Take Care, Sara

weeks.” Two. It had been two weeks and two days.
    At first Sara had gone every day to the place where her husband rested, for hours and hours at a time. But the longer she’d gone to that place and stared down at what was supposed to be her husband and wasn’t, the harder it had been. She didn’t want to remember him that way; Sara wanted to remember him as he’d been alive. She’d feared all her old memories of him would fade away and be replaced with the nothingness he now was.
    Sara had hidden away in her house that used to be their house and tried to ignore reality. It was stupid of her to think such a thing was possible; the pain was alive in her ; there was no way to escape it as long as she drew air into her lungs. Sara hated herself for staying away as long as she had, and yet she continued to stay away.
    The last time she’d seen him had been the day she’d gone to Wyalusing State Park. The day it all had been too much. The day she’d been unable to exist with the constant ache anymore. When the pain had been too much, unbearable; when she’d looked at what was supposed to be her husband and hated herself more than she’d ever thought possible. That was the day she’d wanted to end it all, the day she’d yearned for a way to stop the pain and regret and longing. It was a bitter toxin; her existence. Too weak to live; too weak to die.
    “How can you stay away?” he demanded, breaking Sara from her bleary reverie.
    Her eyes flew to his face. She saw the anger in it, the hurt, and she looked away. That’s what Sara did. She looked away from things that hurt, she pretended they didn’t exist, she avoided. It was agony going to that place, seeing what he was, knowing what he would never be again. It wasn’t him . It wasn’t her husband. Sometimes Sara could almost convince herself he was on a trip, a really long trip, and someday soon he’d return. Sometimes she almost believed it. But then the pain came back, the memories, the profound sense of loss, the emptiness and the guilt, and she couldn’t pretend any longer.
    “Don’t you think you at least owe it to him to visit?”
    Sara lurched back in her chair, her breath catching. Pain wracked her as she stared at Lincoln.
    He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing. “Shit. That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”
    Sara couldn’t speak.
    Lincoln rubbed his face, sighing. “That wasn’t what I meant, Sara. I only meant…he’s your husband. You should go there, be with him, see him.”
    “It isn’t him,” she choked out, blinking away tears that continued to wet her eyelashes.
    He shot to his feet, causing Sara’s stomach to flip, and stated, “Get your coat. We’re going for a drive.”
    “ No . I’m not going there, Lincoln. I’m not ready,” she said, shrinking away from him as he advanced on her.
    He stopped by her chair. “Not ready? For what?”
    She swallowed, avoiding his eyes. Not ready to accept what he is instead of what he was. Coward; that’s what Sara was. Not strong enough to see him; not strong enough to live. She hated herself, she truly did. When had she turned into this person she didn’t recognize?
    It happened on a warm summer night when my heart was ripped apart and flung in a million unrecoverable directions.
    “We’re not going there, but we’re going somewhere. You need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. And this is what we’re going to do; we’re not going to talk about anything that makes us sad. Deal?”
    Lincoln offered a hand. It was large and long-fingered with callouses over callouses on it. It was a hand that swung a hammer on a daily basis. Sara hesitantly put her hand in his. His swallowed hers whole as he pulled her to her feet.
    “Don’t you need to go back to work?”
    He headed for the closet near the door. “I’m the boss. I don’t have to work if I don’t want to work. It’s pretty much the best thing about having my own company.” He flashed a grin as he pulled a purple jacket from the closet and tossed it at her. Reflexes slow, it hit Sara before she even raised her hands in preparation. Lincoln laughed a little. “I see your athletic abilities haven’t improved with time.”
    The only thing she’d ever been able to do was run. Any sports where hand and eye coordination and teamwork were needed Sara was a liability more than anything. She almost smiled. Sara felt her lips muscles begin to lift and instead frowned.
    Lincoln’s laughter