Take Care, Sara

by Lindy Zart

  She liked to go fishing for the peacefulness of it, but she abhorred the worm and hook part of it and the actual catching of fish part of it. Sara liked to feed them and let him do all the rest.

  “It’s a date.” His fingers moved from her hair to caress her earlobe and then down to massage her shoulder.

  “That feels good,” she murmured, briefly closing her eyes.

  “Sara.” His hand painfully squeezed.

  Her eyes flew open to see a red truck in their lane, heading directly for them. Sara tensed, watching it like it was on a movie screen and not really before her. It swerved back and forth, making it impossible for her to guess its destination. She couldn’t think. What do I do? What do I do? It was getting closer and closer. Sara wrenched the steering wheel, fear and panic overtaking logic.

  “Sara, look out! Sara!”

  The car spun, its side colliding with the much larger truck once, twice; horrible crunching, shattering sounds drilling through the car, through her ears. He doesn’t have a seatbelt on, she dimly thought. Why doesn’t he have his seatbelt on? His hand was torn away from her on impact, his body slamming against her, then the side of the car the truck hit, only a layer of metal between him and the other vehicle.

  Sara’s heart died as she watched his body thrown forward, then backward, and then he didn’t move at all. The airbag went off, crashing his already ruined body. Sara screamed, reaching for him. Blood trickled from his head and he still wasn’t moving, his eyes halfway open, staring, but not seeing anything.

  She tried to unbuckle her seatbelt, but her fingers were shaking and slick, and the pain; the pain was everywhere. Not for her, but for him. Dying. She was dying. If he was dying, Sara was dying. She couldn’t get to him. There was this terrible pressure on her chest, so heavy with foreboding, so thick with finality. It was killing her.

  Sara screamed in helpless impotence. “Cole! Cole!” she shrieked, her voice high and unnatural. Over and over she called his name, willing him to respond.

  He didn’t move. Why didn’t he move? Tears burned her eyes and cheeks, blurring her vision. Sirens blared in the distance, getting louder. Still he didn’t move. Still his eyes remained in that partial place of not really closed and not really opened.

  “Don’t you die on me, Cole, don’t you die on me,” she pleaded, straining against her seatbelt to touch the fingers of his hand. Hers grazed his, just barely, choking sobs leaving her lips. A crack in her heart formed, grew, became her, as she stared at her broken husband Sara knew couldn’t be repaired. She died on the inside, dimmed, as she watched him, waiting for the impossible.

  Sara’s eyes slowly opened. His eyes never opened. She’d waited and waited and they’d never opened. Months, a year, over a year she’d waited for him to open his eyes and come back to her. He’d given himself that time limit to come back to her as well and he hadn’t done it. He isn’t coming back.

  Tears formed, slowly sliding down her cheeks. She became aware of another presence beneath her, around her, cocooning her as though to protect her from the world, maybe from herself even. For one bittersweet instant Sara thought it was him and that the past year had all been a horrible, unimaginable dream, but then the piercing pain came back and she couldn’t pretend. A heartbeat steadily pounded by her ear, an arm locked her against a warm, hard chest.

  She stiffened, but didn’t immediately pull away. “What happened?”

  “You passed out.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “They left. They’re going to say goodbye to him now and go back to Florida. I don’t know if they’ll be back. They can’t…they can’t accept it, Sara. It’s not your fault and it has nothing to do with you. I hope you realize that. I’m sorry my dad was being such a dick. It’s just…it’s really hard for them. But that’s not an excuse for his behavior. There is none.”

  Sara pulled away, sitting up on the couch. Her head was pounding and she went still until the dizziness faded. She angled her body away from him and Lincoln’s hand dropped away as he straightened. “Why were you holding me?”

  He sighed and when Sara glanced at him, it was to see his elbows on his knees and his hands holding his head. Lincoln rubbed his hair and dropped his hands, looking at her. He looked beaten, ravaged. “I don’t know. Because you just…you looked like you needed to be held, Sara. That’s all.”

  She jumped to her feet, angry and confused and so disgustingly sad. Sara was sick of feeling the way she did. She was sick of having no control over her life, her emotions, anything. Sara was sick of being weak. She was sick of the lies. Her body shook with the need to release all she kept hidden, locked away in a dark place.

  Lincoln’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “What is it, Sara?”

  She looked at him, sitting on the couch, the one person who was always there for her, whether she wanted him to be or not. Sara didn’t deserve his unflinching support. She didn’t want it. Her lips pressed together, the words forcing their way out. If she said them, it would be over. Sara would be lost. Lincoln would be done. But the relief…it would set her free.

  “I closed my eyes.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  Sara’s body was trembling and her stomach kept swooping, over and over, until she felt sick. She walked to his recliner, staring down at it, wishing he was sitting in it. “That night, the night of the wreck, I closed my eyes while I was driving, just for a second, but it was enough.”

  Lincoln didn’t speak. Everything went still as she waited, dreading his reaction. Sara didn’t want to see the expression on his face, but her eyes drifted to it anyway. It was blank. Perfectly, carefully blank. She swallowed, pressing an arm across her midsection.

  When he slowly stood and walked the few steps it took to reach her, his body heat and lemony scent gently waving over her like a caress, Sara averted her face. If she saw in Lincoln’s eyes what she’d seen in his father’s and what she imagined she’d see in her husband’s if he was ever to open them again, she’d shatter. It would be the end of her. Isn’t that what you want? a voice mocked.

  But then he raised his hand and touched her cheek, his rough fingers gently pushing her face in his direction so Sara couldn’t avoid his eyes. What would she see in them? What did she see in them? Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to define it. Lincoln’s eyes were stark, full, immersed in a strong emotion; one Sara couldn’t describe. He studied her, seeing her, looking past her barriers and into her pain-filled world. Lincoln saw her.

  One word. One softly whispered word left his lips. “Don’t.”

  Sara should have been immune to them by now, but watery drops of sorrow fell from her eyes anyway. She moved away from Lincoln, turning to stare out the living room window at the snow-filled scene. The snowflakes fell in wispy feathers of winter, trickling from the sky in slow motion. She clenched her jaw and blinked her eyes to keep a sob within, but it made its way from her in spite of her efforts to keep it in. She wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head, her shoulders shaking from the force of her weeping.

  “Stop blaming yourself. You closed your eyes for one second? Big deal, Sara. It’s not your fault. One second of not looking at the road does not put you at fault. The other driver was drunk and crossed into your lane. How the hell is that your fault? Cole wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Was that your fault too?”

  “Stop it!” Sara whirled around, pinning Lincoln in place with the look on her face. She clenched her fists at her sides, her body’s convulsions growing with anger. “Just stop it. Stop being my personal support team. Stop trying to make me feel better. Stop trying to do whatever it is you’re doing. I don’t want you to try to make me feel better. I don’t need you to. What I need, what I want, is for you to leave me alone.”

  It was a lie. It was a lie and it tasted like a lie, bitter with injustice, on her tongue. Sara almost took it back. When she saw the look on Lincoln’s face, she yearned to take it back. It closed. His face, the life in it, it shut down. She tr
ied to look away, but something wouldn’t let her. Her conscience, maybe. Look at what you’ve done; see what you’ve done to him, the only person who really understands, who really cares about you. Are you happy?

  “That’s the way you want it?” A tick under his eye drew her attention to it. It pulsated there; anger in his veins even.

  “Yes,” she croaked, finally able to look away. Her gaze fell to the empty recliner and her throat tightened. Go away, Lincoln, go away and leave me with my pain.

  “That’s too bad, Sara.”

  Her head shot up.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Deal with it. And on that day you sign the papers, I’ll be right there with you. And on that day Cole takes his last breath, I’ll be there too. I’ll be around, even when he’s gone. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.” Lincoln’s eyes flashed as he leaned his face close to hers. “You don’t get to tell me to leave you alone. I’ll never leave you alone. I’ll never abandon you. That’s my promise to Cole and that’s my promise to you.”

  Lincoln left, and with him went a little of her fear. Sara stared at his truck as it pulled away from the curb, and even with the distance between them, she could see his profile was stiff, unmovable. Why did he have so much faith, so much belief, in her? Sara was undeserving and at the same time so very grateful. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, some of the guilt disintegrating with his words echoing through her head.

  10

  Sara wanted to remember him the way he’d been before the accident. There wasn’t much time left and she didn’t want the present to eradicate the past. She had to keep a piece of her real husband in her memories. It wasn’t who was in the hospital room. That wasn’t him. Sara refused to accept that as him. She feared she’d forget him as he used to be and would only remember him as he was now. Unacceptable, Sara.

  As she lay on the couch in the dark, staring in the direction of where heaven was supposed to be, her thoughts instead went to God. He wasn’t supposed to be designated to some place in the sky. He was supposed to be all around her, always. She’d told herself she no longer believed, yet she was thinking of Him at the time when she’d soon be losing her husband, for the second time, for the final time. So maybe some part of her still had faith, still had hope. But if God was all around her, did that mean he would be all around her too, still with her somehow for always, if he was with God? Maybe that was what she needed to believe; no matter if it was true or not.

  Sara shook her thoughts away, too tired to think of such things. She hugged the ratty robe to her, burying her face in it, wetting the fabric with her sorrow. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Sara didn’t think she’d ever be ready. She hadn’t had enough time with him. The years had been happy and fast; now time did nothing but drag. Except that day; that fateful day loomed overhead, approaching much too quickly.

  Warmth swept over her, an unknown trickle of air caressing her hair, that forever elusive sense of peace finally taking pity on her and teasing her for a bit with tranquility. Sara sighed, slumber tugging at her, pulling her into the darkness and away from reality. She welcomed it. Sara pretended it was his arms keeping her warm instead of a blanket, she pretended it was his chest she clutched to her instead of his robe. She pretended she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t lost, and she wasn’t without him. Sara fell asleep, knowing it might be her last night of serenity for a long, long time.

  ***

  It was snowing again. She stood in her yard, the flakes covering her and the ground. Sara held her black-gloved hand out, watching as they dropped to her palm and melted. So quickly their existence was over. They fell from the sky and ended. They were done.

  The low rumble of a diesel engine getting louder and louder drew her attention to the street. The engine cut off and silence surrounded her once more. Sara waited, watching as Lincoln approached. The bill of his olive green baseball cap shielded his eyes, but she knew they never left her as he walked toward her. Sara was always the center of his attention, without fail. He had on a brown coat with jeans and boots. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets.

  Lincoln stopped when he was almost to her, his expression unreadable. He loomed over her, his presence eradicating all others in the vicinity. “We have a tree to decorate.”

  Sara blinked. “What?” She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.

  “You and me. Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Let’s go.” Lincoln didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and strode back to the truck, opening the passenger door for her. One dark eyebrow lifted. “I’m waiting.”

  Exasperated, Sara walked toward him. “You’re obnoxious,” she told him as she got into the warm truck.

  “Thank you.” He slammed the door shut and jogged around to his side. “Here’s the deal,” Lincoln said, starting the engine. “We’re each going to only say positive things the whole time we decorate the tree and drink hot chocolate and eat popcorn.”

  “We have to do all that?”

  “Yeah. We do. We’re going to be festive.” Lincoln shot her an annoyed look, driving the truck out of town.

  “I don’t feel like being festive.”

  Lincoln made a growling sound. “I don’t care. Christmas is less than a month away.”

  Less than a week away was the deadline given to Sara for signing the papers. She briefly closed her eyes at the ache in her chest that realization brought. Not that she’d forgotten. It was always there, in the back of her mind, coating everything in misery. Don’t think about it.

  “When does it start?”

  “When does what start?”

  “The festivities and positive comments and all that.”

  “I…it starts now, Sara. Now.”

  “How long does it last?”

  Lincoln glowered at Sara and she wanted to laugh. “The whole time.”

  “You’re not being very positive.”

  He opened his mouth as he glanced at her, quickly snapping his mouth shut as words failed him. A minute later, Lincoln said in a rough voice, “Cole made a damn good steak.”

  The urge to laugh died; her small smile with it.

  “Your turn.”

  Sara shook her head, crossing her arms, and stared at the forest of snow-encrusted trees outside her window.

  The truck lurched to a stop and Lincoln slammed the shifter into park, the engine going quiet. “You’re not being maudlin anymore, Sara. We have one week, one week, to honor him, and we’re going to fucking do it. No crying, no sad faces. In fact, we’re not even going to think about next week. We’re going to think of him the way he was before the accident. I demand it.”

  She faced him. Sara couldn’t even get angry at him or his rude tone, not after she looked at Lincoln’s face. His eyes were flashing with pain and his jaw was stiff, but his expression was fierce. He meant it. There was no denying Lincoln this. Sara wouldn’t even try.

  “Okay, Lincoln,” Sara whispered. She nodded, swallowing against the tightening of her throat.

  “Okay.” Lincoln blew out a noisy breath. “Okay. Come on.”

  Once inside Lincoln’s house, Sara gazed at the pitiful tree missing patches of pine needles and slightly drooping over. He’d set it up in front of the bay windows by the table. The tree looked so weak, but still was persisting. Maybe strength wasn’t decided by what you could do, but by what you could do without. Sara stared at it, feeling a kinship to the pathetic tree that wouldn’t give up. It was stronger than her even. It wanted to live.

  “How long do you think it will survive?”

  “I think…it will survive as long as it needs to, Sara.”

  She glanced at him. “Or as long as it wants to?”

  He shook his head. “No. What you need and what you want are rarely the same things. It’ll hang on until it’s ready to go, until it needs to go.” Lincoln’s words made her think of the still form lying in a hospital bed. Was he staying because he wanted to, or because he needed to? Or because Sara needed him to?
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br />   Lincoln set a box of ornaments on the table, moving to stand beside her. “I do have to say, though, that that is the saddest tree I’ve ever seen, Sara. Just so you know.”

  “In case I didn’t already know?”

  He nudged her shoulder with his arm. “I’m all about informing people.”

  “Yeah. Bossy.” Sara gave him a small smile.

  Lincoln blinked. “Holy fuck. You just smiled.”

  Sara nervously tucked hair behind her ear, looking away from him. It didn’t make sense to smile with what was to come, but she would try, for Lincoln, for him.

  Clearing his throat, Lincoln said, “Coffee or hot chocolate?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “I’ll make some. You can start making it pretty.” Lincoln grinned. “Good luck.”

  Sara opened the dusty box, wiping her hands on her jeans as she gazed into it. The first ornament to catch her eye was a pale blue crystal angel. Her stomach dipped and her hand trembled as she reached for it. It was the same shade as his eyes. His eyes she longed to see again; wondered if she’d ever see again.

  “What’s that?”

  Sara started, almost dropping the ornament. She fumbled with it, setting it safely away from her on the table. “An angel.”

  Lincoln picked it up, perusing it. “It was Cole’s. From Grandma Lena. She passed away when we were kids.”

  “Did you get one?”

  “Nah. She didn’t like me as much as she liked Cole. She told me so every time I saw her.”

  “That’s—that’s terrible.”

  He laughed, shrugging. “At least she was honest.”

  “Did she ever say why?”

  Lincoln shoved his hands in his jean pockets, looking at the tree. He snorted. “Very simply put: I talked too much. She liked Cole because he was quiet and I, unfortunately, never shut up.”

  “Poor Lincoln.” Sara patted his shoulder, feeling sorry for the little boy whose grandmother hadn’t like him. “I would have liked you.”

  He looked at her, a half-smile on his lips. “Thanks. Too bad I didn’t know you then. You could have been my only friend.”