Take Care, Sara

by Lindy Zart

  Look away. Leave. Before it’s too late. She couldn’t stop herself when she lifted a hand and traced the sharp angle of his cheekbone. He went still, inhaling sharply. For once his face didn’t try to replace Lincoln’s. It was just Lincoln she saw. He was all there was now. Sara let her hand drop and turned away.

  “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sara paused, eyes on the door. “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  Her face tried to crumple and Sara locked her jaw to thwart it. “Because I finally see you,” she whispered.

  ***

  In the three weeks since the confrontation between them, Lincoln had kept his distance. They’d had stuttering phone conversations full of long pauses until eventually they’d not even bothered. There was a strain on Sara that had little to do with her husband’s death and more to do with the chasm of confusing emotions between her and Lincoln. How had it all gotten so messed up? Everything had fit; everything had been complete before the wreck, before she’d lost her husband. Now there were just hundreds of puzzle pieces and nowhere to put them.

  Lincoln was at her house now. He’d stopped on his way home from work. Her eyes kept going to him across the table, but words failed her. She didn’t know what to say. Sara wanted to hug him, to touch her cheek to his, to feel his arms around her and she also wanted to never see him again.

  He sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. “This is awkward.”

  “A little.” Sara pushed the cold cup of coffee between her hands.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, hanging his head. “We fought about it once.”

  “What?”

  “You.” Lincoln looked up, piercing her with his powerful gaze.

  “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” Liar, Sara.

  “I think you do. I think you know what I mean. We fought about you, right before the wedding. Cole suspected my feelings for you. He confronted me. I didn’t admit it. I didn’t deny it. He knew.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. He punched me. He punched me in the face and said you were his. He said he’d seen you first, like that was enough to claim you as his.” Lincoln gave a bitter laugh. “Only he hadn’t. I told him that too. I was so angry, so sick of acting like it didn’t kill me every time I saw you together. I guess I told him that because I was hurting, knowing you were about to be married. I was desperate and I wanted Cole to hurt like I was hurting. It was a shitty thing to do.

  “His eyes…they dimmed a little. He didn’t say anything. He just left. I felt like an ass and I suppose I should have. We never talked about it again. I don’t know why I’m even bringing it up. I guess, I don’t know…” Lincoln shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “That was a mean thing to do,” Sara choked out.

  “I suppose I never should have said anything, but—” Lincoln rubbed his eyes, his face tense with strain. “It was the one thing I had over him. That I saw you first. It was all I had and when he hit me, I just, I had to retaliate. Immature. Childish. I know.”

  She stared at him, not really seeing him, but a memory.

  Sara smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he came up behind her. “Ready to go?” She set the brush down, the smile leaving her lips as she took in his expression. Sara turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  Cole averted his face as he played with the brush on the bathroom sink. “Do you…do you have any doubts, Sara?”

  “What do you mean?” she whispered, dread forming inside her.

  He rubbed his jaw, still not looking at her. “About us. The wedding’s coming up—“

  “The wedding’s in two days,” she interrupted shrilly.

  “Yeah. I just…do you? I have to know. Do you have any doubts?”

  Her stomach dropped. “What? No. Never. Do you?” Sara’s pulse tripped as she choked the words out. If he doubted his love for her, she wouldn’t be able to take it. He was everything to her.

  “No. Of course not. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone, Sara. You’re it for me. I just…I wanna make sure I’m it for you too.” He lifted his head, showing his distraught eyes; a darker blue than they normally were with unhappiness. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed together.

  “You’re it for me too, Cole,” she vowed, grabbing his dry, calloused hands and kissing the backs of them.

  “Sure?”

  “Positive.”

  The troubled look faded and a grin captured his lips. “Better be. We got a wedding coming up.” He grabbed her and spun her around the small bathroom, knocking stuff over and making her laugh, which made him laugh.

  Sara fisted her hands, staring at Lincoln. “You made him doubt himself. You made him doubt me. Why did you have to tell him that?”

  Lincoln gritted his teeth. “I never gave him any reason to think I cared about you more than…more than I should have, but he thought it, knew it, anyway. I didn’t say anything until he punched me. I told you that. And if he had doubts, I didn’t put them there.”

  “What are you saying? That he had doubts on his own about marrying me?” she whispered, her chest squeezing painfully.

  “You think that’s what I’m doing?” His eyes flashed as he shot to his feet and advanced on her. “You think I’m trying to make you feel like shit? So what, I feel good or something? You really think I’d do that?”

  “That’s what you’re doing.”

  “It’s not what I’m doing!” Lincoln loomed over her, his face close to hers. “What I’m doing…what I’m doing…I don’t know what I’m doing.” Lincoln hung his head, his hair tickling her cheek.

  Sara sucked in air through her lungs, but it was never enough. She was struggling. Her heart pounded with his proximity. Her body responded to Lincoln whether she wanted it to or not. She didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to feel about him the way she did. Especially now, at this moment, when he was saying what he was saying.

  “I just want you to know that he wasn’t your only chance at happiness, that he wasn’t the only man you can love. I just want…I just want you to admit you care about me. Something. I want something from you, Sara, and I’m getting nothing.”

  You have more of me than you know. Sara couldn’t tell him that. It was true, but she couldn’t say the words. As he stared down at her, the pull of him was too powerful, hypnotic. She didn’t understand why a yearning was forming inside her, pulsating with need, longing for something, for Lincoln. Sara’s eyes remained locked with his as she angled her face up. His brows lowered, his breathing quickened.

  What are you doing? something inside her screamed and Sara leaned back in her chair, shaking and unnerved. “I think…maybe…”

  Lincoln straightened; his facial expression empty. He crossed to the front door. “Yeah. Take care, Sara,” he said as he opened the door, but there was a hint of mockery to it.

  ***

  He hadn’t been perfect. He’d been a little too prideful at times, and even somewhat selfish, but Sara had loved him anyway. He’d been her husband, her world, and she’d loved him. And now—She inhaled deeply, briefly closing her eyes—now there was pain and loss where the love had been. Lincoln had no right to point out his flaws to her, as if she hadn’t already known them, as if Sara would forget them.

  When Sara thought of Lincoln, her insides knotted uncomfortably and she felt a little sick. It made her think of him—her husband—less, and that brought relief and guilt with the realization. Most days she felt emotionless, especially when her thoughts went to him. There was just…a void where he was supposed to be and that hurt the most. The thought of closing her eyes and never reopening them was appealing. It was as if all the grief she’d had stored up for him had evaporated or been buried with him to be replaced with nothing. Sara was nothing. She felt nothing. Why not feel nothing forever?

  She wanted to hate Lincoln for making her feel when that was the last thing s
he wanted. The numbness faded when he was near. He brought life back to her, and it was painful and stinging like a limb coming awake after going to sleep from disuse. Sara hung her head as she leaned against the kitchen sink, her hands gripping the edges of it. She almost hated Lincoln for forcing her to live, but of course, she hated herself more. Sara especially hated how she had a life to live and she was wasting it and couldn’t find the courage, the strength, to not let it rot away.

  If God was really around, she’d like to ask Him why. She’d like to ask Him why about a lot of things, but most prominent in her mind was: why her? She was ungrateful, unworthy of the life she had. If Sara could give it back to her husband she would. Too late, Sara. It’s too late for that.

  “Are you here?” someone asked. It took a moment for Sara to realize that the unfamiliar voice was hers; high and breathless and distorted.

  She slowly turned around, wondering what she would see, wondering what she would hear. It was her kitchen, same as it should be. The air didn’t shift, no image produced itself, and there was no disembodied voice. There was no one. It made her sad, which Sara realized was probably not a good sign. Pretty soon she’d be having full conversations with inanimate objects.

  The pull to leave the house was profound. Sara quickly washed the plate and cup from her supper. The peanut butter and honey toast and milk had been tasteless, but it had reduced the gnawing sensation in her stomach. She tugged on a coat and stood before the closed front door, thinking of the painting of the blue door the color of his eyes. Her hand trembled as it reached for the doorknob; Sara already knew where she would go. Something in him called to her, or maybe it was as simple as she didn’t want to be alone.

  Sara opened the door, icy air brushing over her as she stepped outside. The month was April, but the nights said it was still January in temperature. It was dark out, sporadic streetlamps adding a hazy glow to the houses and not completely thawed ground, giving it a surreal look. She hurried to the car. Sara started it up, quickly pulling the car out of the driveway.

  Days, sometimes weeks, went by without them speaking, but it always became too much. There was a point, without fail, when it turned unbearable for Sara to continue to keep her distance from Lincoln, and she knew it was the same for him when he abruptly appeared at her house, surly and confrontational, but close-mouthed about that day he’d changed everything with his confession.

  She didn’t know what they were doing to each other. It was like they tried to stay away from each other, and then they couldn’t stay away any longer. And his words. Those words Lincoln had spoken to her; they haunted her, made her hot and cold at the same time; caused her heart to race, and filled her with fear so intense she tasted it in the bitterness on her tongue. Why had he said those things to her?

  Because they’re true. Sara swallowed painfully, eyes on the darkened house. It was obvious he wasn’t home. The truck wasn’t out front. Not a light was on in the house. Sara glanced at the clock on the dash. It was after eight.

  She shivered in the cold car, ready to turn around and head back home when she saw something in the window. At first she thought it was merely the Christmas lights on the Charlie Brown tree twinkling, but no, it was a shape; large and masculine. And it was outside on the deck. That’s what had caught her attention; the lights had blinked out for a moment when the figure had shifted. She had the passing thought that it was odd the Christmas tree was still up when it was April, but it disappeared as soon as it formed. Apprehension followed her as she got out of the car, looming over her in a dark mass of unease. Why was he outside, in the dark? Had something happened to him? Pressure built in her chest at the thought, hurrying her steps.

  “Lincoln?” she called as she walked up the deck stairs, her tennis shoes thudding on the wood as she went. She jerked to a stop, blinking at the murky form before her. Sara’s voice was slightly breathless as she asked, “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

  Lincoln lifted his head, his features in shadow. “Define ‘okay’.”

  “Are you injured? Do you need to go to the doctor?” Sara took a step closer to him, her heart beating a little too fast.

  “Nope. Must be okay. What are your thoughts on alcohol?” he asked evenly.

  “What?” she asked, dumbfounded by such a question.

  He sat back in the chair, clanking something on the table next to him. Sara squinted her eyes at the clear bottle that looked disturbingly empty and then looked at him again. He wore a white tee shirt that glowed in the dark and jeans. He had to be cold, but he was strangely still.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “What does that mean, Sara? Drunk? What signifies one as drunk? Slurring of words? Imbalance? Large consumptions of alcohol? If so, I am one for three.” He smirked. Sara didn’t know how she knew Lincoln was smirking with it being so dark out, but she did. It was in his voice; slightly mocking and low. “You didn’t answer me.”

  Sara frowned at him, crossing her arms. “What are my thoughts on alcohol? It’s okay. In moderation. I think you overachieved on the whole moderation thing.”

  “I moderate. I moderate my hand going up to my mouth and my hand going back to my lap. Tell me that isn’t moderation.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  She gestured toward the bottle. “This. Drinking. You don’t drink.”

  “Clearly…I do.” Lincoln grabbed the bottle and tipped it up to his lips, tilting his head back to finish it off.

  Sara stared at him, knowing he was hurting and she was hurting because of it. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Lincoln stood, carefully and slowly. “Yes. I do. I’m drinking my sorrows away. Isn’t that what people do?”

  “Not you.”

  “Not usually,” he corrected, leaning his hips against the wood railing of the deck and crossing his arms.

  Sara’s arms dropped to her sides. A burning need began inside her—no, that wasn’t true—the burning need already inside her grew. Her arms ached to wrap around him, her heart pounded at the thought of him being close to her. Lincoln was too far away; physically and mentally. Sara wanted to bring him back to her, but she didn’t have the right.

  “I never was a big drinker. I think I’ve found the error of my ways.”

  “Going to turn into an alcoholic now, are you?” she asked quietly, her stomach knotting. Everything was wrong; his words, his behavior. None of it was Lincoln.

  “Why not? What have I got to lose?” His eyes, previously hidden in the dark, sparked with silver fire as they trailed up and down her face. Not you, those eyes said.

  Sara’s skin chilled more than it already was and she rubbed her arms. “Lincoln, this isn’t you.”

  “Do you know the term ‘broken record’?” he softly mocked.

  Her face flushed. “Yes. I do,” she said stiffly. “Are you implying something?”

  “I don’t think implying is necessary. It’s pretty obvious. You’ve been saying the same things over and over since you got here. By the way, why are you here?”

  “I wanted to check on you,” she said, sounding lame and feeling lame. I missed you. I need you.

  “Well, here I am.” Lincoln lifted his arms out, his movement raising his shirt and exposing his hard stomach. “You did your civic duty. You’re not obligated to hover. I’m a big boy.”

  “Lincoln, what you said—“

  “Which time?” he interrupted.

  Sara walked over to him, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to smell the undetectable vodka scent. It was sharp, like frozen air, or ice. Not really anything, but different from Lincoln’s normal citrus scent. It didn’t belong on him.

  “About your feelings for me…” Sara trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” he said softly, halting her from taking another step or speaking another word. “I was an idiot to say anything. I was an idiot to think it would matter. I was an idiot to think it would ch
ange anything, make any difference. I was an idiot to think maybe you had the same feelings for me I have for you. It was wrong of me. Cole is my brother. I never should have—anyway…forget it. Pretend I never said it, any of it.”

  Sara tried to breathe, but it was stolen from her with the weight of his words. Pain pierced her heart, welled inside it, and broke it. “What?” she dumbly asked.

  Lincoln turned his head away and she could see his jaw clench and unclench. “I don’t know why I thought anything I said would matter. You’re still in love with my brother. Maybe you always will be. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m going to leave you alone now, Sara.” He looked at her then and Sara’s stomach dipped from the force of his gaze no darkness could hide. “My first mistake was thinking I could pretend I didn’t feel the way I do about you, my second mistake was thinking things could go back to the way they were after I told you how I feel, but…they can’t. I see you and I’m just, I’m so angry and I hurt and…”

  Lincoln ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in spots. Her fingers itched to smooth it down. “Or maybe my first mistake was letting myself fall in love with you. Not that I had any choice, not really.” Lincoln exhaled loudly. “Forget about me. Forget what I said. I don’t think you can move on with me bothering you, which is what you need to do. So I won’t. I’ll stay away.” His throat worked and he said in a voice that sounded like gravel, “You should go.”

  She didn’t want to go. Sara wanted to enfold Lincoln in her arms and make his sorrow go away, but what he wanted, what he was asking for; she couldn’t give it to him. Not now. Maybe not ever. So she left, leaving a piece of her behind with Lincoln. The more time she spent with him, the more he took of her. Pretty soon there would be nothing left of Sara; it would all be with Lincoln. That thought scared her, hurried her feet as she made her way to the car. He scared her.