by Lindy Zart
“Hey.” She jabbed his hard stomach. “I’m not always clueless.”
“Sometimes you are.”
Sara nodded. “I suppose I can admit that.”
He grinned, saying, “It feels like a dream, a really good dream.” Lincoln caressed her face, stroked her hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“If it’s a dream, let’s hope we never wake up.”
“If it was a dream we’d be having a lot more sex.”
Sara snorted, looking up at the fiery ball that was the sun and quickly looking down, spots in her eyes. “Why do you love me?”
“Why do I love you?” he repeated, a frown between his brows. “I know what I love about you. I love your hair, I love the way your brown eyes light up when you’re excited about something. Your nose, your lips. Even that small scar above your lip. The way you eat chocolate—“
Lincoln closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. “I could watch you devour a chocolate bar forever. Really. I could. There’s something so sensual about your lips kissing it, tugging the chocolate into your mouth, the way your eyes close—“ Lincoln swallowed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “It’s hot,” he ended abruptly.
Her lips parted at the mixture of pleasure and pain on his face. That’s—“ She swallowed, tried again. “That’s not what I asked.”
He grinned. “I know. But I’m on a roll. Just go with it. I love your laugh, your smile, your sense of humor, your strength. I love the look on your face when you’re painting; you look completely lost, consumed; it’s the same look you have when I’m inside you. Like you’re shattered and whole at the same time. I love that look,” he said, his eyes darkening.
Abnormally hot, even with the sun shining, Sara said, “Stop talking like that. And don’t look at me like that either.”
“Why? Am I turning you on?”
“No,” she lied. “You’re getting off subject.”
“Okay, okay.” Lincoln exhaled noisily as he visibly fought for composure. “Why do I love you,” he mused.
Sara nodded, her hands clasped loosely on his narrow hips. “What made you love me?”
“Do you remember the first thing you said to me, the first time we talked?” he asked slowly, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger, gently tugging it.
She searched her brain, seeing a baby-faced young man with laughing gray eyes and a mocking grin. “You said something about serial killers. It wasn’t funny.”
Lincoln laughed. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I said my brother wasn’t one, but you didn’t know if I was or not. Something stupid and lame like that. I couldn’t think straight when I saw you, when I realized you were the girl I’d seen walking. It was the first thing that came to mind, what Cole had told me about your encounter with him. Your comeback was something like how I didn’t know about you either.”
Sara crinkled her nose. “That’s what made you love me?”
“Nah. But you always had quick-witted retorts to counter mine. It was like we had our own language.”
“Our language of sarcasm.”
“Yeah.” He grinned, dazzling her with the beauty of it. “I always loved you; pretty much instantaneously, but that day on the river, when I realized you could be taken away from this world, that’s when I realized how much I loved you. It killed me that you belonged to Cole, but at least you were living and breathing and that was enough, it had to be enough, but the thought of you not being alive—“ Lincoln shuddered. “That I couldn’t deal with.”
“Hence the punching of Cole in the face.”
“He deserved it,” he said with a scowl.
Sara laughed. “No argument from me. He kind of did, yeah.”
The grin was back in place; the shine in his eyes. “You always understood me. I think that was it. I didn’t have to pretend with you, I didn’t have to not say what I wanted to. If I was being rude or grumpy, you called me on it. You got me. I felt alive when I was around you, Sara. I felt like I belonged when I’d never felt that before, not even with my own family. Not that anything was horribly bad or anything growing up, really. I just felt…” Lincoln shrugged. “Misunderstood.”
“Don’t forget Grandma Lena. She was pretty horrible.” Sara touched his cheek, kissing the faint smile from his lips.
“You can’t kiss me while talking about Grandma Lena,” he said with a cringe, pulling away. “It totally kills the mood, Sara.”
“I doubt that,” she said, laughing as his eyes flashed the truth of her words at her.
“I think it’s time to go back.” Lincoln turned the boat on, steering them along the river. “You completely turned me on talking about Grandma Lena. That’s almost as bad as when I met Dana last week and she eyed me up like I was her last meal.”
The wind played with Sara’s hair as she laughed, brushing it out of her eyes. It was true. Dana had enjoyed their impromptu visit immensely; maybe even a little too much if the slap she’d landed to Lincoln’s behind was anything to go by.
Lincoln glanced back at her, grinning, and everything went still for a period of time no longer than a minute, but astounding and endless in its clearness. Cole had been hers to love first, but Lincoln; Lincoln was hers to love last.
“Why do you love me?” he called above the noise of the motor.
Sara looked down at the brown waves crashing against the side of the boat as it raced along the river. Why did she love him? He’d never given up on her, he’d forced her to live, to feel; he’d taken the darkness away with his lightness. Lincoln had always been there for her, even when she hadn’t wanted him to be. His arms were home to her; his touch cherished. Lincoln was passionate and strong and good. He made her laugh. In him she found herself. Sara wanted to spend every day with him and even if she couldn’t, she’d take him everywhere with her, in her heart. Every hour of every day was not enough, would never be enough with him. Sara was stronger because of him; she was better. It wasn’t even a question; why she loved him. A better one would be a question of—
“How could I not?” she called back, telling Lincoln with her eyes all he meant to her and it was everything.
Epilogue
The leaves were dropping. Browns, reds, yellows, and oranges; they fell from the trees, floating back and forth as they descended. The sky was overcast and gray. Sara stood on a bluff at Wyalusing State Park, feeling a peace she hadn’t been allowed to feel the last time she’d stood on the same exact cliff so many months ago. How very different her life was now from then. She was living; she was thankful to be alive. How ashamed she was to admit that she’d once thought so carelessly of the life she’d been gifted. That was over now. She’d come around full circle and was finally, blissfully, in one whole piece. Sara had had to do it on her own and she had; she’d been strong enough, like Mason and Lincoln, and even Dana, had told her she was. She’d only had to realize it herself.
The wind was cool, tousling her long hair behind her, invincible fingers tenderly caressing it. The trees swayed with it and she unconsciously rocked side to side as well. Sara closed her eyes and felt him all around her. It was strange how she saw him in the leaves, heard him in a song, felt him in the air. Cole was everywhere, but it didn’t hurt anymore. She’d never really lost him, only a part of him. He was still with her in her heart and memories, where it mattered, and always would be. The loss was there and sometimes there were the thoughts of what might have been, but in them, there was also what was, and that was Lincoln. She could never regret him. The ‘what ifs’ and ‘what might have beens’ crumbled in the wake of Lincoln. He had the power to eradicate them and eradicate them he did; with a simple look or touch.
There was a special, carved-out part of her that belonged to Cole. Lincoln knew and understood; it was the same for him. It was hard not to think what the years would have been like, what Cole would have been like, if he still lived, and so, they talked of him often; they talked of his quirks and habits and endearments, and in that way, they kept him alive. Cole still lived,
would always live, within those who remembered and loved him. No one ever really died that way; no one ever really had to say goodbye as well.
Sara inhaled deeply. The air smelled like years of happiness and eyes the color of stormy skies and promises kept and everlasting love. Cinnamon and lemons and Lincoln. A leaf, crinkly and brittle, brushed her cheek as it fell, like the tender touch of a loved one long gone, but never forgotten; saying hello. Sara smiled and opened her eyes, listening as the wind tossed the leaves about, finding peace in the song of them.
Warm arms wrapped around her from behind, centering her as they always did, loving her however damaged or imperfect she was; just loving her. All Sara had to do, all she could do, was love Lincoln back. They stood like that, listening to the music of the leaves; rejoicing in their love and lives; both of which could be fleeting and at the same time never-ending.
“I love you,” Lincoln murmured into her hair, cocooning her in his warmth and scent.
No one could control the length of their life, but they could control how they lived it. Sara was choosing to live it not in sorrow and pain, but with hope and love. She was choosing to be strong; she was choosing to be happy; she was choosing Lincoln. Sara would always find herself in Lincoln’s eyes; she would always know she’d once been found in Cole’s as well. Love was forever, love was not lost when a life was; love did not fall away or weaken a person. Love was strong and people were stronger because of it; love continued, in all forms, in every way, until the end of time and even after that. It was in the glance of gray eyes; it was in the caress of a fallen leaf; a steady heartbeat; it was wholeness and peace and sacrifice, and even tragedy.
“I love you,” she said, a smile on her lips as she gazed down at his hands on her stomach.
It was all of that and as little as that.
***
About the author:
Lindy Zart has been writing since she was a child. Luckily for readers, her writing has improved since then. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two sons, and one cat. Lindy loves hearing from people who enjoy her work.
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