“What is it?”
“Have you talked to Spencer lately?” she blurted, and then wished she hadn’t.
“Not for a few weeks. Why?”
“Uh…” Sara fidgeted. “He…” She blew out a noisy breath. “He brought this grief counselor over and the guy is completely whacked. Completely.” Like me.
“Really? Who is it? I might know him.”
“Mason Wells.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “He must not be from around here. Why did Spencer bring him over? Not that I don’t think it was a good idea.”
Sara’s face heated up. She wasn’t going to tell Lincoln about Wyalusing State Park. He would look at her differently and she couldn’t bear it. Not yet. Not before it was unavoidable.
“He thought I needed to talk to someone,” she mumbled.
“Clearly he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Sara looked up, almost smiling at his carefully blank expression. “Clearly.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Without question.”
“So why is he whacked? Is he a cross-dresser or what?”
An image of Mason in a tight pink halter dress and red lipstick shot through her mind and Sara smiled. “No.”
“What defines him as loony then?”
She sat back, agitated and flushed. “I don’t know. He just…he demands things and is bossy and…and he made a comment about his brother telling him something all the time, like in the present tense.” Sara paused. “His brother is dead.”
Lincoln flinched and Sara immediately felt bad. She reached over without thought, touching his rough hand. “I’m sorry, Lincoln. I didn’t think of what I was saying before I said it.”
His fingers curled around hers, anchoring them to one another. Sara stared at their interlaced fingers, her heart beating much too fast. She looked up, confused by the force of his gray eyes. Lincoln’s features were tight with held-in emotion and she instinctively knew it was because there was something he didn’t want her to see.
Sara tugged her hand away, fumbling with the bar stool and almost knocking it over in her haste to get to her feet. She was going to pretend whatever had just happened hadn’t happened. From the closed look on Lincoln’s face, he had decided to go the same route. Nothing had happened. Maybe that was what bothered her so much. That frozen space of time when their hands had touched and their eyes had met and everything had gone still.
“This guy…Mason…what exactly is he having you do that you don’t want to do?” Lincoln was turned sideways from her, head averted, coffee mug clasped between his white-knuckled fingers.
Sara opened her mouth, but her throat was too tight, and nothing came out. Keep it normal. What was normal? She closed her mouth, swallowed, and tried again. “He wants me to paint.”
Lincoln’s brows lowered as his head lifted. “And that’s bad?”
She shifted her feet. “Yes. No. Not exactly.”
Humor briefly lit up his eyes, lightening them to a slate gray. “Well, which is it? Yes? No? Or not exactly?”
“I haven’t painted since…since before. I can’t. I have no ambition or inspiration to, and even if I wanted to, everything would be of him. Somehow. Even if I didn’t mean it to be. It would hurt too much,” she ended softly.
“Maybe it would be cathartic.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be,” she shot back.
“You won’t know unless you try.”
“Trying is overrated.”
Lincoln snorted, getting to his feet. “There’s a movie I’ve been meaning to watch. Come on, you can be my date.” He stiffened at the same time she did, quick to add, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
His expression cleared. “Still take your popcorn smothered in ranch seasoning and oil?”
Sara hadn’t had popcorn in too long. It was her favorite snack. Well, it had been, when she used to eat regularly and enjoy food. Now it was something she did as an afterthought. “I do.”
Lincoln smiled. “Good. I’ll get it started and you can put the movie in.”
“What is it?” she asked, curious.
His back was to her as he opened and closed cupboards, rounding up the essentials to popcorn making ‘Lincoln Walker style’. “Something to help us improve our karaoke game. I was planning on watching it today. It’s already in the DVD player. Just get it ready to go.”
Sara turned toward the living room. The whole house was wood walls and black accents. It was very rustic and woodsy and it was clear funds hadn’t been an issue during its design. She’d always loved this house. Their parents had had it built after they’d married. Both had been general medical doctors. The upstairs had three bedrooms and a bathroom, the stairs leading to it opened and in the middle of the downstairs. The outline was basic, mostly exposed, and more than adequate in size.