Текст книги "Take Care, Sara"

Автор книги: Lindy Zart

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

8

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.

“And FYI, you’re coming with me tomorrow to pick out a Christmas tree. Be at my house at nine. Wear a coat this time. And a smile. Those are my rules. Don’t even try not to be there. I’ll hunt you down, Sara, I swear. Are you going to say anything?” He blew out a noisy breath full of irritation. When Sara remained silent, Lincoln sighed and said, “Anyway, hope you’re okay. Take care, Sara.”

She set the phone down, feeling lighter than she had been before she’d placed the phone call. Sara didn’t like feeling the way she did most days, but the thought of being anything else caused guilt to overrun all other emotions. She was stuck. Trapped. Sara was lost. But every time she began to lose herself or fade completely away, Lincoln somehow managed to find her, just a sliver of her, but it was something.

It was enough.

Sara got up from the table, her eyes traveling along the bare walls that whispered of her past. She turned in a circle, remembering the photo they’d taken of each other the day they’d danced by the creek. It used to reside on the refrigerator, held there with a heart magnet. Longing and euphoria washed over her, trickling down her scalp in shivers, his scent and touch coming with it.

They danced. Around and around they twirled, eyes locked on each other’s world. The sun beat down on them, heating their skin. When the sun touched his face, it made his features shine and sparkle, his rugged beauty amplified and breathtaking, his eyes blue gems in a sun-kissed face. The creak trickled beside them as nature’s lyrical music. Grass poked the bottoms of her bare feet.

Sara let her head fall back and closed her eyes, complete in his arms. She’d never been so centered, so whole, as she’d been since that day he’d smiled and asked her name. Sara opened her eyes, lifting her head, and caught his soft smile. Emotions overwhelmed her, brought tears to her eyes. She’d never thought it could be like this with another person. Sara never thought she could be so happy, especially after losing her parents. It scared her and thrilled her and made her sick and she never wanted it to end.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured close to her ear, his clean scent, the tickle of his breath on her skin, the sound of his voice, him, making Sara melt. One look and she melted. The power he had over her; it was astounding.

“I’m thinking I love you and I’ll always love you, even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“Ditto,” he said, spinning her around until she was dizzy.

“I will never be old and wrinkly, just so you know,” Sara said, laughing when he dipped her.

“You will most definitely be old and wrinkly, but you’ll still be beautiful and I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you, even after I’m dead and gone and am nothing. My love will linger on. It’s that awesome, that strong, that real. Have no doubt of that, Sara Walker.” His eyes held her in place, the conviction in them, the set of his jaw, telling her he spoke the truth. He straightened then, pulling her up with him, his chest noticeably rising and lowering as his lips pressed together.

“What is it, Cole?”

“I just…I love you so damn much, Sara. It makes me weak and stronger at the same time and drives me absolutely mad and I wouldn’t change it for the world, not for nothing.”

“Ditto,” she whispered, her throat tightening.

He pulled her to him, one hand on her back, the other gripping the side of her face as he turned those lips that spoke so passionately to wreak havoc on her mouth. Her stomach dipped, her body reacted as it always did, and Sara kissed him back, telling him with her mouth what she couldn’t find the words to say with her lips. All she wanted, all she ever needed, was right before her.

Sara opened her eyes, going still. Her throat was painfully tight, her heart thundering in her chest. Why couldn’t she remember him without it hurting so much?

***

“What are you doing?” she asked, staring at his gloved hands packing snow into a round, firm ball. Sara’s breaths were visible and she crossed her arms in an attempt to keep some of her body’s warmth from leaving her.

Lincoln glanced up at her, his eyes shining silver against the white atmosphere. “I’m making a snowball.” The sun glowed behind him, making him appear haloed all around.

Sara slowly backed away. “I thought we were finding you a Christmas tree.”

“We are.” He straightened, a flash of white teeth showing as he grinned. A dark blue stocking cap covered his head and he wore a brown coat and gloves that had been a birthday present from her and his brother one year. Lincoln’s breath left him in frosty puffs of air and he looked like an ad for an outdoorsmen magazine.

“What—“ The snow smacked her chest, cold chunks of winter flying up and hitting her neck, face, and going down the front of her jacket. Sara sucked in a sharp breath at the icy sting of it against the heat of her skin. She stood there, disbelief holding her immobile.

Lincoln laughed, bending down again.

Panic set in and Sara searched for cover, her eyes zooming in on the trees closest to her. She knew he wouldn’t really throw another snowball at her and yet her pulse began to race. Then he looked at her, his facial expression telling her, yes, he would.

“Don’t you—“ An involuntary cry left her as the second snowball whirred through the air and made contact with her face. Sara gasped, stunned to find her upper body encrusted in slush.

His head tipped back as his laughter filled the woods around them, loud and deep. Birds chirped in response, their chatter taking the place of Lincoln’s mirth. It was a beautiful sound and Sara went still as it washed over her. The trees, the snow, nature; it was close to perfect. She hadn’t enjoyed anything so simple and significant in too long.

“Come on, Sara. Fight back.” Lincoln opened his arms wide, a grin on his face. “Hit me with your best shot.”

She shook her head. “No.”

With narrowed eyes, Lincoln purposely crouched and grabbed a handful of now. “Sure?”

“This is not Christmas tree searching,” Sara pointed out, her voice a little shrill.

The snowball hit her leg. “Lincoln—“ Another one smacked her arm. Sara gritted her teeth, determination snapping through her. “Fine. You asked for it.”

“Oh, I’m scared. Look, Sara. I’m terrified.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by her declaration.

“You’re gonna be terrified,” she muttered as she firmly packed snow into a misshapen ball.

“What was that?” he asked, one hand behind his ear.

Sara straightened and whipped the snowball toward Lincoln as hard as she could. It flew over his head and splattered against a tree behind him.

“Really, Sara?” He gave her a disappointed look.

Scowl in place, she quickly scooped up more snow and flung it at him. Lincoln ducked and it hit the ground to the left of him.

“You suck.”

Flushed, her breath leaving her in pants, Sara went to make another snowball.

“I think you should stop before you embarrass yourself anymore.”

She chucked the partially made snowball to the ground and glared at him. When Lincoln laughed, a cry of frustration burst from her and Sara took off toward him, the look of surprise on his face when she clotheslined him across the chest one she would never forget. He stumbled back, hanging onto her. Sara lost her balance and fell on her face in the snow, Lincoln on his back beside her, clutching her arm.

Her shoulders shook and gasps left her as she fought to breathe. She laid there, the front of her lodged in a mound of snow, and laughed, inhaling the icy particles and not caring how wet and cold she was getting. Sara couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed and it surged from her, loud and close to hysterical sounding. The laughter soon turned into a sob and then she was tugged to the left.

Lincoln pulled her into his arms and held her, shielding her upper half from the snow with his body. He rested his chin on the crown of her head as she wept, not speaking, just holding, and Sara was so grateful for that. His arms were warm and tight around her back, his body heat trying to block out the shivers that were taking over her body. The side of Sara’s face was pressed against his cold jacket that smelled like winter and laundry detergent.

“I think,” he began slowly, “what you need to find is a way to not feel bad about living.” She stiffened and tried to pull away. Lincoln only tightened his hold on her. “And I’m going to help you find it.”

“Why?” she choked out.

Lincoln sat up, taking her with him. He tipped her chin up so their gazes locked. “Because stupid people try to do things on their own and smart people realize no one can do anything on their own. And you’re smart.” He smiled and Sara swallowed. “Even when you don’t act like it. Let’s find our tree.”

They spent close to an hour roaming the woods, searching for the perfect tree. Lincoln let her pick and Sara was drawn to the most straggly, uneven, imperfect tree. It was her. Surviving, but in no way striving. There was no better, more fitting tree.

“You’re kidding.” He gave the tree a dubious look.

Sara touched a bent limb. The tree was only as tall as she. “I’m not.”

Lincoln watched her for a long, silent moment. He finally nodded. “Okay, Sara. I get it. We’ll have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.”

Her eyes burned at his easy acceptance of her wishes, no matter how strange he thought they might be. “Thank you.”

He tied a red ribbon to the tree to mark it. “Don’t thank me yet. This tree is going to need some serious decorating to make it acceptable. You’re in charge of that. I’ll be back later to cut it. You’re shivering. Let’s go warm up.” Lincoln nudged her. “I’ll even make you hot chocolate with a peppermint candy cane.”

Sara’s throat tightened. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Lincoln began to walk, shaking his head as he went. “Stop being so hard on yourself.”

She hurried to catch up, stumbling over a fallen tree limb. Lincoln turned, catching her before she fell. His brows furrowed as he stared down at her, searching her face. Her heartbeat picked up its pace and Sara pulled away, confused by her body’s reaction to Lincoln. She looked at her brown snow-covered boots, wanting to escape all the things she didn’t understand.

“Sara.” He said it quietly, but there was so much emotion heard in the way he said it. Why did he do that? Say her name like it meant something, like it was a benediction or prayer?

Sara could try to pretend it wasn’t there, and maybe for a while it would work, but eventually it would be inescapable, like life. Don’t think about it. You’re imagining things. Maybe Sara could use avoidance for a little while longer. Through the five years she’d known him, there had been instances where Sara had thought Lincoln had said something a certain way; looked at her a certain way, but she’d always brushed it aside, like she would now. A frown on her face, Sara met his eyes, willing him to keep his secrets.

Lincoln hesitated, and then said, “You have a leaf in your hair.”

He pulled it out from her tangled hair and showed her. Lincoln let it drop to the ground, Sara’s eyes going with it. It lay there, torn and wrinkled and dead. It looked so beaten, so sad. She blinked her wet eyes, thinking of her husband and thinking of her and wanting to not think at all.

“I got a joke,” he announced, slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her along with him as he herded them toward the house.

Sara squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun as it flickered through the tree branches, periodically blinding her as it played peek-a-boo with the earth. “I’m sure it’s good.”

“Are you saying my jokes usually aren’t?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be that rude.”

Lincoln snorted. “There’s a blond, a Russian, and an American talking. The Russian says, “We were the first to enter outer space.” The American comes back with, “Yeah, well, we were the first on the moon.” The blond says, “My friends and I are going to the sun.” Russian says, “You idiot. You’ll burn up halfway there.” Blond goes, “Duh. We’re going at night.””

Sara giggled.

“Good, right?”

“I don’t know about that.”

Lincoln’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “You know I’m outstandingly funny. It’s okay to admit it.”

Sara smiled softly as the house came into view. The smile fell from her lips, the fleeting serenity she’d had with it. She ceased moving and Lincoln dropped his arm from her shoulders, stopping beside her.

“It’s just a house, Sara.”

Just a house filled with him in every way imaginable. That was all. What did Lincoln think and feel every time he walked inside the door?

“Is it just a house to you?” she asked softly.

Their eyes met and in his, Sara saw pain, and she felt horrible. It was always about her. Lincoln was always trying to make her feel better, always trying to drag her away from the edge of desolation. What about him? He’d lost his best friend, the older brother he’d looked up to growing up, because of Sara. She owed it to him to let him know his brother’s wishes. Sara owed him so much.

“What is it?”

Sara opened her mouth to confess the secret locked inside her. Her pulse was careening madly, her heart pounded so fast and hard she felt faint. “Your…I…” She stared at him in helplessness and misery.

His features tightened and then his face closed. It went completely blank. “Tell me.”

“He—“

“Say his name, Sara,” Lincoln interrupted sharply. “He’s a person, your husband, say his fucking name.”

She flinched at his harsh tone and words, stumbling back a step. If he’d slapped her she wouldn’t have felt the sting more.

He cursed again, yanking his gloves from his hands and flinging them to the ground. “I’m sorry, but…this is over, Sara. You can’t pretend anymore. I’m not letting you. So say his name, and stop acting like your world has fallen apart and mine hasn’t and…fuck.” Lincoln turned away, showing Sara his granite profile. “Just say his name, all right?” His throat convulsed as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Sara reached for his arm and Lincoln shrugged her off. “I’m doing what Spencer did, only in a different way. I didn’t…I didn’t realize. And I know better. I’m so sorry, Lincoln.” A wave of sorrow hit her, but this time it wasn’t for her or her husband. This time, it was for Lincoln.

He whirled around, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Sara. I want you to live. I want you to stop blaming yourself and acting like a martyr waiting for her execution. I want you to smile and laugh and not give up. Because I’m not giving up and Cole wouldn’t want you to give up. Do you know how pissed he would be, right now, if he knew the way you’re living? He would be furious.” Lincoln glared down at her, his hands fisted at his sides.

She was suffocating. Sara gasped for air that didn’t come. She had to tell him. She had to tell Lincoln and face his wrath. “You don’t understand, Lincoln. I don’t know how. I can’t.” The pressure built, in her chest, in her throat.

Lincoln strode toward her, his gaze locked on Sara’s. He stopped when only an inch separated them. “Find a way.”

“He wrote a living will,” she blurted out. Her words ran together until they were jumbled and hard to understand. But once Sara started, she couldn’t stop. “He wrote a will stating that if he was ever put on life support, that once a year had come with no change in his health, he…the machine is supposed to be shut off.” Saying it out loud made it true and she sucked in a ragged breath, pain lacerating her heart.

Lincoln’s face; his face was stone as he stared at her, saying nothing.

Sara swallowed thickly, the words like cement in her throat. It was too late to stop. She had to finish; she had to get them all out. “I’m supposed to approve it. He stated in the will I’m to approve it. I have….they want me to sign the papers. It’s been over a year, Lincoln.”

Everything in her dimmed; shut done, as she studied his expression. It was dead. His eyes were dead. Those stormy gray eyes usually so full of life were flat. He didn’t move; he didn’t appear to breathe. He just stared at her, as though he hadn’t heard her words or couldn’t accept them. The world turned gray, listless, it disappeared as she watched him stand there, too hurt to even move; and she wanted to erase his sorrow. Sara would take it from him if she could.

She was back in time; back to that horrible day the doctors told them the prognosis wasn’t good; the day they were told the head trauma he suffered from was most likely irrevocable and unfixable. His brain was damaged too much. Sara was back to that day when Lincoln was broken right along with her. He’d had the same look on his face then as he did now. Only then there’d been reason to have a little hope; now there was none. A small part of her hoped anyway.

When Lincoln spoke, she knew it was the same for him.

“Maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe he’ll be okay.” Lincoln’s voice was rough, his eyes downcast.

“Maybe,” she agreed, nodding her head as she reached for him. It felt like a lie and that caused an ache in her chest. Sara cupped Lincoln’s face with her hands. He looked at her, his brows lowered, his jaw tight. His unshaven jaw shifted against her palms, gently abrading the sensitive flesh.

Sara smiled. She smiled for Lincoln and she hugged him, knowing in that place inside a person where the truth was always heard, no matter how hard it didn’t want to be, that she was lying to Lincoln; they were lying to each other, but a lie was all she could handle at the moment. Lincoln too.

Lincoln’s arms slowly enclosed her, stiff and loose at first, but eventually squeezing her so close and hard it was an effort for Sara to suck air through her lungs, but she didn’t mind. At least she was breathing, for a little while. Lincoln’s warmth cocooned her along with his arms, his scent of mint and lemon filling her with peace, the sound of his stable, strong heartbeat soothing. Sara let her eyes close, and though her heart was torn and possibly irreparable, like Lincoln’s, with the two ruined pieces there was one whole heart.