Take Care, Sara

fabric was proof of that. Sara removed the rest of her clothes and got into the shower.
    ***
    After quickly throwing on an old UW-Platteville sweatshirt of his and jeans that almost hung on her, Sara hurried from the room too many memories lived in and walked into the kitchen. The scent of coffee hit her along with fried eggs and toast. She looked from the table where a steaming mug of coffee and a glass of orange juice sat with a plate of one egg and two slices of toast over to where Lincoln leaned with his elbows against the counter, his eyes on her.
    Sundays had been their breakfast days. They’d sleep in late and make a mess out of the kitchen preparing a midday feast. Sara had been in charge of the eggs and potatoes and he’d always prepared the pancakes and bacon. He’d made the best pancakes. They’d melted on her tongue and she always overate on Sundays. She hadn’t had pancakes in over a year, not since the last time he’d made them. A lot of things had stopped with him; her, for one.
    Sara inhaled sharply, looking away from Lincoln’s intent stare. It didn’t matter. She still felt the heat of his eyes on her. Those stormy gray eyes were studying, judging. Those eyes were not happy. “I should have stopped by sooner. I didn’t realize you’d gotten this bad.”
    Sara tucked wet, limp hair behind her ears. “I’m fine.”
    “You’re not fine. I really wish you’d quit saying you’re fine when you are so obviously not fine.” He straightened and walked to the table, pulling out a chair. “Sit. Eat.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to be working today?”
    “Yeah. I was.”
    He was until she’d called. Lincoln didn’t have to say the words, but she knew that’s what had happened. Sara swallowed as guilt heated her skin. “I’m sorry.”
    “ Stop being sorry, Sara.”
    She grabbed the back of a chair and lowered herself into it, staring down at the plate. The thought of food made her stomach turn. It usually did. “How…how are things going? At work?”
    He poured himself a cup of coffee, sitting down across from her at the table. “Work is work.” The room shrank with him inside it; big and towering and intense. It made Sara nervous. She’d never realized how large of a presence he had; how commanding it was.
    Lincoln and he had owned a carpentry business together: Walker Building. They’d done everything from roofs to siding to interior renovation. The company did basically anything house-related, other than plumbing. That they didn’t do. Now Lincoln ran it by himself; the lone brother where they should be two. More work, more stress, less help, because of Sara. He was without a lot of things these days, because of her.
    Sara took a piece of toast, her eyes stinging. Lincoln had cut the toast for her. In triangles. Why was he so nice to her when it was her fault his brother wasn’t around? She would never understand that. How Lincoln could be so forgiving. He was the one person she had expected to loathe her, above all others, and he was the one person she’d been so wrong about.
    “Did I cut it wrong?”
    She looked up, the toast still in her hand. “No. You cut it right.”
    He paused with the mug to his lips. “Good to know.”
    The toast was dry and Sara choked down half of one slice to appease Lincoln. She drank the juice and sipped at the coffee. The silence was drawn out to the point of uncomfortable. Sara repeatedly opened her mouth to tell him about the phone conversation with Dr. Henderson, but she held back. It was her burden alone. And when Lincoln did find out, what then? She didn’t want to tell him until she had no choice. But he had a right to know. Sara knew that. It still wasn’t enough of an incentive for her to tell him. Not yet. She needed more time.
    It was cowardly of her, but that was inconsequential when she thought of the alternative. Would he turn his back on her when he found out? Would he no longer look at her with compassion, but with loathing? And why did the thought make her stomach clench? Because he’s all I have left of him. Startled by the thought, Sara unconsciously jerked, her hand hitting the coffee mug. It didn’t tip. Lincoln reached over and grabbed it before it did. He slowly slid the mug to her right, far enough away so there was no chance of her accidently bumping it.
    “How long has it been since you’ve gone there?”
    She stiffened. Sara knew where he was talking about. There was no pretending she didn’t. “A few