Take Care, Sara

by Lindy Zart

  “Okay.” He showed her his profile, his features stiff, unyielding.

  Sara turned in the direction of her car, lost once more, and was immediately grabbed and whirled around. Lincoln threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her face up, and assaulted her lips with his. Longing crashed over her and Sara responded to Lincoln’s fire with her own, her body thrumming with need. She grabbed his hair and twined it around her fingers. Lincoln moaned, moving them against a tree. The rough bark abraded her skin through the thin material of her jacket. He kissed her with a raw need, hunger in every touch of his lips to hers.

  Lincoln tore his lips away, eliciting a whimper of yearning from Sara. His chest heaved up and down and his eyes blazed with passion as he stared down at her. “You think about this moment, right now, while you’re out finding yourself, Sara. ‘Cause you know what? I already found you. You’re mine. I’m yours. I know it. You know it. You just have to see it.”

  ***

  The need to have a connection to him, even if only from her end, had been strong and Sara had walked into the garage before she’d known what she was doing. She’d stayed away for so long; not moving forward, but now it was time. She had to do it for herself, if she ever wanted to be at peace; if she ever wanted to be happy; even if she ever wanted to have a future with another man. Lincoln’s gray eyes shimmered in her mind and she pushed them away. This was for her. He couldn’t be a part of it, though he always was with her, no matter what she was doing or not doing. Imbedded into her heart, her soul, her being.

  The boxes were endless; her past sprawled out around her in cards, letters, and photographs. Sara sat on the dirty floor of the garage, randomly plucking a faded piece of paper from the top of the box. She opened it, laughing shakily as she read the note.

  Roses are red

  Violets are blue

  I got a boner

  And it’s because of you.

  Happy Valentine’s Day.

  She wiped her damp eyes, staring at his messy handwriting. Sara had loved everything about him; even his warped sense of humor. She set the note back in the box. Sara sorted through her past, keeping remembrances of him she could never part with, setting aside all she could. She found a black baseball cap with a snowmobile logo on it and set it on her head as she reconnected with what she’d lost. Halfway through she even grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge, but it was old and she didn’t like Busch Light anyway. One drink and she tossed it out.

  The doors of the house were open; as were the doors to the future. It was time. It hurt. But it was time. She couldn’t live in the house anymore; she couldn’t live in the past. Sara had finally come to terms with that, though knowing something didn’t make it hurt any less.

  She’d taken most of their belongings to be auctioned off. Sara knew she had to start over fresh, and even the most generic of items were reminders of him. Not that she wanted to forget; never that, but Sara wouldn’t be able to progress beyond what she now was if he was staring her in the face every place she looked. The house was so empty, but it didn’t feel emptier. Everything that had meant anything to her had been gone for close to seven months now.

  An offer had been made on the house and Sara was going to accept it. The truck was gone; the camper as well. Each time she parted with a piece of him, of Cole, she was brought that much closer to herself, whoever she was. Sara had to think his name; say his name, to make it real. She had to let go of him to find herself, to live. Sometimes she felt guilty about that, but most times Sara felt as though the restriction on her lungs had loosened a bit. He was with her; Cole would always be with her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t move on as well.

  And then there was Lincoln.

  Lincoln was absent from her everyday living, but never far from her mind. Sara didn’t know where they would go from here, what would become of them. She knew she missed him, everything about him. He had been the one solidarity in the flowing river of her despair, a lifejacket to keep her from drowning. But did she love him? Could she love him without feeling remorse? It was hard to think about him without thinking of Cole. None of this would even be an issue if he was still alive. But he wasn’t. And it was.

  I saw you first, whispered through her, causing her to shiver. Lincoln saw her first, but she didn’t see him, not really, not till now.

  Sara finished up with the last box, adjusting her teal blue cotton shorts and purple top as she stood. It was done now; all of him designated to cardboard boxes. Not that he could ever truly be kept within a box; he was in her heart and that was the safest, soundest place for Cole to be. Sara took a deep breath, trying to center the contradiction that was her. The need to see Lincoln; the need to stay away. The need to never let Cole go; the need to let him go.

  All that was left was to remove the belongings from the house, along with her. That day would be upon her soon. In less than a week Sara was leaving. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Sara looked at the neat boxes sitting around her legs, stacked in rows. She turned away from her past. Sorrow and relief hit her as she left the garage. The sun was warm, soothing as it heated her. She looked at the house they’d bought together, remembering the wilting flowers around it, remembering their first night in the house, remembering him. Sara brushed tears from her eyes and pointed herself in the direction that would take her to Lincoln. She began to walk.

  It was Sunday, which meant chances were good Lincoln wouldn’t be working. Sara knew that wasn’t always the case, especially with the weather nice as it was. Sunny days were working days for builders, no matter the day of the week. She had no words planned, nothing was forthcoming as far as what she should say when she saw him, if she saw him. Please be there.

  With each step, her apprehension and anticipation built. Sweat began to trickle down her chest and Sara pulled the rubber band from her wrist and knotted her thick hair at the top of her head.

  It took over an hour to reach the house in the woods. It loomed before her, Sara’s pulse speeding up as she took in the structure that epitomized all she loved. All I love? She froze, her hand pausing on her damp brow. Her hand slowly lowered to her side and Sara pushed the shock away, deciding now was not the time to think about that.

  But as she walked up the steps of the deck and knocked on the door, seeing that drooping Christmas tree in the window, emotions she couldn’t ignore, not this time, slammed into her. Why hadn’t he taken it down yet?

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sara whirled around, her heartbeat escalating as she took in his unclothed chest. It was bronzed from the sun, muscled from daily physical labor. She knew that chest. Sara had run her fingers over it, smelled it, kissed it, felt it pushed against hers. Her eyes went up, meeting his dark gray ones. Lincoln’s hair was damp with perspiration and winged up around his ears and on the back of his neck, making him appear younger than he was. The black athletic shorts he wore hung low on his hips, showing the toned cords of his lower abdomen. She wanted him. Sara wanted Lincoln to hold her, kiss her, never let her go. Oh God, when had it happened? When had the emotions shifted, turned into more, become love?

  “Were you running?”

  “Yeah,” was Lincoln’s curt response.

  “Why’d you keep the tree?” she blurted.

  His eyes shifted down as he slammed a hand on his hip. “I felt sorry for it.” His pose was belligerent, like the set of his jaw.

  Sara walked down a step. “You felt sorry for a tree?”

  “Yeah. I did. It just…it looked so pitiful and tried so hard to survive and…yeah, I kept it. What do you care?” Lincoln scowled at her.

  Another step.

  “Why are you here anyway? I thought you needed time, space, whatever.” Lincoln’s words were harsh, but his voice was strained, like he was struggling to stay in control, like he was hurting on the inside and trying to hide it on the outside.

  “It reminded you of me, didn’t it?”

  “No,” he quickly denied.

 
; “Liar.” She was almost to him.

  “It has a much nicer disposition.”

  Sara stopped before him, smelling sunlight and sweat, and underneath that, Lincoln. Emotions welled up, threatened to burst through her and expose all she felt.

  “Why are you here, Sara?” Lincoln repeated slowly, his eyes locked with hers. There was something in his expression, a vulnerability she’d never seen before. Her heart squeezed.

  “I’m leaving.”

  He stiffened, his eyes, his face, everything shutting down. “What?”

  Sara brushed hair from her face with a trembling hand. “I got a temporary place up north. I’m going to stay there for a month or so, maybe two. The house…” she trailed off, her throat tightening.

  “What about the house?”

  “I’m going to accept an offer on it tomorrow. I’m getting rid of everything, Lincoln. I’m…” Sara stopped when Lincoln showed her his back. It was taut, sculpted, and shaking. Her fingers yearned to touch him, to trace a pale thin scar on his left shoulder blade, to take the quiver from it.

  “You’re leaving,” he said in a dead voice.

  “Only for a little while. Just until…until I have things sorted out.” Sara watched his back move with the force of his breaths.

  Lincoln turned and glared at her. “What is there to sort out?”

  You. I’m scared of what I feel for you. I don’t know how to accept it yet. I’m scared of what you feel for me. The way you look at me; like I’m everything, it scares me. When I look at you, I’m lost in you. I’m trying to find myself and I can’t do that with the distraction of you. You consume everything. But she couldn’t say any of that.

  Sara swallowed, glancing down. Her throat was dry. “Me, Lincoln. I need to sort me out.”

  “Up north where?”

  “I don’t know if—if I should tell you,” she said, looking down at the ground.

  “Afraid I’ll follow you? Don’t worry. I won’t.” His words were cold, final, and they hurt.

  Sara’s eyes jerked to his and Lincoln looked away from the pain on her face, his expression ashamed. “That was uncalled for.”

  “You leaving is uncalled for,” he snapped back. Lincoln closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “God, I’m saying all the wrong things,” he groaned. Lincoln rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “I feel like we’re going around in a circle, you and I. If you know you don’t feel the same as I do, if you know there’s no chance for us, at least tell me, Sara. You don’t have to escape Boscobel to escape me. I’ve kept my distance, for you. It kills me, but I’ve done it. I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. Is that what you want?” Lincoln’s pain-filled eyes met hers.

  It broke. Whatever had been keeping her emotions in check shattered and Sara reached for him, feeling complete, centered, only when she finally held him. Lincoln’s skin was hot and hard against hers, wet with sweat, and when his fingers gripped her waist, digging into her flesh, when the hardness of his body was flush with the softness of hers, Sara was lost again. Or found. Maybe Sara had to be lost in him to find herself.

  “I love you, Sara, love you so much,” he murmured into her ear, his hands holding her face steady as Lincoln studied her. “I love you,” he repeated, his words thick with the truth of it.

  Sara blinked her eyes and tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t say it. She loved him; she loved Lincoln, and Sara couldn’t say it. She’d always loved him; that hadn’t changed, but the way she loved him; that had. So much.

  He stepped away, dropping his hands from her. She fought the need to touch him again. Lincoln’s face was blank, his eyes dim. Her heart cried at the devastation in the set of his shoulders, in the way he held his head. Sara wanted to ask him to wait for her, to not give up on her, but that wouldn’t be fair to him.

  “Have a nice trip,” he muttered, striding for the house.

  No. Don’t leave like this. Don’t let it be like this, Sara. Go to him! Run. Tell him you love him. Tell him! No matter how loudly or passionately her conscience shouted at her, Sara didn’t have the power to do it. She couldn’t. Instead she turned around to begin the long walk to the house that soon would no longer be her home.

  17

  Sara fiddled with the cellular phone, facing the car. She took a deep breath, staring at the phone number on the phone. It was time to go. Her belongings had been reduced to what was in the car and the rest had been put in a small storage unit until her return. The thought of leaving without telling Lincoln goodbye weighed on her. It felt wrong not to tell him, but she wondered if it was right to tell him. It seemed like that was all she thought about now; what was right and wrong. Was it wrong or right of her to love her husband’s brother? Was it wrong or right of her to want another chance at happiness, though her husband could not? Lincoln felt right; Cole had felt right. What did that say about Sara? Maybe it said absolutely nothing, maybe it didn’t matter, but still, she felt it said something.

  She took a deep breath. He was fading from her and that was what was the most unbearable. The exact shade of his eyes eluded her; the certain timbre of his voice when he spoke; his scent; it was all leaving her. Leaving her and filling her with a terrible loss, making a part of her hollow. Sara thought that was what hurt the most; more painful than his absence was the lack of everything that embodied him; kept him alive in her. She didn’t want to forget him, not a single detail of him, and it was already happening.

  The pull to call Lincoln was maddening, unavoidable, and so she hit the Send button, listening to the ring of the phone. It took her back to all the countless times she’d called him after the car accident, when he’d been all that was between her and insanity from the depth of grief she could not bear. Lincoln had saved Sara from herself so many times. This time, though, she had to save herself. I wish I knew how.

  “Sara,” Lincoln said by way of greeting.

  She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, shocked by how much it affected her. It sent tingles from her scalp down to her fingertips. When he didn’t say anymore, she floundered with, “Hi. I, uh…I…I’m leaving today.” Pathetic, Sara.

  A pause. “Be safe,” was his gruff response.

  “I will.” Sara tapped her short nails against the roof of the car, the sun glaring down on the crown of her dark hair. “I just…I wanted to say goodbye.” The distance between them was suffocating her and it was because of her.

  “And so you did.”

  “Right. Goodbye, Lincoln.” Dread pooled in her stomach, growing until it filled her with a sick feeling.

  She began to move the phone from her ear when he said sharply, “Sara, wait.”

  “Yes?” Her voice was breathless and Sara’s heart pounded in anticipation of Lincoln’s words.

  “I don’t want you to go. I know you’re going to go anyway, but I just want you to know that.”

  “I have to go,” Sara whispered, clutching the phone tightly to her ear.

  “I know that. I know.” Lincoln let out a loud sigh. “Just…” He broke off and she could feel the hesitation from him even through the phone. “I’m going to say this and you don’t have to say anything back, okay? I love you. Remember that.”

  I love you, she thought back as the line clicked off. Heart heavy, Sara got into the car and began her journey. She didn’t know if it was necessary for her to leave her life in Boscobel in order to find herself, but maybe it was. The house, the town, even Lincoln; they all reminded her of what she’d lost. This separation from all she knew was the one thing that without a doubt, felt right.

  The hours she drove with only her thoughts to guide her were reflective and also inescapable. Sara had never really thought of herself as weak or strong before the accident, but since then, she’d convinced herself she was the weakest kind of person; the kind who couldn’t say goodbye, the kind unable to function on their own, unable to accept loss and carry on; the kind of person who broke in the wake of tragedy instead of growing stronger because of it; t
he kind of person who could take a life and yet be forced to continue living what they felt was an unworthy one.

  You’re only human, a voice inside her head said. Was that really an excuse? Sara struggled with forgiveness; for herself, for her inability to save him; for being only human. Humans were flawed, so easy to die, so prone to hurt and hurt the ones they loved, consciously or not. And yet forgiveness was not so easily given, not to herself.

  ***

  Waupun, Wisconsin had over 11,000 residents, but not much more than Boscobel as far as entertainment went. Actually, Boscobel had one up on Waupun: there was no movie theater, old or otherwise, in the town of Waupun. Sara thought the population being so high might have something to do with the two prisons in the city. She supposed in that regard Waupun did have one up on Boscobel, though it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  Her destination had been random. She’d gotten a map of Wisconsin, closed her eyes, and put her finger on a city. Her finger had actually landed on Beaver Dam; a trendier city about half an hour from Waupun, but as her parents had an old friend who owned a motel in Waupun, she’d contacted Dana Newman for an extended-stay room instead of sticking with Beaver Dam. It was more of an inn than a motel; too nice to be reduced to the title of motel. Sara wasn’t really sure how Dana knew her parents; only that she’d seen her at occasional birthday parties and get-togethers through the years. She was charging her next to nothing because, as Dana had said, she’d always liked Sara and she was sorry she’d gotten so much rotten luck in her life.

  Dana also didn’t need the money; she was extremely wealthy from being the wife and divorcee of rich men four times over. Short, platinum blond, with leathery brown skin, Dana liked to be stylish, even when the look she was going for was much too young for her sixty-ish body and face and she should probably lay off the tanning bed. Sara had been there over two weeks and every day at eight in the morning Dana brought over a cup of coffee and a doughnut because Sara was too thin and no boy wanted to lay down with bones. Her words. She wore tight capris in black and white and alternating flashy tops with headache-inducing designs and wobbled in six-inch heels no woman had any right wearing, least of all an elderly one.