The truck lurched to a stop and Lincoln slammed the shifter into park, the engine going quiet. “You’re not being maudlin anymore, Sara. We have one week, one week, to honor him, and we’re going to fucking do it. No crying, no sad faces. In fact, we’re not even going to think about next week. We’re going to think of him the way he was before the accident. I demand it.”
She faced him. Sara couldn’t even get angry at him or his rude tone, not after she looked at Lincoln’s face. His eyes were flashing with pain and his jaw was stiff, but his expression was fierce. He meant it. There was no denying Lincoln this. Sara wouldn’t even try.
“Okay, Lincoln,” Sara whispered. She nodded, swallowing against the tightening of her throat.
“Okay.” Lincoln blew out a noisy breath. “Okay. Come on.”
Once inside Lincoln’s house, Sara gazed at the pitiful tree missing patches of pine needles and slightly drooping over. He’d set it up in front of the bay windows by the table. The tree looked so weak, but still was persisting. Maybe strength wasn’t decided by what you could do, but by what you could do without. Sara stared at it, feeling a kinship to the pathetic tree that wouldn’t give up. It was stronger than her even. It wanted to live.
“How long do you think it will survive?”
“I think…it will survive as long as it needs to, Sara.”
She glanced at him. “Or as long as it wants to?”
He shook his head. “No. What you need and what you want are rarely the same things. It’ll hang on until it’s ready to go, until it needs to go.” Lincoln’s words made her think of the still form lying in a hospital bed. Was he staying because he wanted to, or because he needed to? Or because Sara needed him to?
Lincoln set a box of ornaments on the table, moving to stand beside her. “I do have to say, though, that that is the saddest tree I’ve ever seen, Sara. Just so you know.”
“In case I didn’t already know?”
He nudged her shoulder with his arm. “I’m all about informing people.”
“Yeah. Bossy.” Sara gave him a small smile.
Lincoln blinked. “Holy fuck. You just smiled.”
Sara nervously tucked hair behind her ear, looking away from him. It didn’t make sense to smile with what was to come, but she would try, for Lincoln, for him.
Clearing his throat, Lincoln said, “Coffee or hot chocolate?”
“Coffee, please.”
“I’ll make some. You can start making it pretty.” Lincoln grinned. “Good luck.”
Sara opened the dusty box, wiping her hands on her jeans as she gazed into it. The first ornament to catch her eye was a pale blue crystal angel. Her stomach dipped and her hand trembled as she reached for it. It was the same shade as his eyes. His eyes she longed to see again; wondered if she’d ever see again.
“What’s that?”
Sara started, almost dropping the ornament. She fumbled with it, setting it safely away from her on the table. “An angel.”
Lincoln picked it up, perusing it. “It was Cole’s. From Grandma Lena. She passed away when we were kids.”
“Did you get one?”
“Nah. She didn’t like me as much as she liked Cole. She told me so every time I saw her.”
“That’s—that’s terrible.”
He laughed, shrugging. “At least she was honest.”
“Did she ever say why?”
Lincoln shoved his hands in his jean pockets, looking at the tree. He snorted. “Very simply put: I talked too much. She liked Cole because he was quiet and I, unfortunately, never shut up.”
“Poor Lincoln.” Sara patted his shoulder, feeling sorry for the little boy whose grandmother hadn’t like him. “I would have liked you.”
He looked at her, a half-smile on his lips. “Thanks. Too bad I didn’t know you then. You could have been my only friend.”
A twinge in her chest propelled her to ask, “You didn’t have any friends either? What was wrong with you?”
He laughed shortly. “What was wrong with me?” Lincoln tweaked a limb of the tree and a few pine needles fell to the floor. “I had a little too much energy. I liked to fight. I was mouthy and always getting into trouble.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t Cole.”
Sara swallowed, her brows furrowing. “I never knew…I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
But it was. Sara could see it was. Lincoln wouldn’t look at her and he always looked at her. Her heart ached for the misunderstood child Lincoln had been. She opened her mouth, but he was walking away.
“This is supposed to be a happy day, I said so, and here I am getting depressing. I’ll be right back.” Lincoln crossed the room and took the stairs two at a time.
Sara found a pile of tangled hooks at the bottom of the box, pricking her finger with one. She put the angel on one of the sturdier looking limbs and watched as it bent way down, looking close to the point of snapping. Sara stared at the angel appearing to fall from the sky, too heavy to fly, and sadness hit her.
“Here you go.”
A red sweater was dangled in front of her face. “What’s this?” Sara looked up, blinking, and then laughed. “What are you wearing?”
A brown fleece sweater a size too small formed to his fit frame. Rudolph, red nose and all; stared back at Sara. She grinned at Lincoln and Lincoln went still, his eyes on her, a strange expression on his face.