She pulled away, searching his tight-lipped expression, seeing the fierce gleam in his eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah. I do. I’m not leaving you. Not ever. Not ever.” Lincoln’s fingers dug into her shoulders, keeping her anchored to reality. “I swear to you, Sara, ain’t nothing taking me away.”
It was a lie, but it was a lie Sara needed to hear. She let herself believe it. Lincoln needs you, whispered through her head and she shivered at the truth of it.
***
“You’re strong enough to get through this, Sara.”
Sara shook her head. “I’m not strong. I don’t even want to try to be. I’m just…struggling to not want to die, and the thought of living; it really holds no appeal to me. So I exist.”
“I know you lost your parents and I know you lost a baby. Now Cole.” Mason crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “You look surprised. You really shouldn’t be. Spencer’s talked about you and Cole often enough, even before I met you that fateful day at Wyalusing. What I’m saying is; you got through all of that and you can get through this too.”
Swallowing, Sara played with her wedding ring. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she’d thrown on an old yellow shirt of his and black leggings. She looked like an oversized bee. Mason had said as much.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Not at all. But it’s not unattainable and you act like it is. That’s what you need to change. The way you think about things. About yourself.”
“Don’t you think there comes a point when it’s all too much? When you cave, give in from all the pain and all the loss? Maybe that’s where I’m at.”
He smiled. “Nah. If you were at that point, you wouldn’t be standing here, talking with me.”
“You make me,” she pointed out.
“Truly? You’re going to do me like that?” Mason looked disappointed in her, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t, not really. “You could have not answered the door that first Sunday, or even the second one, or even today, but you did. You want help. You want to move on. You just don’t know how. But that’s part of it; finding out how to handle the things in life you can’t change.”
“You either know way too much or not enough,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. She was tired, so tired.
“Have you seen Lincoln lately?”
Her stomach twisted at the mention of his name. “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “Why?”
Mason shrugged. “No reason. Keep seeing him.”
“I don’t think Lincoln would let me stay away even if I tried,” she said dryly, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Ah, see? In all of this sorrow and pain you feel, you just smiled. You had a reason to smile, and it was Lincoln. That’s what it’s all about, Sara; finding reasons to smile. It gets easier, it gets less painful, and then it doesn’t hurt so much. You don’t have to hurt to mourn someone. Do you understand what I mean?”
Sara drew in a shaky breath, briefly closing her eyes as she nodded. “I think so. Yes.”
Mason walked to her, grasping her cold hands in his warm ones. “You’re strong enough. Know that. Believe it.” He squeezed her hands before releasing them.
“Why are you so adamant about helping me? It’s not like I’m paying you and I know I’m not exactly your idea of fun.”
“You remind me of me, only more melodramatic.” Mason winked, moving toward the door.
“I’m melodramatic?” she demanded, incredulous.
He paused, his hand on the door handle. “Yes. I think that’s what I said, didn’t I?” Mason nodded. “Yes. I did say that. You define melodrama, Sara dear. You should have been an actress. See you next week.”
Mason had rendered her speechless.
***
Sara marked each day off on the calendar next to the refrigerator, wondering when that elusive day would come when she would be healed, when the pain and guilt would be gone. One month. It had been over thirty days since his body was lowered into the ground.
She set the black marker down on the counter, staring at the bold X on January 2nd. Another day down and still no relief. Sara ran a hand through her stringy hair, not even sure when she’d last washed it. She shuffled toward the phone, staring at it. She hadn’t heard from Lincoln or seen him in almost a week. Maybe he’d finally given up on her. Maybe he finally blamed her.
Sara had been waiting, the thought always in her mind, no matter how far away she tried to shove it, that the day would come when Lincoln realized everything he’d lost was because of her. It would kill her, losing Lincoln on top of losing her husband. It would take what was left of her life and end it. She swallowed painfully and turned away from the phone. Staring at it wouldn’t make it ring. Thinking of him wouldn’t make him appear. Remembering her husband wouldn’t make him alive.
The knock at the door was soft and Sara almost didn’t hear it. She paused, her head tilted, as the faint knock came again. Sara moved toward the door, not sure who it would be, and almost hoping it would be no one. Her nerves came to life at a name that slithered through her mind: Lincoln. A glance at the clock showed her it was close to eight; late enough to try to shut the world out.
Sara hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. She could ignore it, lie down, and pretend no one had ever been on the other side of the front door. Only she couldn’t, because she knew who it was. Somehow she could feel him, feel his body heat even with a door between them. Even if he hated her, Sara didn’t have the power to ignore Lincoln. She’d rather deal with his loathing than his absence.
And so she opened the door.
Flint-colored eyes set in a face pale with strain stared at her from the shadows of night. It had only been days since Sara had last seen Lincoln, but his cheekbones seemed more prominent, his jaw more angular than square. Stubble covered his jawline and his dark waves were long again, giving him a disheveled look. The death of his brother was physically ravaging him; stripping him down to someone Sara didn’t know. Or maybe she did. He was her.
“You look horrible,” he said in a gruff voice.
Sara couldn’t get mad. She knew it was true.
“Can I come in?”
She nodded, not moving; her stomach churning as she imagined all the hateful words about to leave his lips. One dark eyebrow lifted and Sara flushed, backpedaling into the house to give him room to enter. Lincoln inhaled deeply, his eyes trailing over the kitchen to the right and the living room they stood in. Sara wondered if he saw his brother in the smallest of details, like she did.
He looked at her, his features impassive, shoving his hands into the pockets of his green hooded sweatshirt. Wisconsinite through and through, Lincoln rarely wore a jacket, even on the coldest of days.
“How’ve you been?” Lincoln muttered something and glanced away. “Don’t answer that. Stupid question.”
“Are you okay, Lincoln?” she forced out, immediately regretting her words. Of course he wasn’t okay.
“No. I’m not okay. You’re not either.”
Sara shook her head, looking at the floor.
“My parents left yesterday.” Her head jerked up and her eyes searched Lincoln’s face. “They wanted to hang around until after Christmas.” His mouth turned down. “It was awful, Sara. Christmas. My mom cried, like usual. My dad barely said anything. And the whole time, all I could think about, was you. If you even knew it was Christmas. If you even cared. What you were doing. If you were alone. I hated the thought of you being alone.”
“It’s—it’s okay, Lincoln,” she whispered, turning toward the couch. Sara hadn’t realized it was Christmas until it was the day after. She was glad she hadn’t known. Christmas had always been with the Walker family. A stab of pain in her chest acknowledged that that was no longer the case.
“They don’t blame you, Sara.”
“Don’t lie, Lincoln,” she said wearily.