The unwanted guests with their sad eyes and words of condolences that mimicked every single other persons were finally gone. Lincoln helped clean up even though she’d told him to go. His suit jacket was slung over the back of the recliner and her eyes kept going to it, wanting to remove it so Lincoln’s scent didn’t replace his.
Her husband would be honored and surprised by all that had attended the services. He’d had a cocky and sometimes arrogant demeanor that had made people think he’d thought he was better than others at times, but that hadn’t been it at all. He’d actually thought he was less than. She’d never understood why. Sara knew that wall of self-confidence had hid the insecurities of a man who’d wondered if he was all that good time and again.
Sara had seen it; she’d known the true soul of the man who’d acted one way and had really been another. He’d always thought he had to prove something to someone; that he was good enough, or maybe just to himself. But knowing all those people cared for him and mourned the loss of his life; it would have eased some of that. She hoped it would have anyway. Not that it mattered, because he’d never know.
She looked at his brother. He’d always gone the other way; he really didn’t care what people thought. They’d grown up in the same house and they’d been raised by the same people and they were nothing alike. How did that happen? He was so pale. Lincoln’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shirt and tie were rumpled. He looked tired, his mouth bracketed in sadness, an impossible weight dragging his shoulders down from their normal proud stance.
The scent of dish soap mixed with the turkey and dressing sandwiches from the local deli and Sara’s stomach roiled. She picked up Styrofoam cups and paper plates, putting them in the garbage. They hadn’t said a lot since his parents had left close to an hour ago. Every time their gazes met, Sara had to look away from the pain she saw in his eyes.
“Any more dishes?”
Sara flinched at the sound of his deep voice. “No. Thank you. I can finish up, Lincoln,” she said, motioning to the dishes he was dutifully washing and setting in the strainer next to the sink.
He rinsed a dish off, it gently clanging against other dishes as he set it down to dry. “Yeah. You told me that. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath hiccupped. “What?”
Lincoln’s expression was stern as he faced her. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. I don’t think you should be left alone.”
Heat shot through her, flushing her cheeks. “I don’t care what you think. It’s my house and if I want to be alone, I get to be alone.”
Half his mouth quirked up. “Any other time, sure. But tonight…” Lincoln shook his head. “No.”
“Get out, Lincoln.”
“No.”
Sara made a sound of frustration, flinging her hands in the air. “You can’t babysit me forever.”
Lincoln straightened and moved toward her. “What makes you think I’m babysitting you? Maybe I don’t want to be alone either. Ever think of that? Maybe the thought of going to my house, the house Cole and I grew up, the place he’ll never come back to, is too much for me right now.”
She swallowed, slowly nodding. “Okay.”
He frowned and then said, “Okay. I’ll finish the dishes. You go relax. Or try to relax.”
“I can’t relax.”
“I said try,” Lincoln said, an annoyed look on his face.
Sara left him to the dishes, stopping outside the closed door to her bedroom. The house was full of them; all the closed doors. She thought of the painting of the door and wondered what it symbolized. It probably wasn’t that hard to figure out. She just didn’t have the energy to try to decipher its hidden meaning.
“What is it, Sara?”
“I just…” She rubbed her forehead, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Do you believe in God, Lincoln?”
He let the dishrag splash into the sink. “Why do you ask? Do you not?”
Sara slowly shook her head, turning so she faced him more. “I don’t know. I did. I mean…I always have, but…” She briefly closed her eyes. “I’ve lost so many. My dad, my mom, my…our…baby and…” Sara swallowed, trying to say his name. It lodged in her throat.
Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest and leveled his gaze on her. “So what you’re wondering is, if God does exist, why does he hate you so much?”
She flinched, her eyes watering. Sara blinked and tears dropped from her face. “I just—why do so many good people have to die? What’s the point of that? Why does He let it happen?”
He straightened. “What makes you think He lets it happen?” Lincoln said slowly. “How do you know He’s not crying right along with you, Sara?”
Sara looked away, her throat closing with pain.