Take Care, Sara

for the doorknob.
    They met at the front of the truck and when he wordlessly reached his hand out to her, Sara looked down at it for one heartfelt moment, feeling as though she was making an unknown decision of some kind. She clasped it and his fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. Just his hand around hers gave her strength to make her legs move, gave her courage to walk through the front door and into a scene from her past minus one. The most important one. Sara’s throat thickened and she blinked under the bright lights of the entryway.
    Music played from a stereo system in the living room. It smelled like a variety of appetizers dunked in fragrant sauces. Conversations were loud and laughter rang out through different rooms of the downstairs of the house. A card game was going on at a table to the right and people were strewn about the furniture to the left of her in the living room. The interior of Spencer’s house was simple and uncluttered. Every room had the same theme. The walls were beige, the floors wood, and the furniture a forest green.
    Sara became flushed as her eyes glanced over person after person. There were so many people. She felt dizzy, like she was suffocating. Lincoln squeezed her hand, his fingers interlaced with hers, and moved toward the kitchen, never once loosening his grip from her hand. Sara stared at his broad-shouldered back as she followed him, focusing on that.
    “Lincoln!” Spencer jerked Sara’s anchor from her, causing his fingers to slide through hers and away. He slapped a hand on Lincoln’s back. “You made it. Where’s Sara?”
    “Probably hiding behind me.”
    Spencer’s head popped around Lincoln’s arm. His eyes were unfocused and bright, his face red. “Sara!” Sara was enveloped in a tight hug and panic threatened to kick in. The only other man to hold her other than her husband that didn’t completely drive her crazy had been Lincoln. Spencer was drunk. It didn’t matter. He knew she didn’t like to be touched. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
    Her eyes found Lincoln’s and he immediately pulled Spencer from her. “Sara’s glad you’re here too, aren’t you, Sara?” Lincoln grinned at her and she could breathe again. “I thought this was going to be a small get-together?” he asked Spencer.
    “Well…” was all Spencer came up with, shrugging.
    “I’m glad things are working out for you and Gracie,” Sara said. It wasn’t a lie; she was glad. But she wanted that second chance with her husband too and she’d never get it.
    Spencer blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Me too. Where is she anyway?” He turned and swayed to the left, catching himself with a hand against the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back. I’m going to find her. I know she wanted to see you, Sara.”
    Sara looked at Lincoln.
    He shrugged. “Want a drink?”
    She opened her mouth to say no, but then something grabbed ahold of her, something rebellious; something that wanted to tell the pain and self-loathing to suck it. Maybe, for one night, she could forget it all. At any rate, she could try. The thought oozed into her brain, taking over all the rational reasons why she shouldn’t drink, and guided her into saying, “Sure. Why not?”
    Lincoln hesitated, obviously seeing something in her expression. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
    “For tonight, Lincoln, I’m going to pretend.”
    “Pretend what?”
    Sara watched the people around her having a good time and looked at him. “I’m going to pretend everything is okay.”
    Lincoln moved closer, leaning down so they were at eyelevel. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend. There’s no shame in being sad, Sara. We can go. Right now. I’ll take you home. We can hang out, watch a movie. We can stare at a wall. Hell, I don’t know. Don’t feel pressured to do anything, Sara. This is me. Not giving you any pressure.” He lifted his hands, palms out, and nodded at his hands. “See? Pressure free.”
    Warmth trickled over her scalp and down her back as she gazed at Lincoln, feeling a little lost at the wonder of him. Sara had never noticed him before, not like this. Had he always been like this? Maybe he had. Or maybe circumstances had matured him, changed him. She broke their stare, her face heating up.
    “If I need to go, Lincoln, I’ll tell you,” she said in a soft voice, playing with a button on the bottom of her vest.
    “Promise?”
    “I promise.”
    He slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll