by Lindy Zart
“That’s it?” Sara got to her feet, rooted to the place beside the table. “You’re leaving?”
Mason tilted his head and studied her. “Yes. I’m leaving. But first, I want you to tell me something about Lincoln.”
She shifted her feet, looking anywhere but at Mason. “Like what?”
“Anything.”
Sara thought of Lincoln; picturing his stormy eyes and stiff jaw and the way his lips curved up, softened, when he smiled. “He…” A smile captured her lips. “He has this habit of nodding his head to music, even when he isn’t aware of it. His body moves too. It’s like he has to restrain himself not to bust out dancing. It’s funny watching him, and most times, he can’t help but sing. Lincoln loves music; always has. It’s…endearing. Sweet.” She exhaled deeply, looking at Mason.
Mason didn’t speak for a long time, finally saying, “I realized something just now.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Oh?”
“It wasn’t anything you said, but it was what you didn’t say.”
Sara frowned. “What? What does that even mean?”
“You, talking about Lincoln. It’s not the words you use, but how you look as you say them. Your face softens; you smile. You glow, Sara. Lincoln is it.”
“Again with the nonsense? Lincoln is what?” she said, exasperated.
Smiling as he shrugged into his brown leather coat, Mason gently mocked, “Open your eyes, Sara. You won’t be able to see until you do.” He left, leaving a reeling Sara behind him.
***
Sara wiped sweaty hair from her face with her arm and leaned back on her heels. The kitchen floor was gleaming clean. Somehow housework did what painting used to do for her, but now couldn’t. It was therapeutic. Maybe she should change her career from painter to housekeeper. She snorted. Sooner or later she would have to figure out what she was going to do about that. Sara had made enough money from her artwork in the past that she was stable for now, even though there was no new income coming in from that. They’d saved a lot too. And of course there was the monthly compensation she received from the accident. Those were in a messy stack in the junk drawer, none cashed.
Lincoln was heavy on her mind, not that he was ever far from it. She was confused and upset by his behavior. She didn’t know how to read him. It was more than sorrow for his brother. He seemed tormented by something, something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her about. The strain on his face; it was more than just from the circumstances concerning his brother. Or maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore. She understood how that could happen. Maybe it was simply too much for him and she understood that as well.
Lincoln is the key. Sara shook her head. Mason and his crazy ideas. She never knew what he was saying and he always acted like it was because of her that his words made absolutely no sense at all. Saying that about Lincoln just proved it. Lincoln wasn’t the key to anything except maybe Sara’s constant aggravation lately. She frowned. That wasn’t fair. Everything Lincoln did he did with her in mind. She knew that. But what was with him recently?
Sara had never seen Lincoln’s moods alter so much like that. What was hurting him so much he had to lash out like he had? And later, the way he’d held her; as though he was holding her up as much as she was him. She didn’t know how to help him and she wanted to. Part of Sara thought maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was what was tearing him up like that. She didn’t want to be; Sara didn’t want to be responsible for his pain, for anyone’s pain. Only you already are.
The whirring sound of a motor, getting louder and closer, gave her pause and made her heart rate escalate. In her cracked mind, Sara knew it was him, finally returning. He’d been on a long snowmobiling trip and he was back. The sane part of her mind receded, letting her have her false reality for a time. Sara jumped to her feet, racing to the door.
She flung it open, her pulse crazy, her heart thundering. Biting air snapped at her and her bare feet turned to ice on the cold step outside the door. The rider turned the engine off on the red and black Polaris snowmobile. He took off his gloves and set them on the snowmobile console. His hands reached up to grip the helmet and Sara couldn’t breathe. Whose face would she see?
The black-garbed rider stood and strode toward her as he pulled the helmet from his face, holding it against his side as he reached the porch. It was Lincoln. Sorrow and relief punched her in the stomach and Sara sucked in a sharp breath, unable to look too closely at that response. His hair was matted against his head, but still managed to wave up in spots. His jaw was unshaven, giving him a rough appearance and making him even more handsome.
Open your eyes, Sara, Mason had said. She inwardly shook her head, knowing she would never truly understand Mason Wells.
“I thought you outgrew your snowmobile gear?” was the first thing she thought of saying.
“I lied. Ready for a ride?” He grinned, his gray eyes flashing with silver.
Sara looked down at her dirty, stained yellow shirt and ripped jeans, wondering why her heart rate hadn’t slowed down any. “No. I’m cleaning.”
“O…M…G, Sara,” Lincoln said, rolling his eyes. “That house is clean enough to eat meals off the floor, even when you haven’t cleaned it for weeks. You clean over clean. Get your stuff on. We’re going.”
She crossed her arms, getting tired of Lincoln’s bossiness and wanting to laugh at him at the same time. “Stop trying to run my life.”
Lincoln laughed. “Really? Stop trying to run your life? If I were trying to run your life, it’d be all kinds of different. Trust me. It’s day two. Let’s go.”
Heat warmed her cheeks. “You can’t do this.”
“Do what?” he asked, moving forward so she had to backtrack into the house.
“Make me do things. Make me…make me…” Her throat closed on the words and Sara blinked her wet eyes.
Lincoln shut the door behind him. “Make you forget? Make you have fun? Make you live?” He leaned forward, his cold nose bumping hers. “Yes…I…can.” Lincoln straightened. “Hurry up. I’m getting snow all over your clean floor. You might have to, like, mop it again or something.” Lincoln widened his eyes at her, clearly making fun of her.
She wordlessly shook her head. Sara couldn’t think straight with Lincoln and all of his ups and downs.
He sighed, crossing his arms, the material of his snowmobile jacket sliding together as he moved. “If you can’t do these things for yourself, Sara, you’re going to do them for him. Think of Cole. Do it for him. Stop fighting me and just do it.”
Her brows furrowed as she stared at Lincoln. He looked back, eyes steady and clear. Lincoln was like a rock, standing tall in the wake of a tsunami, unbending and unbreakable. She spontaneously hugged him, his jacket cold against her skin. Lincoln’s arms rose and his hands held her against him, somehow warming her through the chilled material of his snowmobile garb.
“What’s that for?”
“For being you,” she said, pulling back.
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. He shifted his gaze away as he said, “We’re both hurting, Sara. Instead of wallowing in it and letting it take over, you, and I, need to find things to keep the pain at bay. We need to live. We need to do all the things Cole can’t and we need to be grateful for every breath we get to breathe on our own that he doesn’t. Understand?”
She inhaled deeply, taking in his unflinching gaze. “You’re better at it than I am.”
Lincoln flashed a quick grin. “I’m better at a lot of things than you are.”
“Thanks,” Sara said, snorting a little.
“I’m sorry about the other night. About the way I’ve been acting lately.”
“It’s okay, Lincoln.”
“It’s not okay, Sara.” He sighed and then gently bumped his forehead to hers and stepped back. “Get your stuff on. I’ll be outside waiting.”
Sara walked toward the closet as Lincoln went outside. Her heart was hurting, not because of that hated date getting c
loser every day, but for another reason. Lincoln was shoving life back into her, in spite of what she thought she wanted, in spite of her wishes. She could continue to fight it, but Sara knew it was pointless. Lincoln was…Lincoln. She was so thankful for him, even as aggravating as he was. He managed to put everything into perspective; he managed to make her see what she couldn’t see on her own. What about what he doesn’t want you to see?
***
It was loud. The engine was fast and high-pitched and so loud Sara could barely hear her own thoughts, which was a blessing. She held on to Lincoln, her arms wrapped around his waist, trees and hills passing them by in a blur. Sara closed her eyes, feeling the snowmobile’s power underneath her, Lincoln’s solid back against her front, the way her legs straddled the back of his. The windshield of the helmet fogged every now and then, showing how cold it was outside her snowmobile geared body, but it quickly dispersed, once again giving her a view of fluffy snow and countryside.
Lincoln and he had always liked their toys; be they motorcycles or boats or snowmobiles. In that way they were as one. Sara had never understood that need to disconnect from the world with speed and what she’d considered unnecessary wildness, but now, she kind of did. It was liberating, to go so fast, to forget about obligations and reality and just feel.
The trail was narrow and rough and at times Sara knocked into Lincoln, her helmet clunking against his. Up and up the hill they climbed, Sara adjusting her body to Lincoln’s, moving with him around turns and corners. Then they were wide open, nothing but space on either side of them. Lincoln cranked on the accelerator and they were soaring. Sara laughed, tipping her head back. Free. She felt free. She wanted to bottle the feeling up and take it with her. Sara hadn’t felt so guiltless, so alive, in a long time.
She didn’t know she’d loosened her grip until they hit a bump and the snowmobile went up and slammed down, dumping her off the sled and into a snow bank. Sara landed on her back, the air knocked from her lungs. She lay there, wondering if she was okay or not, wondering if it really mattered. Nothing hurt. She flipped the windshield up and stared at a blue sky, mirth bubbling up her throat. That’s how Lincoln found her; lying on her back, laughing.
Lincoln jumped off the snowmobile before it was completely stopped, sprinting for her, snow flying up behind him. He fell to his knees in the snow beside her. “What the hell, Sara? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he shouted through his helmet, the windshield of it flipped up.
Sara looked at the wild, panicked look in his eyes and laughed harder. She didn’t know why. It seemed the sensible thing to do.
“Fuck! Are you hurt?” Lincoln grabbed her shoulders and shook. “Would you stop laughing and say something? Are you okay? Sara.” He fumbled with strap under her chin and yanked the helmet from her head, cupping the back of her neck with his gloved hands. “Are you okay, Sara?” Lincoln asked slowly, his voice shaking.
Sara went quiet, the smile fading from her lips, when she saw, really saw, what Lincoln couldn’t or wouldn’t hide. He was scared. For her. And not just scared, but out of his mind scared. His lips were pressed into a thin, white line and his eyes had a haunted cast to them.
“I’m okay, Lincoln,” she said softly.
The relief on his face hit her hard, the tension leaving his body as he pulled her close. Lincoln was trembling. He muttered something, using one hand to tear his helmet off, tossing it into the snow, the other hand never releasing her. “I thought you were hurt. You were just lying there. I thought you’d broken something or were seriously injured. What happened?” he said into her hair, clutching her to his chest.
Cold air stung her cheeks, snow from Lincoln’s gloves brushed against her neck, chilling her. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just…I wasn’t holding on tight enough.” Sara gently pushed at his chest and Lincoln let her go.
He swallowed. “Promise me something, Sara.”
Sara’s eyes collided with his, her lips parting at the intensity of his charcoal gaze.
“You hold on tight from now on, so tight it hurts. Got it? Don’t let go of me, not ever. Don’t worry about hurting me, don’t worry about suffocating me, don’t worry about holding on too tight. You hold on and you never let go. You’ll only hurt me, I’ll only suffocate, if you let go. Promise.” Silver flames sparked in his eyes and Lincoln’s jaw was clenched as he stared her down.
She was burning up from the heat of his gaze. It swept up her body and neck and into her face, warming her. He wasn’t talking about snowmobiling. Sara knew that. What was Lincoln talking about? She lowered her eyes, conflicted by the way she was responding to Lincoln lately, confused by him. She never knew what he was saying to her anymore.
“Promise.”
Sara swallowed, nodding her head. “I promise, Lincoln.”
He blew out a noisy breath, running his fingers through his hair, rumpling it more. “All right.” Lincoln stood, offering her a hand. “You ready to head back or do you want to keep going?”
Sara took his hand and he hauled her to her feet. You ready to head back or do you want to keep going? turned into Do you want to live in the past or do you want to move forward? She stood there, flummoxed.
“Sara?”
“I…” Sara turned toward the way they were going. It was clear and straight and limitless. She turned back to the way they’d come from. It was rough and narrow and littered with possible barriers. Sara faced Lincoln. He stood in the middle of it all, quizzically watching her, waiting for her answer. Go back, go forward. Stay with him, come with me. Was that really what he was asking?
“You want to go back, don’t you?” His tone was flat, as though Lincoln was disappointed, but not surprised.
She squinted her eyes from the sun, turning her gaze to the glistening snow as spots formed before her eyes. “No. Let’s keep going.”
“You sure?”
Taking a deep breath, Sara nodded. “I’m sure.”
Lincoln grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Don’t let go this time.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
As Sara got back on the snowmobile behind Lincoln, she wondered what she was promising she wouldn’t let go of. The past, her husband, or Lincoln?
11
Sara was sleeping, dreaming of blue eyes and warm lips, when the pounding on the door started. She sat up on the couch, flinging the blanket off her. It took a moment for the dream to fade, and along with it, the peace she’d found in sleep; a peace Sara was never truly able to find while awake. She blinked at the door, her eyes unfocused and her brain not completely awake.
She slowly got to her feet, rubbing her matted head of hair. One side was sticking up and the other was mashed to her head. Sara tightened the tie on the old robe as she shuffled to the door. Fighting a yawn, she unlocked the door and opened it, her eyes shying from the sun-filled day.
Lincoln grinned at her, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Rise and shine, sunshine.”
“Don’t you ever work anymore?” she grumbled, moving back to allow him in. Sara was happy to see him. She didn’t want to be happy to see him.
“I took the week off. I can do that. I’m the boss.”
“Slacker.”
“Don’t be crabby.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven-ish”, he said, shrugging his jacket off and bending down to remove his boots.
“I’m allowed to be crabby at seven-ish in the morning.”
Lincoln stood and Sara caught a whiff of his scent. She backed away, moving to the couch. He tugged down his dark blue long-sleeved tee shirt, covering the band of tanned flesh momentarily exposed. Sara flushed, quickly looking away.
He messed his hair up more than it already was with his hand and eyed her sleeping arrangement. “What’s that?” Lincoln asked, pointing to the pillow and blanket.
“A couch.”
“What’s on the couch?” He frowned. “And what are you wearing?”
Sara self-consciously fingered the kno
tted tie at her waist. “A robe.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks like a dead animal dyed blue hanging off you. You don’t sleep in your bedroom?”
She stiffened. “It’s none of your business and if you just came over here to badger me, you can leave.”
“Oh, no. Uh-uh. It’s day three.” Lincoln crossed the room to her, softly touching her cheek. “Look at you with your sad brown eyes. I want to take the sadness from them, Sara. Let me today.” His face cleared and his hand fell away. “But first, you need to shower. Your hair looks like rodents could get lost in it.”
Sara took a shuddering breath, remembering she needed air. “I…” Her brain wasn’t cooperating. “What are we doing?”
“Good question.”
She waited, sighing loudly when she realized he wasn’t going to tell her.
“You. Shower. Make yourself pretty.”
Sara glared at him as she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door a little too exuberantly behind her. She brushed her teeth, fuming as she stared at her flushed face. His brother had never talked to her like this, had never bossed her around. Stop comparing them. She wasn’t trying to; it was involuntary, like breathing when you thought you no longer could. It just happened. Sara grabbed her hair with one hand as she finished up brushing her teeth, and spit in the sink. Her mouth was fresh and cool with spearmint and Sara inhaled deeply, her attention turned toward the shower.
Sometimes she wondered what she was holding on to. It wasn’t the man she loved, not that cruel replica of her husband lying in the hospital bed. What exactly did Sara cling to? Memories were like ghosts that never went away; always there to haunt her. Is that what she loved; a memory? And what was in the hospital bed then; a ghost? Showing her what she used to have; what she didn’t have and would most likely never have again? Steam filled the immediate air around her, making it hard for her to breathe, though of course she still managed to. Or maybe that was just her conscience.
Sara quickly washed up, wondering how much longer she would cling to memories she’d be better off forgetting. She winced at the pain that thought caused, shutting the water off. Sara grabbed a towel, shivering, her skin pebbling from the shock of going from warm to cold. There was nothing she could do but continue to love a man who’d left her with a car crash; to let ghosts haunt her so she remembered that love. She had to hurt to feel something other than hurt and still she hurt anyway.
