Take Care, Sara

door. A shower determined how her day was going to be. If she got enough ambition to take a shower, then she normally got enough drive to do other things. Those days were easier to get through. It was such a small, simple task and yet its act had monumental power over Sara’s state of mind. On the days she couldn’t get enough energy to shower—those were bad days. Today was going to be a bad day. Not that any day was good, but some were easier to take than others.
    The knock at the door startled her. Sara froze, not wanting to answer the door. She waited for whoever it was to go away. Instead the banging turned persistent.
    “Sara. Open up.” The voice was muffled, but distinctly Spencer’s. No one else’s growled like that. Funny how she’d forgotten that about him.
    She didn’t want to see him. He couldn’t badger her into feeling a certain way; he couldn’t make her think something she didn’t just by being an insistent pest.
    “I’m not leaving, Sara. And unless you want my impending pneumonia on your conscience, you’ll open up, ‘cause it’s colder than…cold out here.”
    With a sigh, she unlocked the door and flung it open. Her eyes blinked at the stinging sunlight and she shivered against the blast of icy air. “What do you want, Spencer?”
    She quickly deduced Spencer wasn’t alone. A man stood next to him. They were dressed similarly in jeans and brown jackets. He was shorter than Spencer, which wasn’t saying much since Spencer was close to six and a half feet tall. Dark blond hair, unusual colored eyes.
    Sara turned away from his penetrating gaze, feeling uncomfortable. Those eyes seemed to be able to see into her soul. It was disconcerting and she didn’t like it. She looked at Spencer. “What’s going on?”
    “Colder than cold?” the man asked Spencer.
    “Can we come in? Please?”
    Sara wanted to say no. She wanted to close the door and never open it again, to have the world outside her house disappear. She wanted to disappear, or end, or be no more. Sara didn’t want useless conversations from people who meant well but had no clue.
    She was about to say so when something clicked inside her head. Her eyes flew to the stranger. He watched her, expressionless. Sara felt something like betrayal as she looked at Spencer. “What are you doing?”
    “He can help. Please. Just talk to him.” Spencer gave her a beseeching look.
    “No offense, but I don’t want to talk to you,” she told the man.
    Even shorter than Spencer, he was still half a foot taller than Sara and she had to look up to meet his eyes. They were the color of wine and revealed nothing.
    “None taken.” He stepped forward until Sara had to move back or be sandwiched against him. She moved.
    Spencer gave her an apologetic look as he followed the guy into her house. Sara closed the door, stunned at the man’s audacity.
    “We never got the chance to be properly introduced the other day,” he said, turning to face Sara.
    The featureless man from Wyalusing State Park now had a face. It was sharply angled with a long nose and thin lips. It wasn’t handsome, but it was arresting.
    “Who are you?” Sara tore her eyes from his and frowned at Spencer. Spencer wouldn’t meet her eyes. Why had he done this? All he was going to accomplish by this spectacle was her embarrassment and resentment.
    The man moved in a slow circle, his eyes studying the bare walls. Sara wanted to hide from the knowing look on his face. His expression said he knew her secrets and he knew why she had them. They weren’t his to know. Her pain was hers alone and he had no right to act like he understood it.
    “I was just about to get to that.” He stopped, giving her his full attention. “My name is Mason Wells and I’m a grief counselor.”
    Sara stiffened, her face turning hot. “I don’t need a counselor.”
    “Lucky for you I’m on vacation for the next month. So technically I’m not a counselor right now.”
    “I want you to leave.” Sara looked at Spencer. “Both of you.”
    “Sara, you need to talk to someone. Mason can help you. Just talk to him. Please? ”
    She shook her head, crossing her arms and uncrossing them. Sara wouldn’t look at either of them. They’d invaded her home, her privacy, and she wanted them gone. She wouldn’t forgive Spencer for this, not ever. He’d crossed a line, good intentions or not.
    “I went to Wyalusing State Park to commit suicide once.”
    Sara’s head snapped up and her