Take Care, Sara

broke off and he shook his head. He strode for the door, muttering, “It’s okay to smile, Sara.”
    It wasn’t.
     
     
     

5
     
     
     
    The air was cold and sharp. It went through her coat and jeans, layering her body with an uncomfortable chill she couldn’t shake. Sara shivered as she took in the gray-tinged day, knowing snow was in the forecast. It would come. That was the one thing that never changed: the world kept moving, even when a life stopped.
    The smoky wood smell of a wood burning stove filled her nostrils as she followed Lincoln to his silver Dodge truck. The Walker boys had always loved their Dodges with the diesel engines. The street was quiet; most people were at work and their children were either in school or at daycare. Houses of different shapes and sizes lined the streets; most small, but nice. An occasional shabby house stood out among the more pleasant ones.
    Boscobel, Wisconsin was a modest town with a population in the three thousands. It had a correctional institution on the outskirts of it and boasted to be the ‘turkey hunting capital of Wisconsin’. Everyone knew everyone’s business in Boscobel, which sometimes was a good thing, but usually wasn’t. People knew things about people the person in question didn’t even know about themself. Sara was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what was being said about her.
    There was Subway, A&W, and Dairy Queen to pick from for fast food restaurants. Three gas stations strategically placed; one at one end of town, one in the middle, and the other on the other side of town, so no matter what direction you went; you were sure to find a reminder to fill up your tank.
    The big hot spot of the town was the old movie theater open since 1935. It had been remodeled since then and played one movie at a time. It boasted inexpensive ticket and snack food prices and a large portion of the town frequented it on a regular basis. There was also the Civil War reenactment that took place every August, rain or shine. Cannons could be heard going off from the battlefield and people in 1800’s garb roamed the streets.
    “Where are we going?” She hauled herself into the cab and put on her seatbelt. It smelled like spearmint in the truck and the interior was clean. Lincoln had always been particular about his belongings; taking care to keep his bedroom, truck, house, and everything else he owned clean and tidy. Opposites; he and his brother. Lincoln started it up and the truck vibrated as the diesel engine rumbled to life.
    Riding with people didn’t bother her, driving her own car didn’t bother her, but Sara had yet to drive with a passenger in her car. The thought made her tremble and feel clammy. She didn’t care what happened to her, but she wouldn’t be responsible for another’s life. Never again.
    He grabbed a battered black baseball cap from the dash and situated it low on his head so that his hair winged up around it. Lincoln put the vehicle in drive as he answered, “I’m not sure. Wherever the truck takes us.” He glanced over with a grin. Sara blinked at how it transformed his face.
    When had his features gotten so sharp and masculine? She remembered him as a baby-faced young man of twenty-two who teased and badgered her the first time they’d met, and pretty much every day after that. She’d always thought of him as being younger than she, though he was actually a few months older. That was the image her mind brought up whenever she thought of Lincoln. Only it didn’t fit anymore. Sara saw that now. This was Lincoln; this leaner, more angular-featured man whose shoulders slumped a little more than they should, whose face showed strain and weariness from too much sorrow. She’d done that to him. Indirectly, but what did it matter?
    Sara turned away, a fresh wave of remorse slamming into her. She was drowning from all the guilt she had inside her. Sinking, disappearing. She tightly clasped her cold hands together in her lap and stared out the window, not really seeing anything as the truck led them out of town and in the direction of Fennimore. The truck was quickly warming up, but it seemed to bypass her somehow. She couldn’t get warm.
    Lincoln found a song on the radio and cranked the volume up. The bass was loud, the beat fast. It thrummed through Sara’s body, pulsating with musical life, demanding attention, demanding to be felt. She’d always loved music. Sara had loved to sing, loved to dance. She hadn’t done