Текст книги "Take Care, Sara"

Автор книги: Lindy Zart

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Sara had never seen Lincoln’s moods alter so much like that. What was hurting him so much he had to lash out like he had? And later, the way he’d held her; as though he was holding her up as much as she was him. She didn’t know how to help him and she wanted to. Part of Sara thought maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was what was tearing him up like that. She didn’t want to be; Sara didn’t want to be responsible for his pain, for anyone’s pain. Only you already are.

The whirring sound of a motor, getting louder and closer, gave her pause and made her heart rate escalate. In her cracked mind, Sara knew it was him, finally returning. He’d been on a long snowmobiling trip and he was back. The sane part of her mind receded, letting her have her false reality for a time. Sara jumped to her feet, racing to the door.

She flung it open, her pulse crazy, her heart thundering. Biting air snapped at her and her bare feet turned to ice on the cold step outside the door. The rider turned the engine off on the red and black Polaris snowmobile. He took off his gloves and set them on the snowmobile console. His hands reached up to grip the helmet and Sara couldn’t breathe. Whose face would she see?

The black-garbed rider stood and strode toward her as he pulled the helmet from his face, holding it against his side as he reached the porch. It was Lincoln. Sorrow and relief punched her in the stomach and Sara sucked in a sharp breath, unable to look too closely at that response. His hair was matted against his head, but still managed to wave up in spots. His jaw was unshaven, giving him a rough appearance and making him even more handsome.

Open your eyes, Sara, Mason had said. She inwardly shook her head, knowing she would never truly understand Mason Wells.

“I thought you outgrew your snowmobile gear?” was the first thing she thought of saying.

“I lied. Ready for a ride?” He grinned, his gray eyes flashing with silver.

Sara looked down at her dirty, stained yellow shirt and ripped jeans, wondering why her heart rate hadn’t slowed down any. “No. I’m cleaning.”

“O…M…G, Sara,” Lincoln said, rolling his eyes. “That house is clean enough to eat meals off the floor, even when you haven’t cleaned it for weeks. You clean over clean. Get your stuff on. We’re going.”

She crossed her arms, getting tired of Lincoln’s bossiness and wanting to laugh at him at the same time. “Stop trying to run my life.”

Lincoln laughed. “Really? Stop trying to run your life? If I were trying to run your life, it’d be all kinds of different. Trust me. It’s day two. Let’s go.”

Heat warmed her cheeks. “You can’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, moving forward so she had to backtrack into the house.

“Make me do things. Make me…make me…” Her throat closed on the words and Sara blinked her wet eyes.

Lincoln shut the door behind him. “Make you forget? Make you have fun? Make you live?” He leaned forward, his cold nose bumping hers. “Yes…I…can.” Lincoln straightened. “Hurry up. I’m getting snow all over your clean floor. You might have to, like, mop it again or something.” Lincoln widened his eyes at her, clearly making fun of her.

She wordlessly shook her head. Sara couldn’t think straight with Lincoln and all of his ups and downs.

He sighed, crossing his arms, the material of his snowmobile jacket sliding together as he moved. “If you can’t do these things for yourself, Sara, you’re going to do them for him. Think of Cole. Do it for him. Stop fighting me and just do it.”

Her brows furrowed as she stared at Lincoln. He looked back, eyes steady and clear. Lincoln was like a rock, standing tall in the wake of a tsunami, unbending and unbreakable. She spontaneously hugged him, his jacket cold against her skin. Lincoln’s arms rose and his hands held her against him, somehow warming her through the chilled material of his snowmobile garb.

“What’s that for?”

“For being you,” she said, pulling back.

Lincoln’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. He shifted his gaze away as he said, “We’re both hurting, Sara. Instead of wallowing in it and letting it take over, you, and I, need to find things to keep the pain at bay. We need to live. We need to do all the things Cole can’t and we need to be grateful for every breath we get to breathe on our own that he doesn’t. Understand?”

She inhaled deeply, taking in his unflinching gaze. “You’re better at it than I am.”

Lincoln flashed a quick grin. “I’m better at a lot of things than you are.”

“Thanks,” Sara said, snorting a little.

“I’m sorry about the other night. About the way I’ve been acting lately.”

“It’s okay, Lincoln.”

“It’s not okay, Sara.” He sighed and then gently bumped his forehead to hers and stepped back. “Get your stuff on. I’ll be outside waiting.”

Sara walked toward the closet as Lincoln went outside. Her heart was hurting, not because of that hated date getting closer every day, but for another reason. Lincoln was shoving life back into her, in spite of what she thought she wanted, in spite of her wishes. She could continue to fight it, but Sara knew it was pointless. Lincoln was…Lincoln. She was so thankful for him, even as aggravating as he was. He managed to put everything into perspective; he managed to make her see what she couldn’t see on her own. What about what he doesn’t want you to see?

***

It was loud. The engine was fast and high-pitched and so loud Sara could barely hear her own thoughts, which was a blessing. She held on to Lincoln, her arms wrapped around his waist, trees and hills passing them by in a blur. Sara closed her eyes, feeling the snowmobile’s power underneath her, Lincoln’s solid back against her front, the way her legs straddled the back of his. The windshield of the helmet fogged every now and then, showing how cold it was outside her snowmobile geared body, but it quickly dispersed, once again giving her a view of fluffy snow and countryside.

Lincoln and he had always liked their toys; be they motorcycles or boats or snowmobiles. In that way they were as one. Sara had never understood that need to disconnect from the world with speed and what she’d considered unnecessary wildness, but now, she kind of did. It was liberating, to go so fast, to forget about obligations and reality and just feel.

The trail was narrow and rough and at times Sara knocked into Lincoln, her helmet clunking against his. Up and up the hill they climbed, Sara adjusting her body to Lincoln’s, moving with him around turns and corners. Then they were wide open, nothing but space on either side of them. Lincoln cranked on the accelerator and they were soaring. Sara laughed, tipping her head back. Free. She felt free. She wanted to bottle the feeling up and take it with her. Sara hadn’t felt so guiltless, so alive, in a long time.

She didn’t know she’d loosened her grip until they hit a bump and the snowmobile went up and slammed down, dumping her off the sled and into a snow bank. Sara landed on her back, the air knocked from her lungs. She lay there, wondering if she was okay or not, wondering if it really mattered. Nothing hurt. She flipped the windshield up and stared at a blue sky, mirth bubbling up her throat. That’s how Lincoln found her; lying on her back, laughing.

Lincoln jumped off the snowmobile before it was completely stopped, sprinting for her, snow flying up behind him. He fell to his knees in the snow beside her. “What the hell, Sara? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he shouted through his helmet, the windshield of it flipped up.

Sara looked at the wild, panicked look in his eyes and laughed harder. She didn’t know why. It seemed the sensible thing to do.

“Fuck! Are you hurt?” Lincoln grabbed her shoulders and shook. “Would you stop laughing and say something? Are you okay? Sara.” He fumbled with strap under her chin and yanked the helmet from her head, cupping the back of her neck with his gloved hands. “Are you okay, Sara?” Lincoln asked slowly, his voice shaking.

Sara went quiet, the smile fading from her lips, when she saw, really saw, what Lincoln couldn’t or wouldn’t hide. He was scared. For her. And not just scared, but out of his mind scared. His lips were pressed into a thin, white line and his eyes had a haunted cast to them.

“I’m okay, Lincoln,” she said softly.

The relief on his face hit her hard, the tension leaving his body as he pulled her close. Lincoln was trembling. He muttered something, using one hand to tear his helmet off, tossing it into the snow, the other hand never releasing her. “I thought you were hurt. You were just lying there. I thought you’d broken something or were seriously injured. What happened?” he said into her hair, clutching her to his chest.

Cold air stung her cheeks, snow from Lincoln’s gloves brushed against her neck, chilling her. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just…I wasn’t holding on tight enough.” Sara gently pushed at his chest and Lincoln let her go.

He swallowed. “Promise me something, Sara.”

Sara’s eyes collided with his, her lips parting at the intensity of his charcoal gaze.

“You hold on tight from now on, so tight it hurts. Got it? Don’t let go of me, not ever. Don’t worry about hurting me, don’t worry about suffocating me, don’t worry about holding on too tight. You hold on and you never let go. You’ll only hurt me, I’ll only suffocate, if you let go. Promise.” Silver flames sparked in his eyes and Lincoln’s jaw was clenched as he stared her down.

She was burning up from the heat of his gaze. It swept up her body and neck and into her face, warming her. He wasn’t talking about snowmobiling. Sara knew that. What was Lincoln talking about? She lowered her eyes, conflicted by the way she was responding to Lincoln lately, confused by him. She never knew what he was saying to her anymore.

“Promise.”

Sara swallowed, nodding her head. “I promise, Lincoln.”

He blew out a noisy breath, running his fingers through his hair, rumpling it more. “All right.” Lincoln stood, offering her a hand. “You ready to head back or do you want to keep going?”

Sara took his hand and he hauled her to her feet. You ready to head back or do you want to keep going? turned into Do you want to live in the past or do you want to move forward? She stood there, flummoxed.

“Sara?”

“I…” Sara turned toward the way they were going. It was clear and straight and limitless. She turned back to the way they’d come from. It was rough and narrow and littered with possible barriers. Sara faced Lincoln. He stood in the middle of it all, quizzically watching her, waiting for her answer. Go back, go forward. Stay with him, come with me. Was that really what he was asking?

“You want to go back, don’t you?” His tone was flat, as though Lincoln was disappointed, but not surprised.

She squinted her eyes from the sun, turning her gaze to the glistening snow as spots formed before her eyes. “No. Let’s keep going.”

“You sure?”

Taking a deep breath, Sara nodded. “I’m sure.”

Lincoln grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Don’t let go this time.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

As Sara got back on the snowmobile behind Lincoln, she wondered what she was promising she wouldn’t let go of. The past, her husband, or Lincoln?

11

Sara was sleeping, dreaming of blue eyes and warm lips, when the pounding on the door started. She sat up on the couch, flinging the blanket off her. It took a moment for the dream to fade, and along with it, the peace she’d found in sleep; a peace Sara was never truly able to find while awake. She blinked at the door, her eyes unfocused and her brain not completely awake.

She slowly got to her feet, rubbing her matted head of hair. One side was sticking up and the other was mashed to her head. Sara tightened the tie on the old robe as she shuffled to the door. Fighting a yawn, she unlocked the door and opened it, her eyes shying from the sun-filled day.

Lincoln grinned at her, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Rise and shine, sunshine.”

“Don’t you ever work anymore?” she grumbled, moving back to allow him in. Sara was happy to see him. She didn’t want to be happy to see him.

“I took the week off. I can do that. I’m the boss.”

“Slacker.”

“Don’t be crabby.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven-ish”, he said, shrugging his jacket off and bending down to remove his boots.

“I’m allowed to be crabby at seven-ish in the morning.”

Lincoln stood and Sara caught a whiff of his scent. She backed away, moving to the couch. He tugged down his dark blue long-sleeved tee shirt, covering the band of tanned flesh momentarily exposed. Sara flushed, quickly looking away.

He messed his hair up more than it already was with his hand and eyed her sleeping arrangement. “What’s that?” Lincoln asked, pointing to the pillow and blanket.

“A couch.”

“What’s on the couch?” He frowned. “And what are you wearing?”

Sara self-consciously fingered the knotted tie at her waist. “A robe.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks like a dead animal dyed blue hanging off you. You don’t sleep in your bedroom?”

She stiffened. “It’s none of your business and if you just came over here to badger me, you can leave.”

“Oh, no. Uh-uh. It’s day three.” Lincoln crossed the room to her, softly touching her cheek. “Look at you with your sad brown eyes. I want to take the sadness from them, Sara. Let me today.” His face cleared and his hand fell away. “But first, you need to shower. Your hair looks like rodents could get lost in it.”

Sara took a shuddering breath, remembering she needed air. “I…” Her brain wasn’t cooperating. “What are we doing?”

“Good question.”

She waited, sighing loudly when she realized he wasn’t going to tell her.

“You. Shower. Make yourself pretty.”

Sara glared at him as she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door a little too exuberantly behind her. She brushed her teeth, fuming as she stared at her flushed face. His brother had never talked to her like this, had never bossed her around. Stop comparing them. She wasn’t trying to; it was involuntary, like breathing when you thought you no longer could. It just happened. Sara grabbed her hair with one hand as she finished up brushing her teeth, and spit in the sink. Her mouth was fresh and cool with spearmint and Sara inhaled deeply, her attention turned toward the shower.

Sometimes she wondered what she was holding on to. It wasn’t the man she loved, not that cruel replica of her husband lying in the hospital bed. What exactly did Sara cling to? Memories were like ghosts that never went away; always there to haunt her. Is that what she loved; a memory? And what was in the hospital bed then; a ghost? Showing her what she used to have; what she didn’t have and would most likely never have again? Steam filled the immediate air around her, making it hard for her to breathe, though of course she still managed to. Or maybe that was just her conscience.

Sara quickly washed up, wondering how much longer she would cling to memories she’d be better off forgetting. She winced at the pain that thought caused, shutting the water off. Sara grabbed a towel, shivering, her skin pebbling from the shock of going from warm to cold. There was nothing she could do but continue to love a man who’d left her with a car crash; to let ghosts haunt her so she remembered that love. She had to hurt to feel something other than hurt and still she hurt anyway.

Dried and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black top, Sara loosely braided her long brown hair so it rested over one shoulder and pulled on a pair of black boots. She met Lincoln in the kitchen, where he was sipping from a Styrofoam cup and staring in the direction of the nursery.

“Gas station coffee?” she guessed, wrinkling her nose. Sara didn’t want to know what he was thinking, not as he looked at that closed door.

“Nah. From home.” Lincoln handed the other cup to her.

“Thanks.”

“You look nice. Smell good, like vanilla.”

Sara blushed. “Thank you.” Lincoln watched her take a drink from the cup. The coffee was smooth and the perfect temperature. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“You don’t know what day it is, do you?”

Sara searched her brain. “Wednesday?”

Lincoln snorted. “Yeah. It’s that.”

“Oh. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. What are you…what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Lincoln was probably going to spend it with his parents, like he should. They were still in town, as far as she knew, waiting.

“It’s your birthday, Sara,” he said, sounding exasperated.

She gasped. “Oh my God, I forgot your birthday! I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I wasn’t…I’m sorry, Lincoln.”

Lincoln shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “I don’t care about my birthday. And you didn’t forget. You called me. You don’t remember?”

Sara touched a hand to her forehead, shaking her head. “No. I was…out of it. More than usual,” she added at his look.

“You called. You didn’t say anything. I talked. But, hey, you called.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Lincoln grabbed her shoulders, dipping his head so they were at eyelevel. “Sara. I don’t care about my birthday.”

“But you care about mine?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lincoln dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned away. His back was tense and his hands fisted at his sides. “You know how sometimes you wanna say something, but it isn’t the right thing to say? Or it isn’t the right time? Or if you did say it, you’d wish you could take it back?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Ready?” He shrugged into his jacket and tugged his boots on.

“That’s it? That wasn’t an answer.”

Lincoln paused and lifted his head. “Yeah it was. Enough of one. Wrong thing to say, wrong time to say it. Let’s go.” He straightened, lifting one dark brown eyebrow. “Coming?”

Sara opened the closet, grabbed a gray jacket and pulled it on, all the while scowling at Lincoln. He laughed, shrugging. “You’re so annoying, Lincoln. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“I seem to recall you telling me that once in a while. Only one ever to say that, just so you know.”

Sara snorted, following him outside. The wind was fierce and biting cold. She shivered, wishing she’d grabbed her gloves and scarf. Sara slung her purse over her shoulder and shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she walked to the truck. Snow crunched under her boots and Sara was already wishing it was spring and winter hadn’t even really started yet.

Ever chivalrous, Lincoln opened the door for her, closing it after her. Sara huddled into her coat, lowering her face under the collar to try to warm it up. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Lincoln started the engine and the truck rumbled to life, cool air blowing from the vents.

“I hate surprises,” she reminded him.

“If you could go anywhere, right now, where would it be?”

“Texas,” Sara answered immediately.

“Oh yeah. I guess I knew that. Okay, I’m talking internationally. Anywhere in the world. Where would it be?”

“Texas.”

Lincoln sighed as the truth stopped at a Stop sign. “Way to be adventurous.”

“Are you taking me to Texas?”

He laughed. “No. Sorry. Not this trip.”

The cool air warmed and Sara sat up straighter, poking her face out from behind the collar of her coat. “Way to be adventurous. You won’t even take me to Texas.”

“Touché.”

“What are you working on anyway? I mean, when you actually work.” Sara laughed when Lincoln shot her a look as he turned the truck toward Fennimore.

“Shed over by Blue River. Framework and siding and roof are done, but there’s a lot to do inside yet.”

“Is that what you want to do for the rest of your life, Lincoln?”

Sara had asked her husband a similar question. He’d said it was all he knew how to do. He’d trained under a guy he knew over the summer when high school was done, somehow going to school full-time too in the fall as well as working full-time. Then he’d graduated and started up his own business, Lincoln joining him later. She’d always wondered at that; to be so happy with something so simple; to not dream and want more than an everyday life.

She’d thought it lacking; a lifestyle unable to bring one happiness, but maybe she was the one lacking to think such a thing. Clearly he had been happy as a carpenter. She’d never thought less of him; in fact, she’d envied that about him, but she’d always wondered why that was enough for him and others when it wasn’t for her. Sara had always wanted to be something more, to have her name known for creating something out of nothing, and she had found that in her artwork. But that drive; that inner voice telling her anything ordinary was unacceptable; where had it come from? Why did some people have it and others not? Maybe it was something all artists felt and maybe that was why they were artists.

“No. It’s not. For now it’s fine. I make good money. But…” He shrugged. “Do I want to be doing it for the rest of my life? No. I want to be able to walk when I’m in my fifties. I want to be able to keep my knees and hips and not have to have back surgery when I’m older. Construction work is hard on a body."

Sara knew. He’d come home with his knees bothering him and his back aching more times than he hadn’t. Construction work made young men old.

“Plus, there’s always the chance of falling off a roof.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t even bring it up, Sara,” he warned, sipping from one of the cups he’d carried to the truck.

“I didn’t. You did. That was horrible. I’d never seen him so scared.”

You’d never seen him so scared except for the night of the car wreck, just before he lost consciousness.Then you never saw him look anything at all after that. Sara clamped her mouth shut, wishing there was a way to turn off her thoughts at will. Mindless, numb, unable to feel—what a reprieve that would be.

“It’s not like I meant to fall off the roof. I slipped.”

“You shouldn’t have been up there in the rain anyway. Duh you.” Sara remembered the phone call from his parents, the fear in his eyes, the dread that had filled her, and the dread that had stayed with her until they were at the hospital and she saw Lincoln was okay.

“It was leaking,” he said, like that made it all tolerable.

“Stupid man,” she said softly.

Lincoln glanced at her, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “That I am.”

“You’re lucky all you got was a sprained ankle and scraped up.”

“I don’t need luck, Sara. I got skills.”

“Clearly.” Her eyes met his again and she laughed, Lincoln laughing with her.

They reached Fennimore. It was located on top of a hill, Fennimore Hill, as it was called by locals, and had a population under three thousand. It was a pretty, scenic town with a nice library Sara liked to frequent, or used to, when she read. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost herself in a story.

“Coffee?” Lincoln asked as the truck went by Kwik Trip, his lips twitching.

“I’ll pass.”

The truck veered to the left by the Casey’s gas station, taking them in the direction of Dodgeville. Lincoln tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in tune to a ‘Nine Inch Nails’ song.

“You never said what you want to do later.”

“I know.”

“So…are you going to tell me?”

Lincoln grabbed a black baseball cap from the dash, repeatedly adjusting it on his head. “Nope.”

Sara crossed her arms. “I don’t understand why you’re so elusive all the time lately.”

“Especially today?”

“Yes. Especially today.”

“All in good time, Sara. The best things in life come to those who wait. Patience is a virtue. You—”

“Lincoln.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

His deep laughter filled the cab of the truck, and something close to, or maybe even, happiness warmed Sara at the sound of it.

***

Sara stared at the counter full of tins and other various containers of flavored popcorn. Lincoln had basically bought the small Montfort Rural Route 1 store out of stock. She could smell the butter and popcorn scent through the boxes.

“Is it overwhelming?” he asked, popping some cheese popcorn into his mouth.

“It’s…” Sara’s eyes watered. “It’s perfect. Thank you. I had fun today.”

“Day’s not over.” Lincoln grabbed a paper towel from the holder on the counter and wiped his hands on it, tossing the used paper towel into the garbage. “Be right back.”

Sara rubbed her face, a fresh wave of sadness hitting her in Lincoln’s absence. She didn’t even know why. It was a different kind of sadness from what she normally felt and Sara couldn’t determine the cause of it. Loneliness maybe; or the loss of warmth; the fading of light and the impending submergence back into darkness.

Lincoln carried in a pizza with a Papa Murphy’s label on it. He set it on the table. The pepperonis spelled out ‘Happy 28 Years, Sara’. Sara stared at it, her eyes burning with tears. She looked at Lincoln and he tilted his head to the side. “You’re gonna cry over pizza, Sara? Don’t be such a girl,” he gently teased, wiping his thumb under her eyes and taking her tears away.

She sobbed and laughed at the same time, wiping her eyes.

“I got one more thing.”

“Don’t you dare, Lincoln. You’ve done too much already.”

“It’s your special day,” was all he said, leaving her once more.

Sara rubbed her aching chest as her eyes lingered on the words spelled out with pepperonis. It was corny and sweet and she loved it. Lincoln had always had a giving nature, but this, this was too much. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve his friendship. Friendship. It didn’t feel like the right word. It was more than that; a kinship of two lost souls struggling to live under the loss of substantial grief.

She flat-out bawled when he carried in a large hope chest made out of cherry wood. Butterflies and vines were carved into the lid of it. Sara loved butterflies. She hadn’t known Lincoln knew that. Or maybe she had and she’d forgotten; everything was a jumbled mess in her head most of the time.

“You’re not supposed to cry, Sara,” he chided gently, stroking her hair as she sobbed onto his shirt, wetting it with her tears.

“You’re not supposed to make me cry,” she wailed, his shirt fisted between her hands.

“Trust me; that was not my intention. Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“It’s my first project. Well, the first I’ve actually finished. I’ve been working on it for months.”

Sara stiffened, slowly moving back so she could see his face. “You made that yourself?”

“Yeah.” Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “That’s what I want to do. I want to make stuff. Woodworking.” He looked at her. “Do you think I’m lame?”

She wiped her eyes, sniffling. “I think you’re brilliant, Lincoln.” Sara thought of the time and hours it must have taken to make that for her and her chest squeezed.

His eyes lit up and he grinned. “You haven’t seen all of it. Here, I’ll open it for you.”

They knelt beside it, Sara’s arm and leg brushing Lincoln’s as he explained the making of the piece of furniture to her in great detail. She listened, in awe. He was excited, animated as he went on about things Sara didn’t understand. It didn’t matter; she could have listened to him all night. His eyes sparkled with life and Lincoln’s hands repeatedly gestured as he talked. The gift that he’d made for her couldn’t outweigh the gift of him sharing his dream with her.

“How did you learn how to do this, Lincoln?” Sara slowly trailed a hand along the smooth wood, touched beyond words by his thoughtfulness. He’d gotten a one-sided conversation from her for his birthday and she’d gotten more than she could have imagined.

“You’ll laugh.”

Sara turned her head at the same time Lincoln did. Their faces were only inches apart. “No, I won’t.”

“YouTube and I checked out some books from the Fennimore library.”

“YouTube is very informative,” she deadpanned.

Lincoln smiled, touching his forehead to hers. “That it is.”

“This is flawless. You have a real talent, Lincoln.” Sara had a hard time looking away from it. It would go perfect at the foot of the bed; the bed she never slept in. Sara shoved the thought away.

He shifted his position. “Yeah, well, I got a lot to learn yet too.”

“I can’t believe I never knew you liked to do this kind of stuff.”

“You know guys. Macho and all that. Can’t tell people about stuff like this. What if I got made fun of?” He widened his eyes.

“You’d probably just punch whoever made fun of you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Did…” She stopped herself and tried to find different words from the ones she was about to say. Sara had been about to ask if he knew about it. “As a child…did you do stuff like this?”

“I tried carving pieces of wood. I sucked.”

Sara laughed at his admission. “Everyone gets better at everything with practice.”

“Think so?” he murmured, his penetrating gaze holding her captive.

“If they want to, yes,” she said breathlessly, her heartbeat picking up for no reason; no reason she could explain to herself anyway.

Lincoln smiled, but there was sadness to it. “There it is in a nutshell.” He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “Hungry? I’m starving.”

“Isn’t pizza what we ate the last time we were together?” she asked.

“Not even comparable. This is Papa Murphy’s. In case you didn’t know.”

Sara stood, releasing his hand. “Right. Incomparable to all other pizzas.”

“Exactly.”

“Where are my twenty-eight candles?” Sara innocently blinked her eyes at Lincoln.

“You want a pizza or a torch?”

Sara laughed. “Smart ass.”

***

She woke up with a smile on her face, forgetting about him and instead thinking of the day before spent with Lincoln. It had been a good day. The smile slid from her face as the heaviness in her heart grew. How could Sara have forgotten, even for a moment, even in sleep? She sat up; staring at the blank TV she hadn’t turned on in months. Everything had stopped, paused, on that day over a year ago. Especially Sara.

Was it really happening? Was he really in that hospital bed, waiting to die? While she pretended her life was fine and laughed with his brother and he rotted away in a sterile room. Sara hung her head as warm tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. He’d been gone for a long time, but where it really mattered he’d left her long ago. It didn’t matter. He was still her husband; he was still her burden or joy to bear. Sara hugged herself, imagining it was him hugging her.

Sara got up, unable to take herself in the direction of the bathroom and into the shower. Her mouth tasted like stale popcorn and pizza and she was sure she didn’t smell the greatest. Sara didn’t care. She wandered around the house in her robe, making a pot of coffee, and staring at all the closed doors.