“Sara?” Lincoln whispered close to her. “Talk to me.”
The pastor droned on about God and how her husband was now with Him and it angered her. Sara’s cheeks flushed and her hands fisted at her sides. She didn’t want to talk to Lincoln. Sara couldn’t speak. If she said one single word, she’d collapse, break. But as the pastor kept talking like he’d known her husband, like he knew God on a personal level and had tea with Him and knew, one hundred percent, that her husband would also be having tea with Him for all time henceforth, she bit her tongue to keep in a scream and tasted blood.
Lincoln put his arm around her shoulders, his scent coming with it, and said into her hair, “If you need to leave, we’ll leave.”
Her lip began to wobble. She was cracking. Stop talking, Lincoln. The fury seeped out of her as quickly as it had appeared and the splinter deepened.
“Everyone will understand if you need to leave and if they don’t, too bad for them. Say the word, Sara, and I’ll take you away from this. Cole would understand.”
Why didn’t he stop talking? Dizziness hit her and Sara stumbled back, Lincoln catching her before she landed. The pastor paused as he looked at her, his lips almost immediately moving again. He was a kind-faced man with balding black hair and glasses. Sara tried to focus on him and what he was saying; anything to center her, but his voice was muffled and far away. She shook her head and another wave of lightheadedness struck her.
“Talk to me,” Lincoln repeated in a voice low with urgency.
Their eyes met, his glazed with concern. Sara had to stay. For him. She owed her husband that. Sara opened her mouth, trying to talk around the dryness of her throat, trying not to break in front of everyone. Lincoln’s eyebrows lowered as he waited, never taking his eyes from her face.
“I’ll…stay. I need to,” she whispered, her face burning as eyes turned her way.
“Sure?”
She nodded.
Lincoln kept her plastered to his side, his arm strong and steady and enough to keep her standing. Somehow she got through it. Somehow she didn’t scream or break or collapse. Sara’s body trembled as the casket covered in white roses was lowered into the ground, her eyes filling with hot tears. She blinked and they fell to her cool cheeks, warming them.
People were leaving. She watched, bleary-eyed, as Lincoln’s father finally pulled his wife away and headed for their vehicle. Sara stared at the hole in the ground that held her husband’s body and would be his home from now on. Searing hot pain lashed through her heart, a fiery whip of devastation. What if she crawled into the hole with him? Sara would if it meant she’d be closer to him. She could close her eyes and forever sleep.
“You lied to me,” she whispered, dashing a hand across her face to make room for more tears. “You said you’d never leave me.” Sara’s voice cracked. “But you did. You left me.”
A movement caught her eye and she looked up from the black hole. Lincoln stood on the other side of it, tight-jawed. He wore a gray suit that matched the shade of his eyes and a red tie. His hair was in need of another cut, the waves taking over and unruly once more. One lock of dark brown hair hung on his forehead, giving him a boyish look.
As she stared at him, he morphed into her husband. His build turned rangier, he shortened a few inches in height, and his eyes were a piercing blue. “I didn’t lie to you, Sara.”
She inhaled sharply as she lost her balance, careening dangerously close to the edge of earth that led to the grave. Lincoln swore and raced toward her, gathering her in his arms and roughly pulling her back.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.
Sara studied his features. It was Lincoln. Gray eyes, sharp features, wavy hair. Relief and disappointment warred inside her, and she went weak in his arms. “What did you say? When you were over there?”
“What? I didn’t say anything. I watched you almost fall into a grave and thought I’d better rescue you.”
She waited for Lincoln to admit he’d spoken the words she’d heard and seen her deceased husband say. Only he didn’t.
“I’m losing my mind,” she said softly.
“I won’t argue with you there.”
Sara gave him a sharp look.
The smile that flashed across his lips was thin and didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re all a little crazy at times, Sara. Sometimes that’s the only way to deal with life.”
Lincoln began to walk away, his back stiff, his strides precise as he took himself farther and farther away from where his brother’s body would reside for all eternity.
***
The unwanted guests with their sad eyes and words of condolences that mimicked every single other persons were finally gone. Lincoln helped clean up even though she’d told him to go. His suit jacket was slung over the back of the recliner and her eyes kept going to it, wanting to remove it so Lincoln’s scent didn’t replace his.
Her husband would be honored and surprised by all that had attended the services. He’d had a cocky and sometimes arrogant demeanor that had made people think he’d thought he was better than others at times, but that hadn’t been it at all. He’d actually thought he was less than. She’d never understood why. Sara knew that wall of self-confidence had hid the insecurities of a man who’d wondered if he was all that good time and again.
Sara had seen it; she’d known the true soul of the man who’d acted one way and had really been another. He’d always thought he had to prove something to someone; that he was good enough, or maybe just to himself. But knowing all those people cared for him and mourned the loss of his life; it would have eased some of that. She hoped it would have anyway. Not that it mattered, because he’d never know.
She looked at his brother. He’d always gone the other way; he really didn’t care what people thought. They’d grown up in the same house and they’d been raised by the same people and they were nothing alike. How did that happen? He was so pale. Lincoln’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shirt and tie were rumpled. He looked tired, his mouth bracketed in sadness, an impossible weight dragging his shoulders down from their normal proud stance.
The scent of dish soap mixed with the turkey and dressing sandwiches from the local deli and Sara’s stomach roiled. She picked up Styrofoam cups and paper plates, putting them in the garbage. They hadn’t said a lot since his parents had left close to an hour ago. Every time their gazes met, Sara had to look away from the pain she saw in his eyes.
“Any more dishes?”
Sara flinched at the sound of his deep voice. “No. Thank you. I can finish up, Lincoln,” she said, motioning to the dishes he was dutifully washing and setting in the strainer next to the sink.
He rinsed a dish off, it gently clanging against other dishes as he set it down to dry. “Yeah. You told me that. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath hiccupped. “What?”
Lincoln’s expression was stern as he faced her. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. I don’t think you should be left alone.”
Heat shot through her, flushing her cheeks. “I don’t care what you think. It’s my house and if I want to be alone, I get to be alone.”
Half his mouth quirked up. “Any other time, sure. But tonight…” Lincoln shook his head. “No.”
“Get out, Lincoln.”
“No.”
Sara made a sound of frustration, flinging her hands in the air. “You can’t babysit me forever.”
Lincoln straightened and moved toward her. “What makes you think I’m babysitting you? Maybe I don’t want to be alone either. Ever think of that? Maybe the thought of going to my house, the house Cole and I grew up, the place he’ll never come back to, is too much for me right now.”