Take Care, Sara by Lindy Zart_ 13 page

Sara drew in a shaky breath, briefly closing her eyes as she nodded. “I think so. Yes.”

Mason walked to her, grasping her cold hands in his warm ones. “You’re strong enough. Know that. Believe it.” He squeezed her hands before releasing them.

“Why are you so adamant about helping me? It’s not like I’m paying you and I know I’m not exactly your idea of fun.”

“You remind me of me, only more melodramatic.” Mason winked, moving toward the door.

“I’m melodramatic?” she demanded, incredulous.

He paused, his hand on the door handle. “Yes. I think that’s what I said, didn’t I?” Mason nodded. “Yes. I did say that. You define melodrama, Sara dear. You should have been an actress. See you next week.”

Mason had rendered her speechless.

***

Sara marked each day off on the calendar next to the refrigerator, wondering when that elusive day would come when she would be healed, when the pain and guilt would be gone. One month. It had been over thirty days since his body was lowered into the ground.

She set the black marker down on the counter, staring at the bold X on January 2nd. Another day down and still no relief. Sara ran a hand through her stringy hair, not even sure when she’d last washed it. She shuffled toward the phone, staring at it. She hadn’t heard from Lincoln or seen him in almost a week. Maybe he’d finally given up on her. Maybe he finally blamed her.

Sara had been waiting, the thought always in her mind, no matter how far away she tried to shove it, that the day would come when Lincoln realized everything he’d lost was because of her. It would kill her, losing Lincoln on top of losing her husband. It would take what was left of her life and end it. She swallowed painfully and turned away from the phone. Staring at it wouldn’t make it ring. Thinking of him wouldn’t make him appear. Remembering her husband wouldn’t make him alive.

The knock at the door was soft and Sara almost didn’t hear it. She paused, her head tilted, as the faint knock came again. Sara moved toward the door, not sure who it would be, and almost hoping it would be no one. Her nerves came to life at a name that slithered through her mind: Lincoln. A glance at the clock showed her it was close to eight; late enough to try to shut the world out.

Sara hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. She could ignore it, lie down, and pretend no one had ever been on the other side of the front door. Only she couldn’t, because she knew who it was. Somehow she could feel him, feel his body heat even with a door between them. Even if he hated her, Sara didn’t have the power to ignore Lincoln. She’d rather deal with his loathing than his absence.

And so she opened the door.

Flint-colored eyes set in a face pale with strain stared at her from the shadows of night. It had only been days since Sara had last seen Lincoln, but his cheekbones seemed more prominent, his jaw more angular than square. Stubble covered his jawline and his dark waves were long again, giving him a disheveled look. The death of his brother was physically ravaging him; stripping him down to someone Sara didn’t know. Or maybe she did. He was her.

“You look horrible,” he said in a gruff voice.

Sara couldn’t get mad. She knew it was true.

“Can I come in?”

She nodded, not moving; her stomach churning as she imagined all the hateful words about to leave his lips. One dark eyebrow lifted and Sara flushed, backpedaling into the house to give him room to enter. Lincoln inhaled deeply, his eyes trailing over the kitchen to the right and the living room they stood in. Sara wondered if he saw his brother in the smallest of details, like she did.

He looked at her, his features impassive, shoving his hands into the pockets of his green hooded sweatshirt. Wisconsinite through and through, Lincoln rarely wore a jacket, even on the coldest of days.

“How’ve you been?” Lincoln muttered something and glanced away. “Don’t answer that. Stupid question.”

“Are you okay, Lincoln?” she forced out, immediately regretting her words. Of course he wasn’t okay.

“No. I’m not okay. You’re not either.”

Sara shook her head, looking at the floor.

“My parents left yesterday.” Her head jerked up and her eyes searched Lincoln’s face. “They wanted to hang around until after Christmas.” His mouth turned down. “It was awful, Sara. Christmas. My mom cried, like usual. My dad barely said anything. And the whole time, all I could think about, was you. If you even knew it was Christmas. If you even cared. What you were doing. If you were alone. I hated the thought of you being alone.”

“It’s—it’s okay, Lincoln,” she whispered, turning toward the couch. Sara hadn’t realized it was Christmas until it was the day after. She was glad she hadn’t known. Christmas had always been with the Walker family. A stab of pain in her chest acknowledged that that was no longer the case.

“They don’t blame you, Sara.”

“Don’t lie, Lincoln,” she said wearily.

“They’re just grieving and aren’t doing a very good job of it. That’s all. I just…I don’t want you to think they hate you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lincoln rubbed his head and sighed, casting a bleary-eyed look her way. “It does matter, Sara. It matters to me, okay? I hate the thought of you hurting any more than you already are.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I—“ Lincoln cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut.

“What, Lincoln? What is it?”

He shook his head. “Here. This is for you.” Lincoln dug into the pocket of his sweatshirt, pulling something blue and twinkling from it.

Sara took it, her eyes watering as she clutched the angel ornament to her chest. It was smooth and warm from being inside Lincoln’s pocket. She tried to say thank you, but her throat was tight with pain.

“Merry Christmas, Sara,” Lincoln said in a low voice, reaching out to gently touch her cheek.

Sara looked up, wanting to say something, anything, but Lincoln was already leaving, taking his warmth with him. Don’t leave me, she inwardly pleaded, but said nothing. He wasn’t hers to keep. Sara’s fingers tightened on the smooth crystal ornament, holding it to her chest. This was, though. This Sara could keep.

***

The house was a mausoleum; a gravesite for him and their baby and the love they’d had. Sara felt trapped within its walls at the same time she felt strangely safe in the past. But today the walls were closing in on her and she had to escape, just for a little bit, until the outside world became too much and she had to retreat back to the house full of ghosts that somehow felt right when everything else felt wrong.

It was the middle of February and it showed outside. The streets were slush, the yards white with packed snow. Sara wrapped a heavy scarf around her neck and put on gloves and a coat. She shivered; her breath frosting as she exhaled. It wasn’t exactly great weather for a walk, but it didn’t matter. The thought of being inside any longer was maddening.

She was numb on the outside like she normally was on the inside. It was still better than being inside the house. When had it begun to feel more like a jail than a refuge? He was always on her mind, but something had changed and now it was like everything was distanced from her, distorted. Her thoughts, her feelings, the memories; they all seemed to be someone else’s and Sara was watching them on a movie projector. A bystander. When had that happened? Why had that happened?

Sara did the usual things, but in a haze of unreality. She bought groceries without seeing people, without remembering if she said a word to anyone while in the store. She drove places, not remembering the drive to them. Sara did what was required of her to survive, but that was all. She’d lost more weight and even she could tell it was to the point of unhealthy. She had no desire to do anything other than what was absolutely necessary. Even that was a chore. It didn’t matter what Mason or Spencer or anyone else said to her. Nothing and no one was getting through to Sara.

Except Lincoln.

He was the one person able to pierce the layer of emotionlessness wrapped tightly around Sara. When Lincoln was near he forced her to feel things, to live. Why didn’t he just give up on her? Because you need him and he needs you. Sara hated that voice. She didn’t know if it was hers, or his, or God’s, but she wished it would go away.

She’d spent almost as much time with Lincoln as she had her husband; while they were dating, and even later, after they were married. He’d been at their house more than his own. They’d had their own form of communication, riddled with good-natured arguing and sarcasm. He’d been her buddy; the person she laughed with the most, especially since her husband didn’t get most of their humor. But Sara hadn’t needed him, not like now. She couldn’t breathe unless he was with her and that scared her. When had he gone from her husband’s brother to her very air?

She crossed the street and walked along the shoveled sidewalk, waving at an elderly man when he called out a greeting. Sara didn’t really know her neighbors. She’d never been too social, and after everything happened, she’d turned into a recluse. Going out in public made her nauseous. It seemed like everywhere she went people were watching her, judging her. They knew her secrets, they knew what she did. They knew the life she’d indirectly taken.

Sara gasped as pain struck her heart. She lowered her head as she hurried her pace, eyes on her boots as she walked. There was no destination in mind. If there was a literal place that could remove the agony in her soul, or even her soul and somehow heal it before putting it back, that was where Sara would walk to. She blinked at the edge of the sidewalk, surprised to find herself across the street from the Dollar General store. The parking lot was busy, cars going in and out of it. The building was pale stone with the signature yellow and black Dollar General sign above the door.

“Sara!”

Sara looked to the left of the store. Gracie, Spencer’s girlfriend, waved from where she stood next to a tan Buick. She smiled and beckoned to Sara. Her legs froze along with the rest of her. When Sara just looked at her, too scared to move, Gracie’s smile fell from her face and she looked away. When she looked up again, determination was etched into her pretty features. She began to walk.

Cold seeped through her clothes as she waited, apprehensive. Gracie’s fiery hair haloed her pretty face, her eyes wide and fixated on Sara. Her stride was purposeful. She wore a green jacket the same shade as her eyes and jeans. Gracie stopped before Sara, searching her face for something. Sara fought the urge to look away.

“I’m not going to ask how you’re doing because I imagine you’re pretty miserable, and frankly, I would be too. I’m not going to give my condolences because I know you’re tired of hearing those from people. I’m not even going to judge you for your apparent lack of manners.” She swallowed; her hair fire around her face. “All I’m going to do is invite you to have a cup of coffee with me. Would you like to do that, Sara?”

Sara blinked, not sure what she’d been expecting to hear from Gracie. That had not been it. She didn’t know what to say. “I…”

“I’m your friend. Maybe not a close friend, maybe not a friend you’ve had all that long, but a friend just the same.”

Her chest tightened at the honest, earnest look on Gracie’s face. Gracie considered her a friend? Sara blew out a noisy breath. “Sure. Yes. That would be nice.”

Gracie smiled. “Great! I’ll drive.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Sara told her as they walked.

“I know. I’d be a bitch on wheels in your position. I’d pretty much hate the world. Like I said, I don’t judge. I can’t imagine how you feel. I won’t even try.”

Sara got into the car, feeling awkward. It smelled like cinnamon and yellow Dollar General shopping bags littered the back.

“Timberlane okay?”

Sara nodded. The coffee shop had once been a bar that had been renovated into the character-filled establishment it was today. It had vaulted tin ceilings and an eclectic, but stylish collection of furniture. Its coffee was robust and full of flavor; much better than gas station coffee.

The drive from the store to the coffee shop was a short one, but even so, it seemed to drag. Sara didn’t know Gracie that well. She didn’t know what to say to her. Sara searched her brain for conversation starters and drew a blank. Luckily Gracie seemed to have an overflowing database of information to discuss.

“Spencer has this crazy camping idea for summer,” Gracie stated as she pulled the car into an empty parking spot.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He wants to get everyone together. Lincoln, Mason, you, whoever else, and go to River of Lakes in Bagley for a week. Or maybe just a weekend. You still have your camper?”

“I call it Love Bug. Can you guess why?” His eyes twinkled at her.

Sara looked around the compact, but fairly new camper. The furniture, curtains, and carpet were cream and tan. It had a clean linen smell to it. “It’s full of bugs?”

“No. You and I are going to fill it with love.”

“So why the bug part? And why do you insist on naming everything?”

He grinned, his pale blue eyes flashing, darkening. “Like Tater and Tot?” He gave her chest a pointed look.

She crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Like that.”

“They’re endearments. And bug and love rhyme. A little. Let’s break in the couch.”

“Let’s not.” Sara’s body warmed up, a pulse of need forming inside her, silently calling her a liar.

“Do you like it?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her so Sara’s back was flush with his hard chest. Her heart began to pound, her palms turned damp with want.

“I do. Let the camping adventures begin,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Soon enough. But first…” He spun her around, his lips finding hers, seducing and manipulating them. Desire bloomed in her, flooded through her body, and Sara was lost in it.

“Sara?”

She blinked and looked up. “What?”

Gracie stared at Sara, her brows drawn quizzically. “Where were you just now?”

Stuck in the past, like almost always. She wordlessly shook her head. “Nowhere.”

Gracie turned the key and the engine shut off. “So do you still have it?” At Sara’s confused look, she added, “The camper.”

Her chest tightened. “Yes. I still have it.” He’d surprised her with it one spring day, saying it would be their summer home away from home. They’d camped a lot with the 2008 Mallard. Sara thought if she entered the camper the remembrances would entangle her in their ‘never agains’ and keep her there forever.

“Awesome. That would be fun, I think.” Gracie opened the door and got out.

Sara couldn’t think of the upcoming summer, of months from the day she was currently on. It was hard to get past the present and have any desire to think of the future. She got out of the car and followed Gracie into the coffee shop, the strong scent of it teasing her senses as soon as the door opened. Gracie chattered as they placed their orders and continued when they took their seats at a small table along the wall.

“You and Spencer are doing well?” she asked, searching for something to talk about.

Gracie smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Yes. We can’t seem to stay away from one another for too long. It’s—Oh, hey! There’s Lincoln.”

Her head jerked to the side fast, Sara’s eyes immediately scanning the inhabitants of the business. Something pulsed through her, something intense and unknown and scary. When her eyes found him, and it didn’t take long; seconds, really, the unnamed feeling grew, stole her breath, and forced her heartbeat into overdrive. His back was to them, broad-shouldered and clad in a brown jacket with an outline of a hammer and the company name on it: Walker Building. Her eyes tripped over him, noting his messy hair and the slight hunch to his shoulders. Even from behind, he looked tired, worn down. Sara wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go.

“Lincoln! Over here!”

He turned, his chiseled features drawn. Lincoln’s eyes went from Gracie to Sara and they flashed, darkened, with emotion as they landed on her. His gaze lingered on Sara, the longer he stared at her the more uncomfortable Sara became. She shifted in her chair, wanting to look away, but something was keeping her from being able to do so. Lincoln finally broke eye contact, grabbing his coffee off the counter.

“What was that?” Gracie asked slowly, eyes fixated on Sara.

Face burning; she took a sip of her coffee, the temperature scalding. Sara quickly gulped it down, gasping, “What was what?”

“The way he looked at you. It was—I don’t know—intense.”

“It was nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled quickly. It wasn’t a lie. Sara had no idea what was or wasn’t between them. Nothing. There was nothing. Yet that didn’t seem entirely true either.

A chair scraped against the wood floor and Lincoln was beside her, elbows on the table, hands cupping a to-go cup of coffee. The heat of his eyes on her was hotter than the coffee she’d just choked down. She inhaled his scent, felt a sliver of peace wisp its way through her.

“Sworn off the gas station coffee?”

Sara smiled faintly. “You too, apparently.”

“My guts couldn’t take it anymore.” He turned to Gracie. “How’s it going, Gracie?”

“Good. Sara and I were just talking about camping.”

“Really? What about it?”

Gracie tucked hair behind her ear as she said, “Spencer wanted to get everyone together to go camping this summer. You up for it?”

Sara glanced at Lincoln out of the corner of her eye, knowing his gaze was on her again. Their eyes collided and broke apart. “You know me. Always up for a good time.” Even his voice was exhausted.

“How’s work?” she blurted, struggling for normalcy.

“Annoying. Wanna come be annoyed with me?”

Sara gave a short laugh, shaking her head. When Lincoln didn’t say anything else, she looked at him. “You’re serious?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I’m measuring a couple houses this afternoon. You can take notes for me.”

“You’re measuring houses in the snow?”

“Yep,” he said cheerfully. “Best time ever.”

“You should go, Sara,” Gracie urged.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Might be good for you.”

“To freeze?”

“To not be home. Alone.”

“Come on, Sara, all the cool kids are doing it,” Lincoln said quietly, mockingly.

Sara looked from Gracie’s encouraging expression to Lincoln’s shuttered one. “Okay.” She shrugged. “Why not?”

“We should get together again, Sara. Maybe go to a movie or something?”

She stood up at the same time Lincoln did, looking at Gracie. She looked hopeful, her expression twisting something inside Sara. “I would like that,” she answered honestly, emotion closing her throat a little.

Gracie smiled brightly, getting up as well. “Great. I’ll call you. Have fun.” She waved and walked off, leaving Sara and Lincoln.

“Let’s go, partner,” Lincoln said, slinging an arm around her shoulders and aiming them toward the door. It was probably wrong of her to enjoy the feel of even just his arm around her so much, but she did. It was a little bit of completeness in the broken shards of her life.

When they got to the silver truck, he said one word: “Drive.”

Sara jerked back from the truck, shaking her head. “No,” she said faintly. Sara’s hands began to tremble around the to-go cup she held and she stepped away from the curb, closer to the coffee shop.

The streets were busy with traffic, the sounds of tires slugging through wet snow loud in her ears. The coffee taste in her mouth went bitter as Lincoln studied her, a determined set to his jaw.

“The house I have to measure is two miles outside of town,” he said softly. Lincoln had one hand braced on the hood of the truck, the other held his coffee. His body was angled toward her, as though he thought she could gather strength from him. Usually she could. Not this time.

“I can’t, Lincoln. I haven’t—I haven’t driven with someone with me since…since…” Nausea rolled through her and Sara swallowed back bile. Her skin was clammy, her heart beating too fast. Sara tossed the coffee cup in a nearby garbage can, the thought of drinking it making her feel worse.

“I know.” Lincoln nodded, straightening as he set his coffee on the hood of the truck. He moved away from the truck and closer to her. The sidewalk gave her a little height on him so that they were almost at eyelevel. Still Sara had to crane her neck back to clearly see his features. Lincoln’s face was closed, revealing nothing of what he was feeling. “It’s two miles, Sara. Not so far.”

“It’s too far, Lincoln! It’s too far. What if something happened? I can’t. No.” Sara shook her head, hair sticking to her mouth. She brushed it away, turning her face from Lincoln’s intense gaze. “What if you got hurt? No.”

Lincoln touched her chin with his free hand, the fingers cool and calloused; familiar, turning her face toward him. “I’ll make you a deal: you drive us to the edge of town and then I’ll take over. Okay?”

She exhaled loudly, muttering, “Why do you make me do these things?”

“I make you do them for you, Sara,” he said, his eyes serious.

“Why?”

Instead of answering, Lincoln pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to her. They jangled as they connected with her hand. Sara held them to her chest, watching as Lincoln bent his tall frame into the passenger side of the truck.

Sara’s stomach flipped as she slowly walked to the driver’s side. She paused by the door, touching a hand to her damp forehead. It’s just through town. Lincoln stared back, eyebrows lifted, waiting. She inhaled slowly, deeply, opening the door to the truck. The interior was still warm, though the truck was off. It smelled like Lincoln, his scent a security blanket as she got behind the wheel.

Her hand shook as she tried to put the key in the ignition and Sara almost dropped the keys. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the horrible swirling sensation in her stomach, and finally got the key in the ignition. Sara wouldn’t look at Lincoln; she couldn’t. She felt him, felt his eyes on her, felt his confidence in her, and her eyes stung because of it. To have such unwavering faith in her; it was humbling.

“Is your seatbelt on?” she asked in a low voice, clicking hers into place.

“Of course.”

She gave him a look.

“I don’t want to get a ticket,” he added.

The truck slowly, jerkily, backed out into traffic, Sara’s knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. She forced air in and out of her lungs, trying to focus on that instead of how hard her heart was pounding. It wasn’t such a big deal. Sara drove herself where she needed to go and was okay with it. She knew it was irrational to have such a fear; especially when it was only through Boscobel, but that didn’t stop the apprehension from turning her into a trembling mess of nerves. This was different; she wasn’t alone this time.

“Remember the day on the river when we went tubing a few summers back?”

Sara shifted the gear from reverse to forward, eyes darting over cars and trucks in the immediate vicinity. “Yes. What about it?” She stalled at the Stop sign, not wanting to go at the same time another vehicle intended to. A horn honked and she jumped, glancing in the rearview mirror at the large white truck behind her.

“I think it’s your turn to go,” Lincoln said dryly.

The truck crept forward. Lincoln laughed, which caused her face to burn, but Sara ignored him, concentrating on driving.

“Remember how Cole was determined to knock us off the tube?”

The sun was burning down on them. The inner tube bobbed up and down in the small waves made by other boats, splashing warm brown river water on her. Sara smelled seaweed and sand, the faint scent of fish in the air. She was on her stomach, one arm under Lincoln’s hard chest, the other pulled toward her; her and Lincoln’s arms crisscrossed over each other’s, both hands locked on the handles. Her lifejacket dug into her ribs, slightly raised over her shoulders from the way she was laying.

Water glistened down Lincoln’s face as he turned his head to grin at her, his gray eyes sparkling silver in the sunlight. “Ready?”

Sara glanced up at the white and green pontoon boat; saw Cole watching her, a certain gleam in his crystal blue eyes. His light brown hair was streaked with gold from the sun; his body tanned and toned from working outdoors on an almost daily basis. A slow smile curved his lips, turning Sara into a fiery ball of need. Her eyes stayed locked with his, promises communicated back and forth. He winked at her.

“You know he’s going to try to dump us, don’t you?”

“I told him not to.” Sara glanced at Lincoln; saw his eyes were on her.

“He still will. You know that, right?”

She locked her jaw, nodding. “I do.” Cole laughed, raising his bottle of water in a salute and turning to the seat behind the dashboard of the boat.

“Wrap your leg around mine.”

Sara shot Lincoln a look. The boat started, a low purr filling the air.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “I know you’d like any excuse to touch me and I really shouldn’t encourage your behavior, but unless you want to take a bath in the not so clean Mississippi, you’ll wrap your leg around mine.”

The boat started to move, gaining speed as it went.

“Sara.” Without thinking, she edged closer to Lincoln, his muscled leg twining around hers. “Hang on,” he shouted as the boat slammed forward, the tube gliding along the river after it.

“You can pull over now.”

She blinked. Trees and rolling hills loomed ahead. They were almost in the country. Sara shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. Just tell me where to go.”

Lincoln didn’t speak for a time, and then said, “Okay.”

“Why’d you bring that up?”

“What?”

“The river. Tubing.”

“It was the first thing I could think of to take your mind off driving. Did it help?”

She nodded, taking a slow breath. “Yes.”

“Good. Turn left up here. The first house on the right. It’s blue. See it?”

“I see it.”

“And we’re here.”

Sara turned the key and the engine went silent. Her taut nerves were slightly relaxed, her breathing close to normal. She let her hands drop to her lap, staring at the red barn to the left of the house. A chicken darted past as she watched.

“Way to go, Sara Lynne.” He gently slugged her shoulder with his fist.

She turned to him. “Why that memory, Lincoln?”

Lincoln shrugged, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I told you—“

“He dumped us. He dumped us and then I hit the water and was sucked down; my lifejacket got stuck on a limb underwater. I couldn’t get it loose and I was fighting to undo the lifejacket. I even thought maybe I would die.” She was breathing fast, the words stumbling from her lips.

“Sara—“

“You found me. Somehow. You got the lifejacket off me and you pulled me from the water. The boat was coming back around. Your arms were locked around me tight. You had to be tired, but you never let me go. He was frantic, hauling me up first, hugging me, kissing me, telling me he was sorry. You got into the boat, you spun him around, and you punched him in the face. Spencer and Gracie were there, on the boat. Spencer had to pull you off him. You shouted things.” She suddenly stopped, a lump in her throat. Sara couldn’t say anymore.

“I told him he was an idiot.”

Other things. You said other things too. But all she said was, “Right.”

“Ready to work?”

“Lead the way, boss.” Sara followed Lincoln as he crossed the yard to get to the house, but her mind was still stuck on that day.

“You knew she didn’t want to be dumped! What the fuck were you thinking? She could have drowned. Fucking idiot,” Lincoln snapped and turned away from his brother, incalculable rage flashing in his eyes, stiffening his jaw.

Sara watched him storm to the back of the boat, ignoring Gracie when she tried to talk to him. She’d never seen him so furious before; never. Lincoln’s red plaid swim trunks were stuck to his legs like another layer of skin, his broad back taut. She was stunned by his reaction. Looking at Cole, Sara knew he was too.

Cole turned to her, his features tight. “I’m so sorry, Sara. I didn’t—I was just having some fun. You’re okay?”

She wiped water from her face, nodding. The outdoor carpet of the boat prickled her soft flesh and she moved to stand. “I’m okay.”

He helped her up, wrapping his arms around her. “If anything had happened to you—“

“It didn’t,” she broke in, eyes on Lincoln. He stared out at the endless water, profile carved from stone. He’d isolated himself from the rest of them, as though he didn’t want their taint of irresponsibility near him, or maybe just his brother’s.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 482