeks and apple red lips completed the artwork that was her face. That wasn’t what had made Sara see temporary spots though. That credit had to be given to her ensemble of a sequined top of red, white, and blue stars, red capris, and white heels.
“It’s the Fourth of July,” she informed Sara, sitting down at the small table by the doors.
Sara sat down across from her. “Oh?” It had completely escaped her what the day was. Cole and Lincoln had both always been big on the annual fireworks display put on at Kronshage Park in Boscobel. Sara tagged along for something to do. She wondered if Lincoln would be going to it this year.
She accepted the coffee Dana pushed toward her, taking a careful sip. Dana made excellent coffee. It was strong, but not bitter. Smooth and flavorful.
Dana removed two napkins from the bag and placed an oversized cinnamon roll on each, setting one in front of Sara. Her stomach growled as the smell of frosting and cinnamon and sugar hit her.
“’Bout time you got your appetite back,” Dana commented after eyeing her for a beat. “You were all skin and bones when you got here.” She sniffed, pulling a piece of her roll off and dipping it into her coffee before taking a bite.
“How did you end up in Waupun, Dana?” Sara asked, taking a bite of her roll. The sweet bread was heaven to her taste buds, somehow thick and fluffy at the same time.