Sara wanted to remember him the way he’d been before the accident. There wasn’t much time left and she didn’t want the present to eradicate the past. She had to keep a piece of her real husband in her memories. It wasn’t who was in the hospital room. That wasn’t him. Sara refused to accept that as him. She feared she’d forget him as he used to be and would only remember him as he was now. Unacceptable, Sara.
As she lay on the couch in the dark, staring in the direction of where heaven was supposed to be, her thoughts instead went to God. He wasn’t supposed to be designated to some place in the sky. He was supposed to be all around her, always. She’d told herself she no longer believed, yet she was thinking of Him at the time when she’d soon be losing her husband, for the second time, for the final time. So maybe some part of her still had faith, still had hope. But if God was all around her, did that mean he would be all around her too, still with her somehow for always, if he was with God? Maybe that was what she needed to believe; no matter if it was true or not.
Sara shook her thoughts away, too tired to think of such things. She hugged the ratty robe to her, burying her face in it, wetting the fabric with her sorrow. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Sara didn’t think she’d ever be ready. She hadn’t had enough time with him. The years had been happy and fast; now time did nothing but drag. Except that day; that fateful day loomed overhead, approaching much too quickly.
Warmth swept over her, an unknown trickle of air caressing her hair, that forever elusive sense of peace finally taking pity on her and teasing her for a bit with tranquility. Sara sighed, slumber tugging at her, pulling her into the darkness and away from reality. She welcomed it. Sara pretended it was his arms keeping her warm instead of a blanket, she pretended it was his chest she clutched to her instead of his robe. She pretended she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t lost, and she wasn’t without him. Sara fell asleep, knowing it might be her last night of serenity for a long, long time.
***
It was snowing again. She stood in her yard, the flakes covering her and the ground. Sara held her black-gloved hand out, watching as they dropped to her palm and melted. So quickly their existence was over. They fell from the sky and ended. They were done.
The low rumble of a diesel engine getting louder and louder drew her attention to the street. The engine cut off and silence surrounded her once more. Sara waited, watching as Lincoln approached. The bill of his olive green baseball cap shielded his eyes, but she knew they never left her as he walked toward her. Sara was always the center of his attention, without fail. He had on a brown coat with jeans and boots. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets.
Lincoln stopped when he was almost to her, his expression unreadable. He loomed over her, his presence eradicating all others in the vicinity. “We have a tree to decorate.”
Sara blinked. “What?” She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
“You and me. Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Let’s go.” Lincoln didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and strode back to the truck, opening the passenger door for her. One dark eyebrow lifted. “I’m waiting.”
Exasperated, Sara walked toward him. “You’re obnoxious,” she told him as she got into the warm truck.
“Thank you.” He slammed the door shut and jogged around to his side. “Here’s the deal,” Lincoln said, starting the engine. “We’re each going to only say positive things the whole time we decorate the tree and drink hot chocolate and eat popcorn.”
“We have to do all that?”
“Yeah. We do. We’re going to be festive.” Lincoln shot her an annoyed look, driving the truck out of town.
“I don’t feel like being festive.”
Lincoln made a growling sound. “I don’t care. Christmas is less than a month away.”
Less than a week away was the deadline given to Sara for signing the papers. She briefly closed her eyes at the ache in her chest that realization brought. Not that she’d forgotten. It was always there, in the back of her mind, coating everything in misery. Don’t think about it.
“When does it start?”
“When does what start?”
“The festivities and positive comments and all that.”
“I…it starts now, Sara. Now.”
“How long does it last?”
Lincoln glowered at Sara and she wanted to laugh. “The whole time.”
“You’re not being very positive.”
He opened his mouth as he glanced at her, quickly snapping his mouth shut as words failed him. A minute later, Lincoln said in a rough voice, “Cole made a damn good steak.”
The urge to laugh died; her small smile with it.
“Your turn.”
Sara shook her head, crossing her arms, and stared at the forest of snow-encrusted trees outside her window.