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Take Care, Sara by Lindy Zart_ 6 page

“Hi,” she squeaked, clearing her throat.

He nodded, silently opening the door for her. Sara frowned, wondering at his quietness. She moved past him to get into the truck, his scent going with her. It had a hint of citrus to it. Sara sat down and looked ahead as the door shut.

As soon as he entered his side of the truck, she went at him. “What’s your problem?”

Lincoln flipped a light on in the truck. Sara blinked, but it wasn’t from the sudden light; it was from Lincoln’s appearance. His hair was shorter, making his flinty eyes sharper and more noticeable. He wore a gray sweater the same shade as his eyes and faded black jeans. His cologne or body wash wafted through the small enclosed space. Sara quickly averted her face, her pulse too fast. What was wrong with her?

“I wanted to tell you how nice you look,” he said slowly.

Sara’s head jerked up as her eyes went to his face, her brows lowering.

“Only I didn’t want to upset you. Seems like everything I do or say comes out wrong lately, so I decided to keep quiet. But you do, Sara. You look really nice.” He faced forward, turning off the light, blanketing them in black, and putting the truck in drive.

The silence was tense between them and it took a few attempts to say it, but she eventually got out a soft, “Thank you.”

He gave an almost unnoticeable nod of his head, messing with the radio as he drove. Lincoln found a hard rock station and drums and guitar took over the quiet. It took less than five minutes to get to Spencer’s house located at the edge of town. Sara sat there, staring at the red two-story house, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

It would be all wrong in there. Everyone would be the same except for him; he would be the missing link that should be there and wasn’t. Would their eyes be full of judgment, full of contempt? Would they shun her? Or would it be even worse than that; would she see pity in each pair of eyes that met hers?

“Breathe, Sara,” Lincoln murmured.

Sara glanced at him under the cover of night, knowing his gaze was trained on her. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it like a warm caress of understanding. Sara jerked her head up and down and reached for the doorknob.

They met at the front of the truck and when he wordlessly reached his hand out to her, Sara looked down at it for one heartfelt moment, feeling as though she was making an unknown decision of some kind. She clasped it and his fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. Just his hand around hers gave her strength to make her legs move, gave her courage to walk through the front door and into a scene from her past minus one. The most important one. Sara’s throat thickened and she blinked under the bright lights of the entryway.

Music played from a stereo system in the living room. It smelled like a variety of appetizers dunked in fragrant sauces. Conversations were loud and laughter rang out through different rooms of the downstairs of the house. A card game was going on at a table to the right and people were strewn about the furniture to the left of her in the living room. The interior of Spencer’s house was simple and uncluttered. Every room had the same theme. The walls were beige, the floors wood, and the furniture a forest green.



Sara became flushed as her eyes glanced over person after person. There were so many people. She felt dizzy, like she was suffocating. Lincoln squeezed her hand, his fingers interlaced with hers, and moved toward the kitchen, never once loosening his grip from her hand. Sara stared at his broad-shouldered back as she followed him, focusing on that.

“Lincoln!” Spencer jerked Sara’s anchor from her, causing his fingers to slide through hers and away. He slapped a hand on Lincoln’s back. “You made it. Where’s Sara?”

“Probably hiding behind me.”

Spencer’s head popped around Lincoln’s arm. His eyes were unfocused and bright, his face red. “Sara!” Sara was enveloped in a tight hug and panic threatened to kick in. The only other man to hold her other than her husband that didn’t completely drive her crazy had been Lincoln. Spencer was drunk. It didn’t matter. He knew she didn’t like to be touched. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Her eyes found Lincoln’s and he immediately pulled Spencer from her. “Sara’s glad you’re here too, aren’t you, Sara?” Lincoln grinned at her and she could breathe again. “I thought this was going to be a small get-together?” he asked Spencer.

“Well…” was all Spencer came up with, shrugging.

“I’m glad things are working out for you and Gracie,” Sara said. It wasn’t a lie; she was glad. But she wanted that second chance with her husband too and she’d never get it.

Spencer blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Me too. Where is she anyway?” He turned and swayed to the left, catching himself with a hand against the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back. I’m going to find her. I know she wanted to see you, Sara.”

Sara looked at Lincoln.

He shrugged. “Want a drink?”

She opened her mouth to say no, but then something grabbed ahold of her, something rebellious; something that wanted to tell the pain and self-loathing to suck it. Maybe, for one night, she could forget it all. At any rate, she could try. The thought oozed into her brain, taking over all the rational reasons why she shouldn’t drink, and guided her into saying, “Sure. Why not?”

Lincoln hesitated, obviously seeing something in her expression. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“For tonight, Lincoln, I’m going to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

Sara watched the people around her having a good time and looked at him. “I’m going to pretend everything is okay.”

Lincoln moved closer, leaning down so they were at eyelevel. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend. There’s no shame in being sad, Sara. We can go. Right now. I’ll take you home. We can hang out, watch a movie. We can stare at a wall. Hell, I don’t know. Don’t feel pressured to do anything, Sara. This is me. Not giving you any pressure.” He lifted his hands, palms out, and nodded at his hands. “See? Pressure free.”

Warmth trickled over her scalp and down her back as she gazed at Lincoln, feeling a little lost at the wonder of him. Sara had never noticed him before, not like this. Had he always been like this? Maybe he had. Or maybe circumstances had matured him, changed him. She broke their stare, her face heating up.

“If I need to go, Lincoln, I’ll tell you,” she said in a soft voice, playing with a button on the bottom of her vest.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

Sara watched people interact as she waited, her eyes landing on, and going back to, Mason Wells. Even though Spencer had mentioned him being there, she was still surprised to see him. He stood with his profile to her, talking to a pretty blond leaning against the wall near the bathroom. In his hand he held a glass containing clear liquid, sipping from it as he talked.

As though feeling her gaze on him, he looked up, catching her eye, and saluted her with his glass before continuing his conversation with the woman he was with. The lady laughed and Mason leaned down to kiss her. Sara swallowed, feeling…something. It wasn’t jealousy. Maybe envy? He’d moved on enough to be normal, something there was no logical way for her to accomplish. Well—Sara cocked her head as she watched him brush hair out of the woman’s eye—she wasn’t sure how normal he was; given the fact he talked to his deceased brother on a regular basis, but at least he’d managed to move on.

She turned away, feeling intrusive, feeling like she had no room to talk. The things Sara thought she heard and saw clearly made her no one to judge someone’s lucidity. The pull of the woman’s tinkling laughter was too much to ignore and she found herself staring at them once more. Was she it? The reason Mason had had to get past the guilt and pain and drugs. Would Sara’s redemption not be something, but someone, as well?

“What’s got you frowning so intently?”

Sara glanced at Lincoln. “That’s Mason. Over there.” She nodded toward the pair.

“The cross-dressing grief counselor?” Lincoln handed her an uncapped Leinenkugel Berry Weiss. The bottle was cold and had a layer of perspiration on it, chilling her hands.

She turned away from Mason, not wanting to think about her reality. The temptation to lose her truth in a haze of falsehood, if only briefly, was strong. Maybe one night of reprieve wasn’t too much to hope for.

“Yep. I don’t want to talk about him. Or any of it.”

“Then we won’t.”

Sara raised the bottle to her lips. The cold beer with a hint of fruit washed over her taste buds, and she was surprised by how good it tasted.

Lincoln watched her, saying after a while, “You aren’t going to get drunk and pass out from one beer and make me carry you out of here, are you? ‘Cause, I don’t know, you look pretty heavy.”

“Or, I don’t know, you’re weak,” she retorted, gulping down the beer. “It tastes good.” Sara shrugged.

“Touché. What do you want to do?”

Sara watched the card games and people interacting around them as she finished her beer. They stood in the middle of it all and yet were somehow on the outside of it. A horrible sound came from the direction of the living room and Sara realized someone had turned on the karaoke machine and was doing their version of singing.

Her eyes collided with his.

Lincoln’s face lit up and he laughed, nodding. “Yeah. That’s what we need to do. You wanna?”

Sara swallowed, taking in the way his gray eyes crinkled at the corners, the flash of straight, even teeth, the deep timbre of his laughter slamming into her like a bolt of life. Lincoln was becoming alive to her when no one else had since that night. Why? Why him? She frowned, averting her eyes from where they continually seemed to want to go.

He paused and Sara glanced up to catch the smile falling from his lips. “Sara? You okay?”

With a jerk of her head, she said, “Yes. No. Uh…can I get another beer?”

Lincoln took the empty bottle from her hand. “I’m only going to ask this one more time and then I’ll shut up about it, I promise.” He touched her cheek, bringing Sara’s eyes to his. “Are you sure?”

Animation shot through her, or maybe it was the beer hitting her already, but Sara’s body hummed with anticipation and her skin heated. She nodded. Sara was sure. Maybe she would regret it tomorrow, or even in an hour, but right now, she couldn’t regret wanting a piece of normalcy back in her upturned world.

They sang ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’. Sara stumbled a little at first, but then Lincoln grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, and when he sang each and every word in his clear deep voice with his eyes locked on hers, she relaxed and had fun. She even laughed and didn’t feel bad about it. Why Lincoln? was in the back of her mind, hovering, trying to ruin it for her, but she continually shoved it away until it was gone.

The applause and catcalls at the finish of it burned her cheeks with exhilaration and joy. She hadn’t felt so alive in so long. Sara set the microphone down on the coffee table and looked at Lincoln. He had this grin on his face that gave him a boyish, endearing look and made his eyes sparkle. Lincoln spontaneously grabbed her and spun her around. Sara tossed her head back and closed her eyes, laughing. She was dizzy, and maybe a little sick feeling, but she was feeling.

When he stopped, they swayed as they caught their balance. Sara looked up, smiling. Lincoln intently studied her face, causing Sara to stiffen. Why did he have to do that; ruin it by looking at her that way? He lowered his forehead to hers, his heartbeat thundering under her palm. She quickly pulled away and tucked hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear, averting her face from his gaze. Her throat was dry and her pulse chaotic.

“I, uh…” she began; needing to get away, to regroup from the things she couldn’t understand or accept, the things she didn’t want to or couldn’t see.

“Sara! Yoo-hoo!” Spencer waved from the couch, his arm slung around a pretty redhead’s shoulders. “Come here. Gracie wants to say hi.”

Gracie gave a small smile, looking exasperated with her intoxicated boyfriend. She had pale skin, freckles, and large green eyes. Gracie had always been nice to Sara, but as Sara approached the couple, she wondered if she still would be. Spencer stood and tugged his girlfriend to her feet, almost knocking them both over.

She rolled her eyes at Sara as she righted them. “Hello, Sara. It’s been a long time.”

Since the accident. Sara hadn’t seen her since the night of the accident.

She had trouble speaking. “Yes. Hi,” Sara choked out.

“How’ve you been?”

There was that look. That sympathetic, pitying look Sara hated. Without meaning to, she took a step away, as though that would somehow block her from Gracie’s expression. She bumped into the coffee table and when she would have fallen, Lincoln caught her. He raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, whatever semblance of fun she’d been having completely evaporated. This had been a bad idea. She’d known better.

“Sara needs to get out more,” Spencer slurred. “Have fun. Forget about stuff.”

Sara stared at him, stunned at what she was hearing, her hands fisting at her sides. She wanted to shout at him to keep his stupid opinions and useless words to himself. He didn’t understand anything. He didn’t know what it was like.

“Forget, Spencer?” Lincoln asked in a low voice, his entire body taut beside her. “We should just forget about it all and move on? Pretend it never happened? Pretend he never existed? Is that right?”

Spencer blinked his eyes, swaying a little. “No, man, that’s not what I meant. You know that. He was my best friend.”

Lincoln slowly nodded, his jaw clenched. “Was. Not is. Right. I get it.”

“Lincoln,” Sara murmured, placing a hand on his forearm. The muscles tensed beneath her fingers, holding fury, just barely, at bay. “He’s drunk. Let’s go, okay?”

“I didn’t mean anything, Lincoln!” Spencer called after them, sounding miserable, as Lincoln stormed toward the door, Sara following. She glanced back as Gracie put her hands to Spencer’s face, drawing his gaze to hers as she spoke to him. Sara’s heart squeezed and she turned away.

Mason stood up from the card table as she passed, wedging himself between her and the exit. “Everything okay, Sara? What’s going on?”

The door banged shut after Lincoln. Sara glanced at Mason, the urge to race after Lincoln impossible to ignore. “Spencer’s drunk and said something that pissed Lincoln off.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked through the window of the front door. “Are you sure it’s safe to ride with him?”

Instant heat shot through her and she gritted her teeth. “That’s my husband’s brother. Of course I’m safe.”

“I meant since he’s been drinking.”

“He had one beer.” The silence grew and Sara gestured impatiently. “I need to go.”

“Right. See you Sunday.” Mason turned away, back to his card game. She bit back a retort in the negative to his comment, its importance absolutely nothing compared to getting to Lincoln. Sara was out the door before he’d completely sat down.

It was raining. Cold, large drops of wetness soaked through her clothes even before she was to the darkened truck. The air was crisp with the scent of it. Where was he? Sara swiped a hand across her face and blinked her eyes through the sky’s shower. She peered into the truck. It was empty. Panic grabbed her chest and clenched. Sara whirled around, searching the surroundings for Lincoln, shivering.

The house glowed with lights, music and conversation floating out to her. Scraggly trees loomed in the yard, cloaking the scene with a layer of foreboding. It was silly to be worried about him, really. Obviously he hadn’t driven off in a rage. Lincoln would never abandon her. You thought the same about him. Sara flinched, refusing to dwell on that too much. He hadn’t meant to leave her; he’d had no choice. That’s what she told herself.

Sara turned in a slow circle, wondering where he could have gone to. Then she saw him. He stood on the other side of the truck, near the tailgate, facing away from her. Lincoln was hunched over, his back rigid. She slowly walked to him, her boots sinking into the soft ground, each step filling her with something. Relief. And something more, something Sara couldn’t put a name to, not yet. Her hand trembled as it reached up, just barely grazing his hard shoulder.

Lincoln whirled around, his face cast in shadow, but not enough to hide the way his eyes zeroed in on her face and locked there, as if she had the power to ground him, as if she could heal what wounded him. His eyes were tortured and Sara’s heart hurt seeing that look in them. He hid it better than she, but he was hurting just as much as she was.

A tick in his jaw pulled her gaze to it. Sara focused on that, her breaths short and hurried. They were changing; she and Lincoln. She felt it, and it scared her. It terrified her. She didn’t know how or why it was happening, and that scared her more.

“I miss him.”

Her eyes jerked to Lincoln’s.

“I want my brother back,” he said in a ragged voice.

She nodded. “I know.”

“But he’s not coming back.”

Sara wanted to deny his words, but logically, how could she? She looked down at her rain-covered boots, saying nothing.

Lincoln sighed loudly. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

The drive was silent and awkward. When the truck pulled up to the house, Sara stared at the dark structure, thinking even in the daytime it was still dark. His light was gone from it, tossed away from one mistake it had taken a second to act out, and a lifetime to relive. She grabbed the door handle and pushed.

Lincoln’s hand grabbed her arm; his touch like fire on her skin, stopping her. She looked back, his features obscured in the dark. His hand fell away. “Good night, Sara.”

Her held breath left her in an exhalation. “Good night, Lincoln.”

 

 


 

Guilt was her companion when she awoke. Sara sleepily opened her eyes, a creak in her neck as she sat up in the recliner, flipping the blanket off her. Her head hurt and she winced at the bright sunlight streaming in through a window. She’d laughed and smiled and had fun without him, in spite of the situation. How could she have done that? Sara covered her face with her hands as the night’s events came back in a wave of regret. She had no right to live, to enjoy anything, not when he was where he was and she where she was. It should have been her. Why hadn’t it been her?

“There’s a reason for everything.”

Sara went still, dropping her hands from her face, and slowly raised her head. The room was empty. She really was losing her mind. Was that what grief did? Made a person go insane if they couldn’t deal with it?

“Sometimes you can’t see it and it doesn’t make sense, but eventually, in time, it does. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s bad. Something good happens because of it.”

She shot to her feet as a sob left her, whirling around in a circle, searching for the face that went along with the voice she heard. Sara grabbed her hair and pulled, the sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. Or maybe they’d already been there. They always seemed to be. Sara’s eyes were overworking waterfalls of grief.

Her hands shook and she stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the wall and clutching it to her. Don’t call him. She had to call him. You’re becoming too dependent on him. Sara slammed the phone back, her attention drawn to the scrawled handwriting on a Post-It stuck to the fridge.

The phone rang, making her jump. Sara swallowed, staring at it, her heart pounding. Her hand slowly reached out to pick it up. “Hello?” left her in a choked whisper.

“Hello, is this Sara Walker? This is Georgia from Dish Network calling to see if you’d like to reactivate your account with us.”

Sara’s shoulders slumped and a sigh of relief left her. “No. Thank you.”

“Now—“

She hung up the phone, resting with her back against the cold fridge. Sara didn’t understand how everything in the house reminded her of him so much when she’d removed everything she’d thought would do so as a way to deal with the pain. Didn’t matter; he was in the woodwork, the air, her. She couldn’t escape him; she couldn’t escape the ache that had made a home inside her chest. That ache was him, for him, and would never leave, not while she had a breath left in her body. It wasn’t that Sara wanted to forget him, never that, she just wanted it to not hurt every time she thought of him.

She tried not to think about it, and sometimes, Sara forgot. It made her feel terrible that the escape from the past was like a blessing. She’d lost him and she’d lost a part of him before that. Was Sara not meant to have any of him? Her eyes went to the room down the hall and a barrage of memories hit her, one after another, bringing her to her knees. And along with the remembrances came him. Always.

“We’ll have more babies, Sara. We’ll have a houseful of little munchkins that will drive us absolutely bat shit crazy and we’ll be worn down and exhausted to the point of never wanting to have sex again.

“We won’t speak; we’ll grunt. Talking will require too much energy. Your legs will be hairy and your hair a matted mess and I’ll get a gut and have dark circles under my eyes and we’ll be so unbelievably happy it won’t matter.” His voice cracked and he paused, exhaling deeply, his hands tight on her face, holding her gaze with his.

“Don’t cry, Sara. Okay, cry if you want to, but know that baby knew you, if only for a moment. That baby knew you loved him or her, and that baby is loving you even now. And we’ll have more babies and they’ll love you too. So cry if you have to and be sad.” He swallowed. “But don’t lose hope. Don’t give up. Don’t hate yourself. And don’t forget what I just said.”

Tears streamed down her face and Sara’s feet moved in the direction of the closed door. So many closed doors. What did she think she was accomplishing? Did she really think she could close away the memories and the hurt inside a room? It wasn’t working, if that’s what her subconscious was trying to do. Sara’s hand reached for the doorknob and turned.

They’d painted the walls celery green. The curtains were blue with yellow stripes. In the middle of the room sat an unused crib made out of pale wood. A cream and pale green checked comforter rested on the sheeted mattress, never to know the feel of a soft little being or be snuggled in a tiny hand. It smelled like baby powder in the room and Sara inhaled deeply. She tweaked the teddy bear mobile and watched as it gently swayed back and forth. It had been too soon to know what sex the baby was, but they’d been excited and hadn’t wanted to wait to decorate, so everything had been made neutral.

After she’d lost the baby, Sara would find herself in the room, just staring, not really seeing. He’d come and get her, wrap her in his arms, and bring her back from the brink of nothingness that had threatened to erase all she was. He wasn’t here to do it this time. He wasn’t here to do it this time because he was the one she’d lost and mourned. Sara wondered who, if anyone; would save her this time. Maybe she wasn’t savable. Maybe she was already gone, like her baby, like her parents, like her husband.

***

 

“Well?”

Mason gave her a pointed look Sara ignored. She poured herself a mug of coffee after handing him one. “Well what?”

“Show me your creation.”

He was irritating and bossy, but at least Mason didn’t hide anything. Sara had to respect that about him. He didn’t try to avoid the world, like her. Still, she wasn’t ready to talk, not about herself, not about her husband.

“That woman…at Spencer’s, was she the reason you found to move on? To live?” Sara fiddled with the hem of her shirt as she waited for Mason to answer.

“Nope.”

“Then who was?”

“I’ll tell you, after you show me your painting.”

Sara swallowed as her gaze went to the closed door. It was only a piece of canvas. It was only a piece of canvas that symbolized her whole world and all she’d lost; all she’d had at one time and no longer did.

“How did you and Spencer meet?” she hedged.

Half of Mason’s mouth quirked. “He arrested me.”

“I’m not really surprised to hear that,” she muttered.

“I’m not really surprised to hear you say that either.”

Her lips tried to smile at Mason’s dry tone and she bit the inside of her lower lip to halt it. He didn’t need to know she found him a little amusing. Then he’d probably never go away.

“What did he arrest you for?”

Mason sighed, rubbing his face. “I really don’t think it’s necessary for you to know.”

“That bad, huh?”

His hands dropped from his face. “It was in my, quote unquote, bad stage. I was drunk. I peed in public. On Main Street, actually. Right in front of the cop shop.”

Sara snorted. “Nice.”

“Oh yes. It was my way of sticking it to the man and all that.”

“Sounds like it was counterproductive.”

“Maybe. Slightly.” Mason grinned, then sobered. “Just so you know, Spencer feels bad about the other night. He said he called Lincoln.”

Sara hadn’t seen Lincoln since Friday night. He’d stopped by yesterday and she’d sat in the dark until he’d driven away. Not that she hadn’t already been sitting in the dark; wallowing in stifling emotions she never fully escaped. Or if she did escape them, they came back even worse. The phone had rung intermittently and she’d let it. Sara hadn’t had the strength to do much of anything. Yesterday had been a bad day, to summarize.

“That’s good,” she mumbled, picking at the jagged edge of an uneven nail on her thumb, thoughts locked on Lincoln.

She’d wanted to open the door; she’d forced herself not to pick up the phone. Sara felt awful about the way she’d avoided him, but not awful enough to call him back or go see him. She was toxic and Lincoln needed to stay away from her. He was better off by himself. He’d hate her before too long anyway. It was best to distance herself from him. Sara wondered if he’d let her.

Mason rubbed his forehead, letting out a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. I know you want to be alone so you can hate yourself in peace, but…that’s not going to happen. You have people that care about you. You have people that are worried about you. Humor them. Talk to me. Open up. Did you paint, Sara?”

Sara swallowed, giving an almost imperceptible nod.

“Did you feel better afterward?”

She thought of how the urge to create had taken over, how she’d been mindless with the need to paint and hadn’t felt or thought anything for joyous seconds or minutes. Then she remembered the letter she’d seen on the floor after dropping the paintbrush.

Sara looked up, meeting his eyes. “No. I felt crazy.”

Mason frowned. “What? Why?”

She pushed herself out of the chair and stared out the kitchen window above the sink, not really seeing anything. “You want to know what I’m thinking? You want me to open up to you, talk to you?”

“It doesn’t have to be me, Sara. Anyone. Talk to someone. Talk to Lincoln if you’re the most comfortable with him. You two seem close. Just don’t keep it all inside. It’ll ravage you from the inside out if you let it.”

It already had. It had torn her up. She was a bloody, throbbing mess of pain; a wound that never healed.

“Can you do something for me, Sara?” Mason stood and walked toward the door, pulling his coat on and then his boots.

“What?”

“Can you try to forgive yourself?”

Her answer was immediate and needed no thought. It was a resounding, “No.”

He sighed, opening the door. “Well, that right there is your first mistake. See you next week,” Mason mocked, shutting the door behind him.

***

 

“Why didn’t you answer the door or phone?” his voice immediately demanded, gruff with annoyance.

Sara inhaled deeply, something as close to peace as she was allowed trickling over her at the sound of his deep voice, even if he didn’t sound happy with her. Didn’t matter. Her breathing evened, her pulse steadied. All from that one sentence.

“So you’re going to do that again, are you? Avoid me? Not talk to me? Fine. Try it. I’ll keep calling and I’ll keep showing up. Next time you pull something like that I’m not leaving, Sara. It was too cold yesterday to hang around outside, but next time, I’ll be prepared.”

Lincoln paused, picking up steam as he went. “Next time, I’ll wear my snowmobile garb. Doesn’t matter if I haven’t worn it since high school and it doesn’t fit me anymore and I’m in dire need of new gear. I’ll still wear it. So you’ll make me look ridiculous on top of it all. Is any of this sinking in?”

A small smile started to manipulate her lips. Sara rested her elbows on the table and held her forehead in one hand, the other holding the phone to her ear.


Date: 2015-04-20; view: 605


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