Текст книги "Take Care, Sara"

Автор книги: Lindy Zart

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“That’s the way you want it?” A tick under his eye drew her attention to it. It pulsated there; anger in his veins even.

“Yes,” she croaked, finally able to look away. Her gaze fell to the empty recliner and her throat tightened. Go away, Lincoln, go away and leave me with my pain.

“That’s too bad, Sara.”

Her head shot up.

“I’m not going anywhere. Deal with it. And on that day you sign the papers, I’ll be right there with you. And on that day Cole takes his last breath, I’ll be there too. I’ll be around, even when he’s gone. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.” Lincoln’s eyes flashed as he leaned his face close to hers. “You don’t get to tell me to leave you alone. I’ll never leave you alone. I’ll never abandon you. That’s my promise to Cole and that’s my promise to you.”

Lincoln left, and with him went a little of her fear. Sara stared at his truck as it pulled away from the curb, and even with the distance between them, she could see his profile was stiff, unmovable. Why did he have so much faith, so much belief, in her? Sara was undeserving and at the same time so very grateful. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, some of the guilt disintegrating with his words echoing through her head.

10

Sara wanted to remember him the way he’d been before the accident. There wasn’t much time left and she didn’t want the present to eradicate the past. She had to keep a piece of her real husband in her memories. It wasn’t who was in the hospital room. That wasn’t him. Sara refused to accept that as him. She feared she’d forget him as he used to be and would only remember him as he was now. Unacceptable, Sara.

As she lay on the couch in the dark, staring in the direction of where heaven was supposed to be, her thoughts instead went to God. He wasn’t supposed to be designated to some place in the sky. He was supposed to be all around her, always. She’d told herself she no longer believed, yet she was thinking of Him at the time when she’d soon be losing her husband, for the second time, for the final time. So maybe some part of her still had faith, still had hope. But if God was all around her, did that mean he would be all around her too, still with her somehow for always, if he was with God? Maybe that was what she needed to believe; no matter if it was true or not.

Sara shook her thoughts away, too tired to think of such things. She hugged the ratty robe to her, burying her face in it, wetting the fabric with her sorrow. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Sara didn’t think she’d ever be ready. She hadn’t had enough time with him. The years had been happy and fast; now time did nothing but drag. Except that day; that fateful day loomed overhead, approaching much too quickly.

Warmth swept over her, an unknown trickle of air caressing her hair, that forever elusive sense of peace finally taking pity on her and teasing her for a bit with tranquility. Sara sighed, slumber tugging at her, pulling her into the darkness and away from reality. She welcomed it. Sara pretended it was his arms keeping her warm instead of a blanket, she pretended it was his chest she clutched to her instead of his robe. She pretended she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t lost, and she wasn’t without him. Sara fell asleep, knowing it might be her last night of serenity for a long, long time.

***

It was snowing again. She stood in her yard, the flakes covering her and the ground. Sara held her black-gloved hand out, watching as they dropped to her palm and melted. So quickly their existence was over. They fell from the sky and ended. They were done.

The low rumble of a diesel engine getting louder and louder drew her attention to the street. The engine cut off and silence surrounded her once more. Sara waited, watching as Lincoln approached. The bill of his olive green baseball cap shielded his eyes, but she knew they never left her as he walked toward her. Sara was always the center of his attention, without fail. He had on a brown coat with jeans and boots. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets.

Lincoln stopped when he was almost to her, his expression unreadable. He loomed over her, his presence eradicating all others in the vicinity. “We have a tree to decorate.”

Sara blinked. “What?” She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.

“You and me. Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Let’s go.” Lincoln didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and strode back to the truck, opening the passenger door for her. One dark eyebrow lifted. “I’m waiting.”

Exasperated, Sara walked toward him. “You’re obnoxious,” she told him as she got into the warm truck.

“Thank you.” He slammed the door shut and jogged around to his side. “Here’s the deal,” Lincoln said, starting the engine. “We’re each going to only say positive things the whole time we decorate the tree and drink hot chocolate and eat popcorn.”

“We have to do all that?”

“Yeah. We do. We’re going to be festive.” Lincoln shot her an annoyed look, driving the truck out of town.

“I don’t feel like being festive.”

Lincoln made a growling sound. “I don’t care. Christmas is less than a month away.”

Less than a week away was the deadline given to Sara for signing the papers. She briefly closed her eyes at the ache in her chest that realization brought. Not that she’d forgotten. It was always there, in the back of her mind, coating everything in misery. Don’t think about it.

“When does it start?”

“When does what start?”

“The festivities and positive comments and all that.”

“I…it starts now, Sara. Now.”

“How long does it last?”

Lincoln glowered at Sara and she wanted to laugh. “The whole time.”

“You’re not being very positive.”

He opened his mouth as he glanced at her, quickly snapping his mouth shut as words failed him. A minute later, Lincoln said in a rough voice, “Cole made a damn good steak.”

The urge to laugh died; her small smile with it.

“Your turn.”

Sara shook her head, crossing her arms, and stared at the forest of snow-encrusted trees outside her window.

The truck lurched to a stop and Lincoln slammed the shifter into park, the engine going quiet. “You’re not being maudlin anymore, Sara. We have one week, one week, to honor him, and we’re going to fucking do it. No crying, no sad faces. In fact, we’re not even going to think about next week. We’re going to think of him the way he was before the accident. I demand it.”

She faced him. Sara couldn’t even get angry at him or his rude tone, not after she looked at Lincoln’s face. His eyes were flashing with pain and his jaw was stiff, but his expression was fierce. He meant it. There was no denying Lincoln this. Sara wouldn’t even try.

“Okay, Lincoln,” Sara whispered. She nodded, swallowing against the tightening of her throat.

“Okay.” Lincoln blew out a noisy breath. “Okay. Come on.”

Once inside Lincoln’s house, Sara gazed at the pitiful tree missing patches of pine needles and slightly drooping over. He’d set it up in front of the bay windows by the table. The tree looked so weak, but still was persisting. Maybe strength wasn’t decided by what you could do, but by what you could do without. Sara stared at it, feeling a kinship to the pathetic tree that wouldn’t give up. It was stronger than her even. It wanted to live.

“How long do you think it will survive?”

“I think…it will survive as long as it needs to, Sara.”

She glanced at him. “Or as long as it wants to?”

He shook his head. “No. What you need and what you want are rarely the same things. It’ll hang on until it’s ready to go, until it needs to go.” Lincoln’s words made her think of the still form lying in a hospital bed. Was he staying because he wanted to, or because he needed to? Or because Sara needed him to?

Lincoln set a box of ornaments on the table, moving to stand beside her. “I do have to say, though, that that is the saddest tree I’ve ever seen, Sara. Just so you know.”

“In case I didn’t already know?”

He nudged her shoulder with his arm. “I’m all about informing people.”

“Yeah. Bossy.” Sara gave him a small smile.

Lincoln blinked. “Holy fuck. You just smiled.”

Sara nervously tucked hair behind her ear, looking away from him. It didn’t make sense to smile with what was to come, but she would try, for Lincoln, for him.

Clearing his throat, Lincoln said, “Coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Coffee, please.”

“I’ll make some. You can start making it pretty.” Lincoln grinned. “Good luck.”

Sara opened the dusty box, wiping her hands on her jeans as she gazed into it. The first ornament to catch her eye was a pale blue crystal angel. Her stomach dipped and her hand trembled as she reached for it. It was the same shade as his eyes. His eyes she longed to see again; wondered if she’d ever see again.

“What’s that?”

Sara started, almost dropping the ornament. She fumbled with it, setting it safely away from her on the table. “An angel.”

Lincoln picked it up, perusing it. “It was Cole’s. From Grandma Lena. She passed away when we were kids.”

“Did you get one?”

“Nah. She didn’t like me as much as she liked Cole. She told me so every time I saw her.”

“That’s—that’s terrible.”

He laughed, shrugging. “At least she was honest.”

“Did she ever say why?”

Lincoln shoved his hands in his jean pockets, looking at the tree. He snorted. “Very simply put: I talked too much. She liked Cole because he was quiet and I, unfortunately, never shut up.”

“Poor Lincoln.” Sara patted his shoulder, feeling sorry for the little boy whose grandmother hadn’t like him. “I would have liked you.”

He looked at her, a half-smile on his lips. “Thanks. Too bad I didn’t know you then. You could have been my only friend.”

A twinge in her chest propelled her to ask, “You didn’t have any friends either? What was wrong with you?”

He laughed shortly. “What was wrong with me?” Lincoln tweaked a limb of the tree and a few pine needles fell to the floor. “I had a little too much energy. I liked to fight. I was mouthy and always getting into trouble.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t Cole.”

Sara swallowed, her brows furrowing. “I never knew…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

But it was. Sara could see it was. Lincoln wouldn’t look at her and he always looked at her. Her heart ached for the misunderstood child Lincoln had been. She opened her mouth, but he was walking away.

“This is supposed to be a happy day, I said so, and here I am getting depressing. I’ll be right back.” Lincoln crossed the room and took the stairs two at a time.

Sara found a pile of tangled hooks at the bottom of the box, pricking her finger with one. She put the angel on one of the sturdier looking limbs and watched as it bent way down, looking close to the point of snapping. Sara stared at the angel appearing to fall from the sky, too heavy to fly, and sadness hit her.

“Here you go.”

A red sweater was dangled in front of her face. “What’s this?” Sara looked up, blinking, and then laughed. “What are you wearing?”

A brown fleece sweater a size too small formed to his fit frame. Rudolph, red nose and all; stared back at Sara. She grinned at Lincoln and Lincoln went still, his eyes on her, a strange expression on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, the grin fading.

He shook his head and the look was gone. “It’s nothing. Put this on.”

Sara took the sweater, holding it up before her. A candy cane with a green bow was on the front of it. “Whose is this?”

“Does it matter?”

“A little, yes.”

“Grandma Lena’s. Do it justice.”

Sara touched Rudolph’s red nose. “And whose is this?”

“Grandma Lena’s.”

Sara laughed. “And are you doing it justice?”

“I’m trying.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting his. “That’s all you can do.”

Lincoln leaned toward her, his lips close to hers as he said, “Exactly.”

Her pulse quickened at his nearness and Sara hastily moved away, bumping into the table. Why did he do that? And why was she all flustered? She clutched the sweater to her chest, keeping her eyes downcast. “I’ll just…go put this on.”

“Please.”

***

The tree had candy canes, gold tinsel, red garland, and as many of the Christmas ornaments as would fit on it adorned to it. It was ghastly and garish. Sara loved it. She stood beside Lincoln, both of them looking at the decorated tree. The scents of melting cheese, Italian herbs, and red sauce floated over to them from the oven in the nearby kitchen and it was pleasantly warm in the house. Sara felt almost normal, close to happy.

“That is the ugliest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen, Sara. And I mean that.”

“It has character.”

Lincoln glanced at her. “Is that what they call it?”

Sara tugged at the neck of the itchy sweater. “Yeah. Like these sweaters have a lot of character.”

“At least you’re not a guy wearing a woman’s sweater.”

“No one made you.” She gave him a pointed look.

“Pizza’s ready. What do you want to drink?”

“How do you know the pizza’s ready?”

“Because I have no witty comeback to your comment, so that means the pizza’s ready. Drink?”

“Water. I’ll get it.” Sara moved before Lincoln did and bumped into him, his hands reaching out to steady her. Wariness shot through her as Sara’s eyes met Lincoln’s. His were intense, focused. Lincoln’s nostrils slightly flared as he stared down at her.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Sara blurted before she could stop herself.

“Like what?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t know. Like…that.” She gestured to his face, perplexed by him, by her reaction to him. Sara didn’t understand any of it.

Lincoln’s hands dropped from her arms and he moved away. “Because it’s all I can do.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded, following him into the kitchen.

The oven beeped as Lincoln turned it off. He swung around, stopping her with his gaze. “Do you really want to have this conversation?”

Sara helplessly lifted her hands, palms up. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t even know what conversation we’re having. I’m confused, Lincoln.”

With a sigh, he grabbed oven mitts from the counter and took the pizza from the oven. “Confused is good. Stay confused. Easier that way,” he muttered.

Frown on her face, Sara leaned her hips against the counter, crossing her arms, and watched Lincoln meticulously cut the half cheese, half pepperoni pizza into eight pieces. His fingers were long-boned and lean, covered in callouses and small cuts, but still graceful in a way she wouldn’t think a carpenter’s fingers could be, or maybe that was backwards; maybe they were exactly as a carpenter’s should be.

“Gonna get your water?” he abruptly asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah.” Caught staring, Sara quickly moved beside him and opened a cupboard door, reaching up and grabbing a blue cup. “You want one?” She looked over and found his eyes on her, a pained expression on his face. “All right.” Sara slammed the cup down on the counter. “What’s going on?”

He straightened, dropping the pizza cutter to the stove. “You really have to ask that?”

“I—“

“What do you think is going on?”

Her face began to heat up. “I think you’re purposely being an ass.”

“Really? That’s what you think?” Lincoln moved closer, those silver with gold-flecked eyes narrowed and locked on her.

Sara backed up, bumping into the counter. “What’s your problem, Lincoln? Why are you acting like this? Why are you always pushing me lately, testing me? What’s the purpose of it?”

“I want you to live,” he said in a voice low with emotion.

“I am.” I don’t want to be, but I am.

Shaking his head, he said, “No. You’re not. You’re pretending to live. It’s not the same.”

“It’s the only way…I can endure this, Lincoln,” she said in a quaking voice.

Lincoln closed the distance between them, bracing an arm on either side of her, locking her between his arms and the counter. He lowered his head until his lips were close to her ear. Sara tried to swallow and couldn’t; scared to move, scared to breathe, scared to think.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so screwed up in the head, Sara,” he whispered raggedly, his breath tickling her ear. “So unbelievably fucked up.” Lincoln’s shoulders slumped and his head dipped lower, his forehead grazing her shoulder. “I thought I was okay. I thought I could do this. But I’m cracking, unraveling. I’m being an asshole and I want to stop and I just…can’t.” The pain in his voice was like a laceration against her soul; hot agony that grew instead of lessening.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Lincoln. I don’t understand any of it.” Her voice was high, breathless.

He pulled back so that he could look at her. “Just…let me talk, okay? Just let me talk.” Lincoln drew in a ragged breath, his body tightly coiled and yet trembling all the same. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I’m just…I’m angry and I’m sad and I just…I want to forget. I wish I could forget. Forget him, forget you, forget it all. I’m sick of feeling the way I do. I’m twisted inside. Knotted.”

Lincoln gently touched his forehead to hers. “I want to stop being this way. But I can’t. Because only one thing can make it better and it’s the one thing I can’t have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sara.” The misery, the self-loathing she heard in the tremble of his voice; it was aching to hear. Her ears would bleed from the pain of it if they could.

Sara didn’t know what Lincoln was talking about, or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to know. Her pulse raced at an uncontrollable speed. This Lincoln was different; this Lincoln wasn’t the one she’d known for years. He was altered, changed. He felt more, hurt more. Could it be this was the real Lincoln and she was only now seeing him?

Had that teasing young man with the easy grin been an illusion and was Sara now seeing past the illusion to the real man? And who was Lincoln then? She’d thought she’d known him, but maybe she hadn’t really known him at all. The thought made her stomach knot up. Sara studied the face she knew almost as well as her husband’s that was so very different from his; the high forehead, the angular cheekbones, the square jaw. There was beauty and strength in that face and mysteries stared at her from stormy gray eyes. What truths did Lincoln keep locked inside, for him alone to know?

“Who are you?” she whispered. What was she asking him? Sara didn’t even know.

Lincoln stared at her, his long eyelashes lowering to hide his eyes from her as he answered, “I’m me, Sara.”

But who are you?

“I’ve always been me,” he continued.

The air was thick with unspoken truths and enigmas; it was riddled with shadows and murkiness. Sara felt like she wasn’t seeing something; there was something glaring her right in the face and she couldn’t see it. Her eyes were veiled; because they had to be, for her sake. She opened her mouth to tell Lincoln to move, but he was already dropping his arms and turning away. Sara exhaled loudly, her nerves jumbled and shaken. Her eyes refused to go to him; she couldn’t see his face, not now.

“I think…maybe I should go,” she said, her mouth and throat dry. Sara grabbed the cup and filled it with water from the faucet. She gulped it down so fast it hurt her throat.

He stilled. “Do you want to?”

She looked at him then. One look at Lincoln’s face and the answer she was going to say disappeared and was replaced with another. He looked lost, young. He stood tall and proud, and yet there was frailty to him she’d never noticed before.

“No,” unconsciously fell from her lips, surprising her. Didn’t she? Why didn’t Sara want to go?

He tried to hide the relief on his face from Sara by looking away, but she caught it, something inside her twisting at the vulnerability he didn’t want her to see. “All right. I got ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation’ queued up. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Sara said, trying to smile. The tension was still there, though she was trying her hardest to pretend it wasn’t.

“I’m zero for two.” Lincoln got two plates out of a cupboard and loaded them with pizza.

She gave him a quizzical look, taking the plate with four slices of cheese pizza on it. Sara would maybe eat half of that.

“This was my idea. I said we had to talk about happy stuff. I screwed it up twice now,” he said as he walked into the living room, turning on a lamp. Days were shortening now and dusk was already approaching, turning the inside of the house dark. It wasn’t even four in the afternoon yet.

Sara sat down on the couch, setting her plate on the coffee table. “You can’t make yourself feel how you don’t, Lincoln. Pretending only makes things worse. I guess not knowing how you feel about something is normal too. You can love someone and hate them at the same time. You can want something and not want it too. Sometimes lies are all you have; sometimes you have to tell yourself them just to be able to breathe.” She clasped her hands and looked at them in her lap.

“Is that would you do? Lie to yourself? Of course you do,” he answered for her, not sounding judgmental, only matter-of-fact. “We’re all guilty of it. Sometimes you have to pretend, just to survive. Isn’t that how you make it through each day? Pretending? Sometimes that’s all you can do or you’ll break, Sara. You’ll ruin everything by not pretending. Believe me, I know.”

She looked at him, but Lincoln was readying the movie on the TV. Sara was missing an astronomical piece of information and until she grasped it, nothing would fit. And when you figure it out, what then? Unease trickled through her veins, chilling her.

“Remember how he used to buy Peeps by the armfuls at Easter time?” Lincoln grabbed his plate of pizza as he sat down on the couch, setting it on his lap.

Sara smiled softly. “Yeah. Those things are disgusting. I can’t believe he didn’t have tons of cavities. I tried a Peep once. Never again.” She shuddered.

Lincoln laughed, consuming half a piece of pizza in one bite.

He would have eaten chocolate every day if he could have, and actually, he probably had. After every meal, his dessert was a Snickers or a Kit Kat or some other kind of candy bar. Snacks consisted of Hershey’s Kisses and miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Good genetics and physical labor had kept him cavity-free and his body lean and hard.

That restless energy he’d had had kept him moving, never able to sit down or be still for too long. She had admired that about him at the same time it had annoyed her. Some days she’d just wanted to sit and watch a movie and he hadn’t even been able to do that. His knees would bounce, he’d tap his fingers on the armrest of the couch, he’d get up and move around, decide he needed to call someone. Even on her husband’s days off he was working. Come to think of it, all that sugar consumption could have been a large part of his inability to relax for any length of time.

“Don’t forget his orange soda.” Lincoln shuddered this time.

Laughter fell from her lips. “He liked his sweet stuff.”

“And baseball.”

“And snowmobiling.”

“Beer.”

“Grilling out.” Sara tried to smile, but instead her face crumpled.

She could see him clearly, the sunny summer scene playing out in her mind. His blue fire eyes, his teasing grin; the dirt on him from work he had yet to wash off. She took a deep breath and the image faded. Sara rubbed her eyes, not wanting Lincoln to see her tears.

The movie began; already forgotten before it had even started. Neither of them spoke, lost in their thoughts. Her mind was stuck on the words Lincoln had revealed in the kitchen. What had they meant? Would she ever know? Did she want to know? Some secrets were too painful to unravel.

When Sara looked over, Lincoln was watching her, his expression indecipherable. The only indication he felt anything at all was the tick in his strong jaw. He wordlessly reached for her and Sara fell into his arms, holding him as he held her. It felt right to be in his arms, it felt right to let him hold her when no one else felt right doing so. He alone loved him the same as she. She didn’t understand Lincoln; she didn’t know what he was trying to tell her or not tell her with his words, spoken and unspoken, but in regard to her husband and his brother; they were in accordance. They would remember him together and they would love him together, just as they would mourn him together.

***

“How are you dealing with everything?”

Pushing the empty coffee mug back and forth between her hands, Sara focused on a red stripe on the cup as she answered, “Terribly.”

As was customary, they sat at the table in Sara’s kitchen. Mason had brought caramel rolls, scenting the air with them. She’d eaten almost half of hers, to Mason’s surprise. Sara had always tried to be healthy in what she ate and drank, but now she had a hard time eating anything. She almost thought she’d forced that much down just to prove to herself she could. Her stomach was not happy with her.

“It’s to be expected. I know I said you were lucky to be able to say goodbye, but it has to be hard knowing there’s a set date. Or maybe that’s a blessing instead of indefinitely wondering when his final day will be.”

She looked up with a frown. Mason sipped from his cup, eyebrows lifted, waiting for her response. “You do realize you say a bunch of nothing almost every time your mouth opens?”

Half of his mouth quirked. “Depends on how you choose to interpret what I say. If you want to hear nothing, then nothing you shall hear. If you want to get something out of what I say, then you will.”

“There you go again,” she muttered.

He laughed, opening the crinkled white bag to pull out a second caramel roll. Mason took a bite, licking icing from his thumb.

“I thought these sessions were only going to last a month?”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“You said—“

“What I said was,” Mason interrupted smoothly, “I was on vacation for a month, so technically I wasn’t here as a grief counselor. I never said the sessions would only last that long. People always hear what they want to hear, even if it isn’t the same as what someone says. Clearly you needed me for longer than a month. It’s okay. I get that I’m irresistible.” He winked.

She blinked at him.

“How long have you known Lincoln?”

Sara froze, not wanting to think about Lincoln. Not that that mattered, because he seemed to be all she thought of. It was unnerving and worrisome how much she was thinking of him lately. And she wondered what he was thinking; all the time. Sometimes she even turned to ask him his opinion on something, so used to his company now; almost longing for it when he wasn’t around.

“Sara,” he prompted.

Taking a sip of cold coffee, Sara used the time to gather her scattered nerves. “I met him a few days after I met my husband.”

“Do you know him well?”

“As well as I know myself,” she answered without thinking. Sara blinked as her words registered in her head, looking at Mason. He’d caught them.

His face was blank, but his eyes were narrowed on her. “Interesting.”

Face red, she shifted in her seat. “What is?”

Mason set his cup of coffee down, splaying his long-fingered hands on the table. “You said you know him as well as you know yourself, not your husband. I find that interesting.”

“You would,” she retorted, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes and Sara’s skin was abnormally flushed.

“I would. Yes.” Mason stood, carrying his plate and cup to the counter. His dark blue sweater and jeans boasted his fit frame. “I’ll see you soon, Sara,” he said as he walked to the door to get his coat and boots on.

“That’s it?” Sara got to her feet, rooted to the place beside the table. “You’re leaving?”

Mason tilted his head and studied her. “Yes. I’m leaving. But first, I want you to tell me something about Lincoln.”

She shifted her feet, looking anywhere but at Mason. “Like what?”

“Anything.”

Sara thought of Lincoln; picturing his stormy eyes and stiff jaw and the way his lips curved up, softened, when he smiled. “He…” A smile captured her lips. “He has this habit of nodding his head to music, even when he isn’t aware of it. His body moves too. It’s like he has to restrain himself not to bust out dancing. It’s funny watching him, and most times, he can’t help but sing. Lincoln loves music; always has. It’s…endearing. Sweet.” She exhaled deeply, looking at Mason.

Mason didn’t speak for a long time, finally saying, “I realized something just now.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Oh?”

“It wasn’t anything you said, but it was what you didn’t say.”

Sara frowned. “What? What does that even mean?”

“You, talking about Lincoln. It’s not the words you use, but how you look as you say them. Your face softens; you smile. You glow, Sara. Lincoln is it.”

“Again with the nonsense? Lincoln is what?” she said, exasperated.

Smiling as he shrugged into his brown leather coat, Mason gently mocked, “Open your eyes, Sara. You won’t be able to see until you do.” He left, leaving a reeling Sara behind him.

***

Sara wiped sweaty hair from her face with her arm and leaned back on her heels. The kitchen floor was gleaming clean. Somehow housework did what painting used to do for her, but now couldn’t. It was therapeutic. Maybe she should change her career from painter to housekeeper. She snorted. Sooner or later she would have to figure out what she was going to do about that. Sara had made enough money from her artwork in the past that she was stable for now, even though there was no new income coming in from that. They’d saved a lot too. And of course there was the monthly compensation she received from the accident. Those were in a messy stack in the junk drawer, none cashed.

Lincoln was heavy on her mind, not that he was ever far from it. She was confused and upset by his behavior. She didn’t know how to read him. It was more than sorrow for his brother. He seemed tormented by something, something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her about. The strain on his face; it was more than just from the circumstances concerning his brother. Or maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore. She understood how that could happen. Maybe it was simply too much for him and she understood that as well.

Lincoln is the key. Sara shook her head. Mason and his crazy ideas. She never knew what he was saying and he always acted like it was because of her that his words made absolutely no sense at all. Saying that about Lincoln just proved it. Lincoln wasn’t the key to anything except maybe Sara’s constant aggravation lately. She frowned. That wasn’t fair. Everything Lincoln did he did with her in mind. She knew that. But what was with him recently?