Take Care, Sara

thumbnail as she paced the living room floor. There was no one to impress, no one she had to look good for, and even if there had been, he’d been the only one she’d ever wanted to impress and he’d liked the way she’d looked no matter what she’d worn or how she’d looked.
    It was the thought of trying to pretend to be normal. They would expect things out of her. Like conversation. And smiles. They would expect her to laugh and joke and be the old Sara. Only she couldn’t be the old Sara because that person was gone. That Sara wasn’t ever coming back. She knew that as surely as she’d known she was going to be a painter the first time she’d picked up a paintbrush at the age of four.
    She’d unseeingly grabbed a pair of jeans and a top out of the dresser and now wore a hot pink buttoned-down shirt with a black buttoned vest over it and a pair of dark blue jeans. Sara had a pair of knee-high black boots on. She’d applied perfume and just as quickly wiped it off. Sara had tried to hide the paleness of her face and the darkness from under her eyes with makeup, but it had been a useless attempt. Her hair needed a decent cut and not knowing what to do with it, she’d twisted it into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
    The flash of headlights in the window alerted her to Lincoln’s arrival. Sara grabbed her purse, made sure all the lights were off, and locked the door behind her. The temperature hovered somewhere between the forties and fifties and the scent of rain was in the air. Most of the snow had melted from less than a week ago. Wisconsin could never make up its mind which way it wanted to go as far as the weather went.
    Sick feeling and jittery, Sara walked down the sidewalk with the click click of her boots in tempo with her heartbeat. Every step taken toward Lincoln was a step Sara fought an intense urge to turn around, race back into the house, and stay there. Indefinitely. Be normal, Sara. For once, for tonight, just try to be normal.
    She paused near the curb, gathering her strength. The sound of a door opening and closing made her flinch, and there Lincoln was, striding toward her, a tall shadow with no features under the glow of a streetlamp. He didn’t say anything, stopping before her, watching her in the dark.
    “Hi,” she squeaked, clearing her throat.
    He nodded, silently opening the door for her. Sara frowned, wondering at his quietness. She moved past him to get into the truck, his scent going with her. It had a hint of citrus to it. Sara sat down and looked ahead as the door shut.
    As soon as he entered his side of the truck, she went at him. “What’s your problem?”
    Lincoln flipped a light on in the truck. Sara blinked, but it wasn’t from the sudden light; it was from Lincoln’s appearance. His hair was shorter, making his flinty eyes sharper and more noticeable. He wore a gray sweater the same shade as his eyes and faded black jeans. His cologne or body wash wafted through the small enclosed space. Sara quickly averted her face, her pulse too fast. What was wrong with her?
    “I wanted to tell you how nice you look,” he said slowly.
    Sara’s head jerked up as her eyes went to his face, her brows lowering.
    “Only I didn’t want to upset you. Seems like everything I do or say comes out wrong lately, so I decided to keep quiet. But you do, Sara. You look really nice.” He faced forward, turning off the light, blanketing them in black, and putting the truck in drive.
    The silence was tense between them and it took a few attempts to say it, but she eventually got out a soft, “Thank you.”
    He gave an almost unnoticeable nod of his head, messing with the radio as he drove. Lincoln found a hard rock station and drums and guitar took over the quiet. It took less than five minutes to get to Spencer’s house located at the edge of town. Sara sat there, staring at the red two-story house, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
    It would be all wrong in there. Everyone would be the same except for him; he would be the missing link that should be there and wasn’t. Would their eyes be full of judgment, full of contempt? Would they shun her? Or would it be even worse than that; would she see pity in each pair of eyes that met hers?
    “Breathe, Sara,” Lincoln murmured.
    Sara glanced at him under the cover of night, knowing his gaze was trained on her. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it like a warm caress of understanding. Sara jerked her head up and down and reached