Take Care, Sara

had to. “No. But my family visits me often, like, every day. Plus they know I go for walks, around here, right here, actually. And if anything happened to me, this is the first place they’d look,” she babbled.
    “You better get going then, before you have to find out if there are any more serial killers here in Wisconsin,” he told her, nodding beyond her to the endless forest, still chuckling.
    She just about peed herself at that response. Instead Sara spun around, intent on taking flight. She’d run track in high school, and though it had been a while since she’d tested her long ago skill, she was thinking she’d give him a run for his money in a mad dash, especially if it meant her survival.
    “Hey,” he commanded.
    Sara stopped, her stomach dipping, and looked over her shoulder.
    He smiled at her, a beatific transformation of the lips and face that caught her breath. That smile turned his average features into something extraordinary. It was in that instant that Sara knew she was in trouble. And not the kind of trouble she’d been prepared to sprint from moments ago. That smile, those eyes; they did something to her.
    Laughter on his lips and in his eyes, he asked, “What’s your name?”
    Sara dashed a hand at her leaky eyes, abruptly brought back to the present by the sounds of neighborhood children playing in the leaves. She turned her head to watch them under the blanket of twilight. They were the Niles children; George at age 6 and Ramona at age 9. Their peals of laughter were bittersweet to her; a reminder of something she had wanted, almost had, and now would never have again.
    Isn’t it a little dark for them to be playing outside?
    Just as she thought this, the mother; a slim, attractive lady named Tracie, opened the front door and called them inside. She paused, her eyes on Sara, and gave a little wave. Sara raised her hand in greeting. The door closed; shutting the warmth and joy of the kids inside with their parents.
    Sara sighed, rubbing her face. It was time to go inside for the night.
     
     
     

3
     
     
     
    Sara grew up going to Sunday school and church. She said her nightly prayers. Her family gave thanks at mealtime. She spoke to God in her mind on an almost daily basis. If she was scared at night in the dark, she asked Him to watch over her and only then could she sleep.
    She’d believed so steadfastly in Him; all in His wonder and omnipotence; in her belief that He would always look out for her and keep her safe. She had been so unfailingly devoted. She’d felt sorry for people who didn’t have faith, for those who chose not to believe, for those who doubted.
    Sara had always wondered how it was okay for them to tell their children to believe in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny and all those other mythical beings, but not in the one true solidarity, the one true Being. She’d known bad things happened to good people, but in the back of her mind, she’d always rationalized that if you were truly good, you would be salvaged and nothing too horrible would afflict you and yours.
    She’d been wrong. Unequivocally wrong. Laughably so. Her faith hadn’t saved her husband; it hadn’t kept him with her. Her faith had done nothing to heal her pain; it had done nothing to ease her guilt. Sara had found no peace. It had been like a weight of deception on her shoulders, like she had been kidding herself her whole life, and finally, she saw the truth. He’d never helped her. He hadn’t saved the person she loved above all others. In fact, He wasn’t real. He didn’t exist.
    And then…she just…gave up.
    Sara tightened the tie of her old blue robe and glanced at the clock in the living room. It was church time. A look out the window showed her the Niles’, her neighbors with the two kids, were on their way to worship God, as they did every Sunday. She turned away and sat on the couch, staring at a blank television screen. She no longer had satellite service. When she’d forgotten to pay the bill three consecutive months in a row, it had been canceled. It had taken her another few months to figure that out. She had her laptop and the internet; both of which she rarely used, a cordless phone in the kitchen, and a cell phone she never turned on. That was it. Even having those seemed pointless. She was all alone, but that was how she wanted to be; how she needed to be. Sara felt like poison; anyone who came too close to her died.
    She turned her gaze to the closed bathroom