Take Care, Sara by Lindy Zart_ 15 page

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 change 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.

Sara put the car in park, and turned the key. The engine went silent. She stared at the log-sided building with apprehension. The house was a house that held memories and pain and love. It held Lincoln too. Her pulse tripped and her heart raced, making Sara dizzy from them overworking.

It had been two weeks and one day since she’d last seen Lincoln, and every day she’d picked up the phone to call him and instead had hung it back up. Sara was a mess. Her thoughts, her feelings…she didn’t even know if what she felt was real. That was what bothered her the most. What if he was the replacement brother? What if none of it was real and one day Sara would realize it? She’d end up hurting Lincoln and that thought killed her. It literally made her chest ache. Sara didn’t even know what she felt for Lincoln. It was all jumbled together and indiscernible. She only knew she thought of him every day and there was hollowness inside her the sight of him could fill.

Sara quietly knocked on the door. His truck was parked in the driveway so she knew Lincoln was home. She waited and when he didn’t answer, she let herself in. The scent of coffee lingered. It was silent in the house and no lights were on, casting grayness to everything in the house. Her stomach kept turning over. She didn’t know if Lincoln would be happy to see her or not; probably not, but it had been too long. Sara needed to see him.

The straggly Christmas tree caught her eye. There was a twinge in her chest at the sight of it with the ornaments and white lights she and Lincoln had put on it. She couldn’t believe Lincoln had left it up so long or that it was still alive. Her stride was awkward, hesitant, as she made her way up the stairs. To the right was Lincoln’s bedroom. The door was open. Her insides jumbled at the sight of him. Longing hit her and Sara briefly closed her eyes against it.

The room was medium-sized with wood floors and walls. A black comforter covered the bed and framed pictures of outdoor scenes covered the walls. There her painting was; above the bed like he’s said; a forest of trees in browns and greens. Her heart gave a twinge as she looked at it, wondering how often Lincoln looked at it; wondering if he looked at it to feel closer to her.

The room carried Lincoln’s scent and that of laundry detergent. She shivered though it was warm in the room. Sara stared at his broad back as he folded a shirt and put it in a dresser drawer, her stomach swirling as she waited for him to notice her. It didn’t take long. Sara had never realized before how Lincoln always seemed to know when she was near before anyone else did.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Why are you here?”

Those magnetic eyes locked on hers, causing her insides to quiver. They were dark with an unnamable emotion. Why was she there? Because she couldn’t stay away. Sara opened her mouth, only the sound of her hurried breath leaving her, faint and raspy. Words failed her.

“What is it, Sara? What do you want?”

“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to voice what it was she wanted.

“You told me to leave you alone. So I am. Why are you here?” he repeated, enunciating each word slowly, as though to make sure they registered in her head.

What did she say? Sara didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why she was there; she only knew she couldn’t stay away any longer.

“I didn’t—I didn’t say that.”

“You did. You said it when you didn’t call me, when you didn’t come here, when you said nothing; when you left without even a goodbye. You told me to leave you alone without saying a single word. So…what do you want?”

Their eyes connected and Sara couldn’t breathe. Lincoln had made it easier for her to breathe since her world had fallen apart not once, but twice. This time, though, he made it impossible to. There was heat in his flint-colored eyes and in the tense set of his jaw. Sara pushed everything from her mind; all thoughts, anything that could remind her of the past, of what used to be, of all she’d lost and would never have again. Instead she thought of what she had now.

“Make it go away. I need you. Please. Make it all go away,” she whispered, her eyes pleading, but her head angled proudly.

Lincoln stared at her, a noticeable tick in his jaw. His shoulders were slightly hunched and his face went completely devoid of expression. Sara thought he was going to turn away, reject her. Her heart ached at the thought. She would die if he did. Sara wouldn’t recover from the rebuff, not at this moment, not when she needed someone the most. Him; Sara needed him. She told him with her eyes what she would never be able to say with her lips.

With a soft curse Lincoln reached for her, his muscled body slamming into hers, shooting sensations through her, forcing her body to life. His grip was tight, suffocating, and Sara wanted it to smother it all away; kill the remorse and pain, make it no longer exist. Maybe for this one moment it was possible. Lincoln needed her as much as Sara needed him. She knew by the way his heart pounded against her chest, she could tell by his grip that clung to her as much as it held her. Who was saving whom? Maybe they were saving each other.

She entwined her fingers in his silky hair and jerked his head toward hers, his chest heaving against hers as their lips ensnared one another’s. Sara’s legs went weak when he moaned low in his throat. His hands on her, rough and warm, up and down her back, squeezing her outer thighs, made her weak with longing. Lincoln spun them around and the back of her legs hit the bed. They fell onto it, their lips still locked. His mouth was gifted, tugging and sucking and loving hers. So long. It had been so long.

His weight was heavy and welcomed. Sara sighed against his lips at the feel of it. His hardness fit with all the soft parts of her and she let go; Sara left her reality to cherish this moment; to revel in all that was Lincoln. His unshaven jaw chafed her neck as he teased her sensitive skin with his lips and teeth.

There was no room for her husband here and that’s how it had to be. That’s how Sara wanted it to be. She’d hate herself later. There was no time for it now. It felt right with Lincoln. How could it feel so right?

Lincoln pulled back just far enough to question her with his eyes. If he asked her if she wanted him to stop, if he looked at her like that too long, she’d lose her courage. She’d leave. Sara would forsake this moment of reprieve to wither away in the suffering that followed her everywhere.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Sara reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged. Lincoln let her, helping to get it over his head. He tossed it aside. His gaze never left hers and the intensity in it made her stomach swoop and her mouth go dry. Sara’s insides warmed and melted as she rubbed her palms down the front of his sculpted chest and defined abdomen, satisfaction and a sense of power surging through her when his skin pebbled and he sucked in a sharp breath. His body replaced the one committed to memory, his flint-colored eyes took over the blue, and Sara let it happen. She lost herself in him and found a piece of herself at the same time. It was only a tiny, small piece, but it was something she hadn’t been sure would ever return to her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered roughly, caressing the side of her face. Sara turned her face to his palm and kissed it, surprising herself at the tenderness she felt for Lincoln. When had it happened?

“Love me, Lincoln,” she told him.

He gently pulled her top over her head and put his cheek to hers. “I already do.”

Not what I meant, she thought as her chest constricted, but Lincoln was already moving them up the bed, into the middle of it, and Sara let his declaration fade from her mind as sensations took over. His eyes were so dark with feeling they almost looked black. All thought left her at the force of his expression. It was strong enough to debilitate any she may have had.

His fingers trailed along her skin, his lips following after them. Shivers went over her, goose bumps rising on her flesh. Sara’s breaths turned fast, gasping, as he hurriedly removed the rest of her clothes, his actions jerky, frenzied. His next move was at complete odds with the previous. He went still, silent. Lincoln stared down at her, his eyes worshiping, his features tight with an emotion unnamable. It was hot, feral, and possessive. And something else.

Lincoln studied her body and face like he would die if he didn’t; like she was his air and he was fighting for her; or maybe like he knew he’d never see her again after today and he’d forget what she looked like over time so he had to memorize each part of her and keep it alive in his mind forever. That look ruined Sara, altered her, and changed everything she’d thought she’d known. She was reborn in Lincoln’s eyes, and if only for a short amount of time, at least it was hers to have.

He didn’t have to say anything. Sara was burned, singed, from the way he looked at her. Then he spoke. “I need you,” he panted, swallowing hard. She knew. Sara had seen it in his eyes. She needed him as well.

Her eyes must have said so. Lincoln groaned and gathered her against his chest. His heart thundered there, arousing her more. The feel of his skin on hers was euphoric. Sara was whole in his arms. Lincoln only released her to quickly shed his clothes, and when he knelt before her, proud and unapologetic, Sara was undone. She didn’t care if it was right or wrong; she only knew it was necessary. For her, for him, for their souls.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, hot. Sara’s heart pounded and she simultaneously felt weak and strong. Sara’s and Lincoln’s bodies met and connected in a way Sara had only experienced once before. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Sara focused on Lincoln instead; the way his breath hitched, the fire in his eyes, the feel of him inside her, how his body moved with hers, and that fleeting interval when they both were enraptured and as one.

That moment was perfection and Sara wanted it to never go away; that moment when their human bodies worked magic. That moment when Lincoln looked at her like she was everything. Too soon reality came back, crashing around her, turning something meant to be beautiful into something ugly. Shame, fierce and inescapable, burned through her cheeks.

When she tried to pull away, Lincoln’s arms stiffened around her. He turned them so his body covered hers, his arms bracing either side of her and raising himself up to be at eyelevel with her. His lips thinned when he took in her expression. “Don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” she whispered, turning hollow inside.

“Like that was a mistake,” he ground out, his jaw clenched.

The life that had flared up in Sara disintegrated, leaving her lost and weak and shattered again. She closed her eyes, trying to forget what she’d just done. It reared up, black and glaring with accusation. An instant of completeness for endless regret. Had it been worth it? She began to cry; silent streams of grief fell from her eyes. Lincoln moved so that he was on his back with one arm holding her against him. Sara wanted to let him hold her, she wanted to let him take it all away, and because of that, she had to go.

“Let me go, Lincoln,” she quietly told him, staring at the ceiling. Even as she told herself to pull away, Sara felt her fingers flex into his muscled side. It was an unconscious action, but not missed by her.

“Never,” he vowed, tightening his hold on her.

The tears fell harder, sliding from her face to his chest. “I need to go, Lincoln.”

Cursing, he released her. “Why?”

“Because…” She sat up, holding the blanket against her nakedness.

“Because this was wrong, a mistake, and you regret it? Is that why?” Lincoln pulled himself into a sitting position. “It wasn’t, Sara. You know that. It was right. And that’s why you’re scared.”

“I can’t…I can’t think about this right now, Lincoln.” Sara moved from the bed, clutching the blanket to her as she searched for her discarded clothes. Her heart began to pound with remorse. She’d betrayed him. She’d betrayed their love. Sara was hunched over, staring at her pale blue shirt, when the anguish mounted and became too much. She went to her knees, sobbing.

“Dammit, Sara, stop this,” Lincoln pleaded, tugging on his boxers and going to his knees before her. “Stop this. When are you going to stop hating yourself so much?” He grabbed her forearms and held them tightly, forcing them down when she went to cover her face. “Don’t hide from me, Sara, and don’t run away. Please.”

Sara stared at him, wishing his image would blur and disappear, but it didn’t. Lincoln stared back, his features fierce and immovable. He wasn’t going anywhere. But she’d thought the same of her husband, hadn’t she? Her soul shriveled, died a little more, at the realization.

“I can’t stand this emptiness inside me anymore when you’re gone, Sara,” he said raggedly.

“I need to go, Lincoln,” she repeated, softly but firmly. That much she knew. Sara didn’t know a lot of things at the moment, but she knew that.

She hurriedly gathered up her clothes and tugged them on; feeling his eyes burning into her the whole time, speaking so loudly her ears rang, telling her all his thoughts and feelings with just the heat of his gaze. It didn’t matter what he was saying or thinking or feeling, or even not saying; Sara couldn’t deal with it. In the quiet it was so loud.

When she was almost out the bedroom door, his words stopped her. “You’re still living, Sara.”

Sara took a shaky breath, her chest squeezing and squeezing until she thought it would explode. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

The air crackled with his angry strides and then he was yanking her around, glaring down into her face with his expressive eyes. “You don’t get to die with him. I won’t let you.”

“How do you know…I already didn’t?” she choked out, spinning around and running down the stairs, trying to run from that stricken look she’d glimpsed on Lincoln’s face, trying to run from the past, from Lincoln, even from him.

***

The past lived in the closed doors of the house, in the house itself. She knew that. She knew what she had to do, though the thought of it made her palms sweaty and her heart race. Sara stared at the door to the nursery, just looking at it making the air thick, stifling; making it hard for her to draw air into her lungs.

Sara opened the door, sorrow hitting her immediately at the lingering scent of a little life taken too soon. Baby powder and lotion. She trailed a hand along the dresser, touching a pale green stuffed horse. At first she’d thought it was a mistake. It had been impossible to go from one minute of joy with a soul blossoming inside her to unbelievable emptiness when it was taken away. It hadn’t made sense. She’d forget at times, touching her slightly rounded stomach that hadn’t yet returned to its normal flatness.

He’d watched her, hurting for her, for him, for their child. The pain in his eyes mirrored Sara’s. It had been a dark time in their marriage; a time when if they hadn’t fought to keep it, their marriage could have been lost. Sara gathered the toy in her arms and pressed her cheek to its softness. She’d wondered if God hated her. She’d wondered what she’d done to upset Him so much to take her baby’s life. The sight of babies and children had caused grief so strong she couldn’t function. Pregnant women repelled her; Sara had loathed the sight of them. She’d thought of all the children with parents that were cruel and abusive to them and wondered why they were allowed lives they didn’t want, didn’t appreciate, and she, who wanted nothing but to love a little piece of her and her husband, was denied.

They’d gotten through it. Eventually it didn’t hurt so much; eventually she could operate without the horrible ache. She’d never gotten over it, not completely, but she’d had to accept it. Sara didn’t think a mother ever did get over it. As soon as that life had been inside her, it had been a part of her and always would be. The hollowness never really went away; even now it was with her, reminding her of the life not given a chance to live.

Sara inhaled slowly, setting the toy down. She blinked her burning eyes and picked up the stack of boxes, crying as she boxed up all that was left of her baby she’d never been able to hold. Clothes, toys, knickknacks; those were what she had left of her baby and Sara had to part with them.

“People you love aren’t defined by objects, Sara, but by the place they hold in your heart.”

She absently nodded, a surge of courage pulsating through her, making her task a little more bearable. The voice sporadically popped up whenever Sara needed to hear it the most. She almost didn’t notice it anymore. It was ingrained in her; an unknown embodiment of strength, or maybe it was simply her conscience. Didn’t matter.

The next room was the bedroom. It hurt to open the doors and let it all escape; all the emotions she’d wanted to keep bottled up to never forget, but she had to do it. She knew she did. If Sara didn’t, she’d be stuck for the rest of her life; living in a past that would remain evasive. If she didn’t, she would die on the inside, like she’d feared she already was. She couldn’t. Lincoln had shown her she wasn’t. A small part of her hated him for that, while the other rejoiced in it. She closed her eyes at the thought of him; her emotions a torrent of confusion and guilt and longing where Lincoln was concerned. Sara tried not to think of him, but even when she shoved him away, she still felt him; in her heart, on her skin, everywhere.

Sara grabbed the pillow and blanket from the couch and put them on a shelf in the bedroom closet. It was cleansing, cathartic, and sad all at the same time. She stared at the bed, dismayed to find herself thinking of Lincoln and him both. They both couldn’t be in her heart, could they? Sara covered her face, remembering the smell and feel of Lincoln against her, yearning for him. When she thought of her husband, it was with overwhelming grief and guilt. How could she let another man touch her, his brother, when she was supposed to love him?

She hesitantly sat on the bed, running a hand over the cool fabric of the blanket, despondency dragging her down. Sara didn’t know what was right and wrong to feel; it felt like a betrayal to her husband at the same time it felt…right.

“Till death do us part, Sara. You know the drill.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Sara whispered.

The air around her faintly laughed, gruff and masculine. “Nah. I’m just letting you know, in case you didn’t, I’m dead.”

Inhaling sharply, she looked around the room, seeing nothing unusual. It was just a room; a room alive with memories, but still, just a room. Sara rubbed her forehead, shaken. She dropped her hands, determination jutting her jaw. She stiffly lay down on the bed, clasping her hands over her stomach, and forced her eyes to close. She hadn’t slept in the bed since he’d left. But she was going to now. Sara relaxed her breaths until they became deep, even, and she slept the dreamless sleep of an exhausted soul.

The garage was exactly as he’d left it. The blue Dodge took up half the white-walled building. Tools littered the workbench. Sara’s eyes were gritty, stinging, as they swept over the room he’d spent hours a day in, tinkering with his endless projects. His tool belt hung on the wall by the door. It was a cooler day out and it seeped into the garage and into Sara, causing her to shiver though she wore his hooded black sweatshirt.

She fiddled with the radio near the small refrigerator, finding a country station, her lips unconsciously curving up at the Tim McGraw song. He’d loved Tim McGraw. Remember him before the accident. Remember him with joy, not tears. That was her motto. Sara was trying to smile instead of cry.

Most times she failed, but sometimes, like now, she could remember the love they’d shared before he’d been taken from her instead of the pain she’d lived with in place of him since the accident. She could remember him and not crumble. The hardest feat, the one she hadn’t been able to overcome yet, was saying his name, thinking his name. It was beyond her at this point.

You don’t have to hurt to mourn someone, Mason had said. It made sense, it really did, but it was still too soon for her. She didn’t think it was improbable and that was an improvement. Some day.

He’d been gone over half a year now, though really he’d been gone a lot longer. It had been close to two years since the wreck. It didn’t seem possible that it had been so long ago, and yet, she’d only said goodbye a short six months ago.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 530