Take Care, Sara

are you doing?” she shot back.
    “You look guilty.” Lincoln strode for her, not stopping until he was inches from her and looming over her.
    Sara had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes, and when she did, she saw they were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She took in the dark stubble of his jaw and the unkempt, shaggy hair he used to always keep short. She’d never noticed before how it waved up around his ears on the nape of his neck. Brackets had taken a place around his mouth and he seemed thinner than she remembered. It was wearing on him too.
    “You can’t just barge into my house, Lincoln.” Sara backed up a step and Lincoln followed.
    He had on a gray hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans and brought the citrus and mint scent of soap and toothpaste with him. It was all wrong. Wrong man, wrong scent, wrong everything.
    “Yeah, I can, ‘cause technically, it’s my brother’s house too. You look like shit. When’s the last time you showered or ate a decent meal?”
    Lincoln had always been blunt, something Sara had admired. Now, though, she really wished he wasn’t quite so blunt. This was why she had been avoiding him as much as she could. Because she knew he’d do this. He thought he had to look out for her, he thought it was his responsibility to take care of her for his brother. On the phone he could talk to her and not expect anything, because he knew he wouldn’t get anything; not even a response, but in person, Lincoln agitated and pushed her and made demands; he always had. They’d used to argue as a form of communication, something that had forever irritated her husband.
    “You’re one to talk. You don’t look much better.”
    He opened his mouth, and then closed it. “What happened on the phone? You were there and then you weren’t.” Lincoln’s eyes went to the floor and he leaned down to pick up the beeping phone. He turned it off and resituated it on the wall before narrowing his flint-colored eyes on her. “I miss him too, Sara, but at least I work. At least I try to be normal. I don’t hide in my house and push everyone away. You lost your husband, but I lost my brother .”
    Those words pierced her with overwhelming anguish. “Why don’t you hate me?” she asked raggedly.
    Lincoln slammed his fingers through his hair, messing it up more. One lock went to rest against his forehead. “I think you hate yourself enough for the both of us.” He pointed a finger in the direction of the living room. “Go take a shower. Now.”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    He shifted his jaw back and forth, determination darkening his features. “You get in that shower now or I’ll put you in it myself.”
    A trickle of fear went down her back, but Sara didn’t really believe Lincoln would do that. But the look on his face; it said he would. “I’m fine, Lincoln. I just…I dropped the phone and…”
    “Don’t lie to me, Sara. Believe me; I’ve said it all before myself. Maybe instead of wallowing away in self-pity, you should think of how Cole would feel knowing you’re like this. Is it your goal to end up like him? Is that it?”
    Sara recoiled at the use of his name, sucking in a sharp breath and turning away from Lincoln. He kept talking, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar in her ears. She fought for every breath, wanting to drop to her knees. Sara closed her eyes. Hearing his name was too much. It hurt too much to hear it, to say it, to even think it. So she didn’t.
    The tears streamed down her cheeks, dropping to the white and gray linoleum floor. Sara braced a hand against the fridge and hung her head. She felt his warmth like he was behind her, holding her. Only it wasn’t him. It would never be him again. Lincoln touched her shoulder and Sara jerked away, stumbling back and bumping into the stove. “Don’t touch me, Lincoln.”
    His jaw clenched. “Why? What happens when someone touches you? Do you melt?”
    “You’re an ass,” she told him in a voice that shook.
    “I’ve been gentle with you, Sara, but no more. This has gone on long enough. Now get in the shower and get dressed. We’re going to go see him.”
    She mutely shook her head. No. She couldn’t. Sara couldn’t go to that place. She couldn’t see him. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t her husband. Sara wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over, trying to make the hollowness go away, trying to make the unrelenting sick feeling disappear. She was dying on the inside, losing herself, turning