They’d gotten through it. Eventually it didn’t hurt so much; eventually she could operate without the horrible ache. She’d never gotten over it, not completely, but she’d had to accept it. Sara didn’t think a mother ever did get over it. As soon as that life had been inside her, it had been a part of her and always would be. The hollowness never really went away; even now it was with her, reminding her of the life not given a chance to live.
Sara inhaled slowly, setting the toy down. She blinked her burning eyes and picked up the stack of boxes, crying as she boxed up all that was left of her baby she’d never been able to hold. Clothes, toys, knickknacks; those were what she had left of her baby and Sara had to part with them.
“People you love aren’t defined by objects, Sara, but by the place they hold in your heart.”
She absently nodded, a surge of courage pulsating through her, making her task a little more bearable. The voice sporadically popped up whenever Sara needed to hear it the most. She almost didn’t notice it anymore. It was ingrained in her; an unknown embodiment of strength, or maybe it was simply her conscience. Didn’t matter.
The next room was the bedroom. It hurt to open the doors and let it all escape; all the emotions she’d wanted to keep bottled up to never forget, but she had to do it. She knew she did. If Sara didn’t, she’d be stuck for the rest of her life; living in a past that would remain evasive. If she didn’t, she would die on the inside, like she’d feared she already was. She couldn’t. Lincoln had shown her she wasn’t. A small part of her hated him for that, while the other rejoiced in it. She closed her eyes at the thought of him; her emotions a torrent of confusion and guilt and longing where Lincoln was concerned. Sara tried not to think of him, but even when she shoved him away, she still felt him; in her heart, on her skin, everywhere.
Sara grabbed the pillow and blanket from the couch and put them on a shelf in the bedroom closet. It was cleansing, cathartic, and sad all at the same time. She stared at the bed, dismayed to find herself thinking of Lincoln and him both. They both couldn’t be in her heart, could they? Sara covered her face, remembering the smell and feel of Lincoln against her, yearning for him. When she thought of her husband, it was with overwhelming grief and guilt. How could she let another man touch her, his brother, when she was supposed to love him?
She hesitantly sat on the bed, running a hand over the cool fabric of the blanket, despondency dragging her down. Sara didn’t know what was right and wrong to feel; it felt like a betrayal to her husband at the same time it felt…right.
“Till death do us part, Sara. You know the drill.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Sara whispered.
The air around her faintly laughed, gruff and masculine. “Nah. I’m just letting you know, in case you didn’t, I’m dead.”
Inhaling sharply, she looked around the room, seeing nothing unusual. It was just a room; a room alive with memories, but still, just a room. Sara rubbed her forehead, shaken. She dropped her hands, determination jutting her jaw. She stiffly lay down on the bed, clasping her hands over her stomach, and forced her eyes to close. She hadn’t slept in the bed since he’d left. But she was going to now. Sara relaxed her breaths until they became deep, even, and she slept the dreamless sleep of an exhausted soul.
16
The garage was exactly as he’d left it. The blue Dodge took up half the white-walled building. Tools littered the workbench. Sara’s eyes were gritty, stinging, as they swept over the room he’d spent hours a day in, tinkering with his endless projects. His tool belt hung on the wall by the door. It was a cooler day out and it seeped into the garage and into Sara, causing her to shiver though she wore his hooded black sweatshirt.
She fiddled with the radio near the small refrigerator, finding a country station, her lips unconsciously curving up at the Tim McGraw song. He’d loved Tim McGraw. Remember him before the accident. Remember him with joy, not tears. That was her motto. Sara was trying to smile instead of cry.
Most times she failed, but sometimes, like now, she could remember the love they’d shared before he’d been taken from her instead of the pain she’d lived with in place of him since the accident. She could remember him and not crumble. The hardest feat, the one she hadn’t been able to overcome yet, was saying his name, thinking his name. It was beyond her at this point.
You don’t have to hurt to mourn someone, Mason had said. It made sense, it really did, but it was still too soon for her. She didn’t think it was improbable and that was an improvement. Some day.
He’d been gone over half a year now, though really he’d been gone a lot longer. It had been close to two years since the wreck. It didn’t seem possible that it had been so long ago, and yet, she’d only said goodbye a short six months ago.