The drive was silent and awkward. When the truck pulled up to the house, Sara stared at the dark structure, thinking even in the daytime it was still dark. His light was gone from it, tossed away from one mistake it had taken a second to act out, and a lifetime to relive. She grabbed the door handle and pushed.
Lincoln’s hand grabbed her arm; his touch like fire on her skin, stopping her. She looked back, his features obscured in the dark. His hand fell away. “Good night, Sara.”
Her held breath left her in an exhalation. “Good night, Lincoln.”
8
Guilt was her companion when she awoke. Sara sleepily opened her eyes, a creak in her neck as she sat up in the recliner, flipping the blanket off her. Her head hurt and she winced at the bright sunlight streaming in through a window. She’d laughed and smiled and had fun without him, in spite of the situation. How could she have done that? Sara covered her face with her hands as the night’s events came back in a wave of regret. She had no right to live, to enjoy anything, not when he was where he was and she where she was. It should have been her. Why hadn’t it been her?
“There’s a reason for everything.”
Sara went still, dropping her hands from her face, and slowly raised her head. The room was empty. She really was losing her mind. Was that what grief did? Made a person go insane if they couldn’t deal with it?
“Sometimes you can’t see it and it doesn’t make sense, but eventually, in time, it does. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s bad. Something good happens because of it.”
She shot to her feet as a sob left her, whirling around in a circle, searching for the face that went along with the voice she heard. Sara grabbed her hair and pulled, the sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. Or maybe they’d already been there. They always seemed to be. Sara’s eyes were overworking waterfalls of grief.
Her hands shook and she stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the wall and clutching it to her. Don’t call him. She had to call him. You’re becoming too dependent on him. Sara slammed the phone back, her attention drawn to the scrawled handwriting on a Post-It stuck to the fridge.
The phone rang, making her jump. Sara swallowed, staring at it, her heart pounding. Her hand slowly reached out to pick it up. “Hello?” left her in a choked whisper.
“Hello, is this Sara Walker? This is Georgia from Dish Network calling to see if you’d like to reactivate your account with us.”
Sara’s shoulders slumped and a sigh of relief left her. “No. Thank you.”
“Now—“
She hung up the phone, resting with her back against the cold fridge. Sara didn’t understand how everything in the house reminded her of him so much when she’d removed everything she’d thought would do so as a way to deal with the pain. Didn’t matter; he was in the woodwork, the air, her. She couldn’t escape him; she couldn’t escape the ache that had made a home inside her chest. That ache was him, for him, and would never leave, not while she had a breath left in her body. It wasn’t that Sara wanted to forget him, never that, she just wanted it to not hurt every time she thought of him.
She tried not to think about it, and sometimes, Sara forgot. It made her feel terrible that the escape from the past was like a blessing. She’d lost him and she’d lost a part of him before that. Was Sara not meant to have any of him? Her eyes went to the room down the hall and a barrage of memories hit her, one after another, bringing her to her knees. And along with the remembrances came him. Always.
“We’ll have more babies, Sara. We’ll have a houseful of little munchkins that will drive us absolutely bat shit crazy and we’ll be worn down and exhausted to the point of never wanting to have sex again.
“We won’t speak; we’ll grunt. Talking will require too much energy. Your legs will be hairy and your hair a matted mess and I’ll get a gut and have dark circles under my eyes and we’ll be so unbelievably happy it won’t matter.” His voice cracked and he paused, exhaling deeply, his hands tight on her face, holding her gaze with his.
“Don’t cry, Sara. Okay, cry if you want to, but know that baby knew you, if only for a moment. That baby knew you loved him or her, and that baby is loving you even now. And we’ll have more babies and they’ll love you too. So cry if you have to and be sad.” He swallowed. “But don’t lose hope. Don’t give up. Don’t hate yourself. And don’t forget what I just said.”