“You. Shower. Make yourself pretty.”
Sara glared at him as she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door a little too exuberantly behind her. She brushed her teeth, fuming as she stared at her flushed face. His brother had never talked to her like this, had never bossed her around. Stop comparing them. She wasn’t trying to; it was involuntary, like breathing when you thought you no longer could. It just happened. Sara grabbed her hair with one hand as she finished up brushing her teeth, and spit in the sink. Her mouth was fresh and cool with spearmint and Sara inhaled deeply, her attention turned toward the shower.
Sometimes she wondered what she was holding on to. It wasn’t the man she loved, not that cruel replica of her husband lying in the hospital bed. What exactly did Sara cling to? Memories were like ghosts that never went away; always there to haunt her. Is that what she loved; a memory? And what was in the hospital bed then; a ghost? Showing her what she used to have; what she didn’t have and would most likely never have again? Steam filled the immediate air around her, making it hard for her to breathe, though of course she still managed to. Or maybe that was just her conscience.
Sara quickly washed up, wondering how much longer she would cling to memories she’d be better off forgetting. She winced at the pain that thought caused, shutting the water off. Sara grabbed a towel, shivering, her skin pebbling from the shock of going from warm to cold. There was nothing she could do but continue to love a man who’d left her with a car crash; to let ghosts haunt her so she remembered that love. She had to hurt to feel something other than hurt and still she hurt anyway.
Dried and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black top, Sara loosely braided her long brown hair so it rested over one shoulder and pulled on a pair of black boots. She met Lincoln in the kitchen, where he was sipping from a Styrofoam cup and staring in the direction of the nursery.
“Gas station coffee?” she guessed, wrinkling her nose. Sara didn’t want to know what he was thinking, not as he looked at that closed door.
“Nah. From home.” Lincoln handed the other cup to her.
“Thanks.”
“You look nice. Smell good, like vanilla.”
Sara blushed. “Thank you.” Lincoln watched her take a drink from the cup. The coffee was smooth and the perfect temperature. “What? Why are you staring at me?”
“You don’t know what day it is, do you?”
Sara searched her brain. “Wednesday?”
Lincoln snorted. “Yeah. It’s that.”
“Oh. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. What are you…what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Lincoln was probably going to spend it with his parents, like he should. They were still in town, as far as she knew, waiting.
“It’s your birthday, Sara,” he said, sounding exasperated.
She gasped. “Oh my God, I forgot your birthday! I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I wasn’t…I’m sorry, Lincoln.”
Lincoln shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “I don’t care about my birthday. And you didn’t forget. You called me. You don’t remember?”
Sara touched a hand to her forehead, shaking her head. “No. I was…out of it. More than usual,” she added at his look.
“You called. You didn’t say anything. I talked. But, hey, you called.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Lincoln grabbed her shoulders, dipping his head so they were at eyelevel. “Sara. I don’t care about my birthday.”
“But you care about mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lincoln dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned away. His back was tense and his hands fisted at his sides. “You know how sometimes you wanna say something, but it isn’t the right thing to say? Or it isn’t the right time? Or if you did say it, you’d wish you could take it back?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Ready?” He shrugged into his jacket and tugged his boots on.
“That’s it? That wasn’t an answer.”
Lincoln paused and lifted his head. “Yeah it was. Enough of one. Wrong thing to say, wrong time to say it. Let’s go.” He straightened, lifting one dark brown eyebrow. “Coming?”
Sara opened the closet, grabbed a gray jacket and pulled it on, all the while scowling at Lincoln. He laughed, shrugging. “You’re so annoying, Lincoln. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“I seem to recall you telling me that once in a while. Only one ever to say that, just so you know.”
Sara snorted, following him outside. The wind was fierce and biting cold. She shivered, wishing she’d grabbed her gloves and scarf. Sara slung her purse over her shoulder and shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she walked to the truck. Snow crunched under her boots and Sara was already wishing it was spring and winter hadn’t even really started yet.