Take Care, Sara

their time had been up. At least, in this life. But never in her heart. He would always be in her heart, always . Sara just had to learn to think of him without it hurting so much. She had to learn it was okay for her to live even when he didn’t. Sara had to say his name, think his name without falling into an abyss of despair. Sara was trying. It was hard, but she was trying. She had to do all he’d want her to do. She had to breathe. Lincoln makes you breathe. It was true. Lincoln made it possible for her breathe and took her breath away at the same time.
    He’d been such a brute lately, but Sara couldn’t fault him that; frustration and helplessness did that to people. She knew. He’d wanted to force her to see things she couldn’t, not then, but now she could. Sara had had to see them on her own, as all things in life. No one opened their eyes and really saw the truth until they were ready to. Sara was ready to now.
    She closed her eyes and gray eyes in a sharply chiseled face greeted her in the darkness of her shut eyelids. Guilt tried to accompany the pang of longing that hit her hard and she breathed deeply to center herself. She sat up and rubbed her face; wondering what he would think of this, wondering if Cole would hate her for having feelings for his brother. He would want to punch Lincoln in the face. He would punch Lincoln in the face.
    “True. I did punch him in the face once, didn’t I? You deserve to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you, Sara.”
    Her hands dropped from her face, the smile at hearing his voice sliding off her lips. Why did she keep thinking she heard him? That hadn’t ended when his life had. If anything, it seemed to happen more often. It came from out of nowhere, but seemed to come from within her as well. Was that where he was? Nowhere and everywhere? Was he nothing and everything at the same time? She was glad to hear his voice, whatever that said of her. It was a little blessing, a small piece of him that hadn’t disappeared with his life. Sara got to her feet and walked over the to the easel awaiting her near the glass doors that led to a small deck, absently twisting her hair up into a ponytail as she stared at the empty canvas.
    “Paint for me, Sara. Paint me and let me go.”
    She inhaled slowly, trying to find a calm that wanted to evade her, and did as commanded by a figment of her imagination, a ghost, or her unstable mind. Sara painted his profile in grays and black. She captured the powerful gaze, the straight nose, the thin lips. Portraits were capable of imprisoning a piece of the soul for all eternity and in her art, she was able to keep a piece of her husband close to her. Even when his voice left her for good, she’d still have this. Sara stared at Cole’s silhouette, her eyes caressing his features. So different from Lincoln’s. Sara turned from the easel, wiping her paint-splattered fingers on her old jean shorts. Maybe a walk would clear her head. Clear it of what, she didn’t really know. All the jumbled mess of emotions she couldn’t make sense of.
    What do you know as truth? she asked herself as she searched the counter in the kitchenette for her sunglasses. You love Cole. Cole is gone. You love Lincoln. Lincoln is here. You blame yourself for Cole’s death. You have to stop blaming yourself. You feel guilty of the feelings you have for Lincoln. You have to stop feeling guilty. Sara found them on top of the refrigerator, shoving them onto her face. If only it was as easy as telling herself to stop doing one thing and to start doing another.
    “Not easy, Sara, but worth it. It has to be worth it.”
    She rolled her eyes at Cole’s voice, leaving the cool interior of her temporary home to face the humidity and sun of Waupun. It was going to be a scorcher of a day, even for June. As far as scenery went, it didn’t differ that much from Boscobel. There were lots of leafy trees, swaying from the warm breeze, and green grass galore. There was even marshland near the town, another similarity to Boscobel. So basically she’d gone from Boscobel to a bigger Boscobel. Flowers scented the air and awed her eyes at the rainbow of colors as she walked along the sidewalk. Sara had always loved flowers; she just wasn’t good with them.
    As she was crossing the street, her cell phone rang in her pocket, blaring out ‘That’s Not My Name’ by The Ting Tings. Sara paused under the shade of a tree, quickly pulling it from her shorts, her breath