Take Care, Sara

swallowed, staring at it, her heart pounding. Her hand slowly reached out to pick it up. “Hello?” left her in a choked whisper.
    “Hello, is this Sara Walker? This is Georgia from Dish Network calling to see if you’d like to reactivate your account with us.”
    Sara’s shoulders slumped and a sigh of relief left her. “No. Thank you.”
    “Now—“
    She hung up the phone, resting with her back against the cold fridge. Sara didn’t understand how everything in the house reminded her of him so much when she’d removed everything she’d thought would do so as a way to deal with the pain. Didn’t matter; he was in the woodwork, the air, her . She couldn’t escape him; she couldn’t escape the ache that had made a home inside her chest. That ache was him, for him , and would never leave, not while she had a breath left in her body. It wasn’t that Sara wanted to forget him, never that, she just wanted it to not hurt every time she thought of him.
    She tried not to think about it, and sometimes, Sara forgot. It made her feel terrible that the escape from the past was like a blessing. She’d lost him and she’d lost a part of him before that. Was Sara not meant to have any of him? Her eyes went to the room down the hall and a barrage of memories hit her, one after another, bringing her to her knees. And along with the remembrances came him. Always.
    “We’ll have more babies, Sara. We’ll have a houseful of little munchkins that will drive us absolutely bat shit crazy and we’ll be worn down and exhausted to the point of never wanting to have sex again.
    “We won’t speak; we’ll grunt. Talking will require too much energy. Your legs will be hairy and your hair a matted mess and I’ll get a gut and have dark circles under my eyes and we’ll be so unbelievably happy it won’t matter.” His voice cracked and he paused, exhaling deeply, his hands tight on her face, holding her gaze with his.
    “Don’t cry, Sara. Okay, cry if you want to, but know that baby knew you, if only for a moment. That baby knew you loved him or her, and that baby is loving you even now. And we’ll have more babies and they’ll love you too. So cry if you have to and be sad.” He swallowed. “But don’t lose hope. Don’t give up. Don’t hate yourself. And don’t forget what I just said.”
    Tears streamed down her face and Sara’s feet moved in the direction of the closed door. So many closed doors. What did she think she was accomplishing? Did she really think she could close away the memories and the hurt inside a room? It wasn’t working, if that’s what her subconscious was trying to do. Sara’s hand reached for the doorknob and turned.
    They’d painted the walls celery green. The curtains were blue with yellow stripes. In the middle of the room sat an unused crib made out of pale wood. A cream and pale green checked comforter rested on the sheeted mattress, never to know the feel of a soft little being or be snuggled in a tiny hand. It smelled like baby powder in the room and Sara inhaled deeply. She tweaked the teddy bear mobile and watched as it gently swayed back and forth. It had been too soon to know what sex the baby was, but they’d been excited and hadn’t wanted to wait to decorate, so everything had been made neutral.
    After she’d lost the baby, Sara would find herself in the room, just staring, not really seeing. He’d come and get her, wrap her in his arms, and bring her back from the brink of nothingness that had threatened to erase all she was. He wasn’t here to do it this time. He wasn’t here to do it this time because he was the one she’d lost and mourned. Sara wondered who, if anyone; would save her this time. Maybe she wasn’t savable. Maybe she was already gone, like her baby, like her parents, like her husband.
    ***
    “Well?”
    Mason gave her a pointed look Sara ignored. She poured herself a mug of coffee after handing him one. “Well what?”
    “Show me your creation.”
    He was irritating and bossy, but at least Mason didn’t hide anything. Sara had to respect that about him. He didn’t try to avoid the world, like her. Still, she wasn’t ready to talk, not about herself, not about her husband.
    “That woman…at Spencer’s, was she the reason you found to move on? To live?” Sara fiddled with the hem of her shirt as she waited for Mason to answer.
    “Nope.”
    “Then who was?”
    “I’ll tell you, after you show me your painting.”
    Sara swallowed as her