Sara grabbed the pillow and blanket from the couch and put them on a shelf in the bedroom closet. It was cleansing, cathartic, and sad all at the same time. She stared at the bed, dismayed to find herself thinking of Lincoln and him both. They both couldn’t be in her heart, could they? Sara covered her face, remembering the smell and feel of Lincoln against her, yearning for him. When she thought of her husband, it was with overwhelming grief and guilt. How could she let another man touch her, his brother, when she was supposed to love him?
She hesitantly sat on the bed, running a hand over the cool fabric of the blanket, despondency dragging her down. Sara didn’t know what was right and wrong to feel; it felt like a betrayal to her husband at the same time it felt…right.
“Till death do us part, Sara. You know the drill.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Sara whispered.
The air around her faintly laughed, gruff and masculine. “Nah. I’m just letting you know, in case you didn’t, I’m dead.”
Inhaling sharply, she looked around the room, seeing nothing unusual. It was just a room; a room alive with memories, but still, just a room. Sara rubbed her forehead, shaken. She dropped her hands, determination jutting her jaw. She stiffly lay down on the bed, clasping her hands over her stomach, and forced her eyes to close. She hadn’t slept in the bed since he’d left. But she was going to now. Sara relaxed her breaths until they became deep, even, and she slept the dreamless sleep of an exhausted soul.
16
The garage was exactly as he’d left it. The blue Dodge took up half the white-walled building. Tools littered the workbench. Sara’s eyes were gritty, stinging, as they swept over the room he’d spent hours a day in, tinkering with his endless projects. His tool belt hung on the wall by the door. It was a cooler day out and it seeped into the garage and into Sara, causing her to shiver though she wore his hooded black sweatshirt.
She fiddled with the radio near the small refrigerator, finding a country station, her lips unconsciously curving up at the Tim McGraw song. He’d loved Tim McGraw. Remember him before the accident. Remember him with joy, not tears. That was her motto. Sara was trying to smile instead of cry.
Most times she failed, but sometimes, like now, she could remember the love they’d shared before he’d been taken from her instead of the pain she’d lived with in place of him since the accident. She could remember him and not crumble. The hardest feat, the one she hadn’t been able to overcome yet, was saying his name, thinking his name. It was beyond her at this point.
You don’t have to hurt to mourn someone, Mason had said. It made sense, it really did, but it was still too soon for her. She didn’t think it was improbable and that was an improvement. Some day.
He’d been gone over half a year now, though really he’d been gone a lot longer. It had been close to two years since the wreck. It didn’t seem possible that it had been so long ago, and yet, she’d only said goodbye a short six months ago.
Tim crooned about remembering him after he was gone, causing chills to go up and down Sara’s arms. The tears came then and that was no surprise, but the surprise was it didn’t hurt quite as much as it usually did. There was hollowness inside where her love for him had once been. It saddened her that that was what their love had been torn down to.
With a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and pushed the button to open the garage door. The garage door rumbled up, creaking as it went, allowing sunshine and a view of the street in. Sara jiggled the keys in her hand, hauling herself into the cab. It smelled like fresh linen and a fine layer of dust covered the dash.
Sara inhaled and exhaled deeply as she sat in his truck, recollections swirling around her, sucking her into a happier time.
“We’re gonna have a little white ranch-style house ‘cause I’m too lazy to climb stairs. You’re going to plant some pretty flowers.”
“Really? You think so?” Sara grinned as she gazed at the pink and orange sunset from the passenger side window of the truck.
“I know so. We gotta make our residence presentable so we don’t scare possible visitors off.”
“Visitors.” Sara shuddered.
He laughed, deep and low. “You’re right. They’ll interrupt our alone time.”
“Our alone time or the time you’re hoping we’re spending having sex?”
“Same difference.”
The summer day was turning into night, the heat slowly lowering as dusk approached. Sara smiled, enjoying the warm breeze fluttering through her hair from the partially opened window. “And then what?”
“Then, let’s see, two kids?”
She shrugged. “Sure.” Sara glanced at his profile, watching as a slow smile formed to his lips.
“We best get started on that ASAP. That is a prerogative.”
Sara laughed, touching his lips with her index finger. “We can at least wait until after the wedding.” He kissed the tip of her finger, his blue eyes flashing heat at her.
“Right. But there’s no reason we can’t practice our form until then.”
She leaned across the console and planted her lips on his rough cheek, giving him a slobbery kiss. “Love you.”
“Love ya, babe. Even your drool.” He winked, turning his gaze back to the road.
The smile didn’t immediately fade with the memory and Sara was glad of that. She inhaled deeply, almost feeling as if he was sitting beside her, smiling with her.
***
“It’s not Sunday,” she said as she opened the door, cool air rushing into the warmth of the house, causing Sara to shiver.
“I realize that.” Mason’s eyebrows lifted as he waited.
“Uncle Mason?” a little voice chimed and Sara’s gaze was pulled down.
“Sundays aren’t really helping, are they, Sara?”
Sara shifted, her eyes never leaving the blond-haired boy with wine-colored eyes. The boy was a miniature Mason. “Who’s this?” she asked, ignoring the question that really hadn’t needed to be asked.
Mason smiled. “Can we come inside?”
She blinked, opening the door wider. “Oh. Yeah. Come in.” Sara closed the door behind them, crossing her arms and leaning against it.
“It’s obvious I’m not the one helping you,” he said. “Lincoln, right?”
Sara looked away, again not answering. Lincoln—everything with Lincoln was a mess. There were so many emotions involved where he was concerned and Sara was unable to sort through them at all. At least, not yet. The longer she kept her distance, the bigger the chasm inside her grew. She wanted so badly to go to him, but she didn’t know what to do after that.
“Uncle Mason, I’m hungry,” the boy said, tugging his gray baseball cap lower on his head.
“I know, buddy. We’ll leave in just a bit. I just wanted to say hi to my friend quick, remember?”
Uncle Mason? She offered the boy a smile. He had a serious face, his eyes watchful. “Hi. I’m Sara. What’s your name?”
“Derek.”
Sara’s eyes flew to Mason’s. He shrugged; a small smile on his face. “I thought it was time you two met.”
“Derek?” she repeated slowly. “This is Derek? The one you talk to?”