“I’m no one to judge. I’m nowhere near an example of how to be. Derek died four years ago. I spent the first year hating myself and living in self-pity, doing every kind of drug I could get my hands on. It’s amazing I’m even alive, actually. I overdosed a couple times, had my stomach pumped. I have scars from other dumb things I did.” Mason held up his arm and slid the sleeve of his sweater back, revealing a jagged, raised line of skin pinker and paler than the rest of his arm.
Sara swallowed, tearing her eyes away. She crossed her arms, hiding the veins she’d studied so carefully more than one time.
“You and me, Sara, we’re two peas in a pod,” he said in a low voice. “But you…you have it better than me. Derek died instantly, without me having a chance to say I was sorry or goodbye or anything. Without me being able to tell him how much I loved him and admired him. You have that chance. Embrace it. Don’t hide away until it’s too late.”
“It is too late. He died a year ago. I keep…thinking he’ll come back. I know it’s crazy, but that’s what I keep thinking. Only I know he really won’t.” She blinked her tear-filled eyes. “Please, Mason, just go. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Mason’s eyes searched the kitchen, pausing on the fridge. He grabbed the magnetic pen and paper pad from it, jotting something down. “Here’s my cell phone number. Call me anytime, Sara. I’ll be back next Sunday. Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I have a task for you. Open up your art room and work. Create something. Anything. See you in a week.”
After he left, Sara stared into the room, the door now open. She took a hesitant step toward it, and another, until she hovered in the doorway. Sara hugged herself, imagining it was him hugging her, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even close. Sara let her arms drop away and walked to the painting. She trailed a finger along the clumpy surface, seeing his face, seeing his eyes. This time, though, they weren’t laughing or shining. This time, they were dim, unseeing. They were as they had been the last time they’d been open.
***
The phone was hard and cold, quickly warming from the heat of her ear against it. They were like a drug; these one-sided conversations with Lincoln. The soothing pull of his deep voice was an addiction; the peace Sara felt as she listened to him was unable to be imitated in any other way. She could hear the television in the background as she stared at the empty blackness of hers, almost able to see herself sitting beside Lincoln as he talked, watching the same rerun of ‘King of Queens’ right along with him. Absently twirling a strand of her long hair around a finger, Sara silently devoured his words.
“Remember that painting you made of the forest outside the house that Cole lost? I have a confession to make: I stole it. It’s in my bedroom, on the wall above my bed. Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I think he knew. I mean, he had to have seen it, right? I’m sure he was in my bedroom at least once since you painted it. Never said anything. Maybe he thought I needed it more than he did.
“I don’t know why I took it. I suppose I could have just asked for it. But where would the fun have been in that? You’re so talented, Sara. You could paint a nondescript ball of nothing and it would be amazing. You know that, right?” Sara closed her eyes at his kind words, not really believing them, but thankful for them just the same.
Lincoln sighed, sounding tired when he said, “No, I suppose you don’t. You always think less of yourself than is warranted. I always hated that about you; probably the only thing. You never thought you were smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough, strong enough. But you are. You always have been. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I mean it, Sara.”
How did he know her so well? She had always had an insurmountable mountain of insecurities, no matter how she wished otherwise. But Lincoln, Lincoln always seemed to know them all and denied each and every one as well. Sometimes Sara thought Lincoln knew her even better than her own husband, which was ridiculous. Warmed by his words, she had hope that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to fall asleep now after hearing his voice. Before she’d called him, it had been futile.
“I got an early start tomorrow, so I’m signing off for the night. I’ll be seeing you soon. Good night. Take care, Sara.”
6
As the days came and went, pulling her closer to that fated day marked on the calendar, the nightmares didn’t remain during the nighttime like they should. Sara saw the pain in his eyes at the collision. She felt his hand tighten on her in fear. The immediate loss as his touch was wrenched from her. She saw it all, whether her eyes were open or closed.