Take Care, Sara

gaze went to the closed door. It was only a piece of canvas. It was only a piece of canvas that symbolized her whole world and all she’d lost; all she’d had at one time and no longer did.
    “How did you and Spencer meet?” she hedged.
    Half of Mason’s mouth quirked. “He arrested me.”
    “I’m not really surprised to hear that,” she muttered.
    “I’m not really surprised to hear you say that either.”
    Her lips tried to smile at Mason’s dry tone and she bit the inside of her lower lip to halt it. He didn’t need to know she found him a little amusing. Then he’d probably never go away.
    “What did he arrest you for?”
    Mason sighed, rubbing his face. “I really don’t think it’s necessary for you to know.”
    “That bad, huh?”
    His hands dropped from his face. “It was in my, quote unquote, bad stage. I was drunk. I peed in public. On Main Street, actually. Right in front of the cop shop.”
    Sara snorted. “Nice.”
    “Oh yes. It was my way of sticking it to the man and all that.”
    “Sounds like it was counterproductive.”
    “Maybe. Slightly.” Mason grinned, then sobered. “Just so you know, Spencer feels bad about the other night. He said he called Lincoln.”
    Sara hadn’t seen Lincoln since Friday night. He’d stopped by yesterday and she’d sat in the dark until he’d driven away. Not that she hadn’t already been sitting in the dark; wallowing in stifling emotions she never fully escaped. Or if she did escape them, they came back even worse. The phone had rung intermittently and she’d let it. Sara hadn’t had the strength to do much of anything. Yesterday had been a bad day, to summarize.
    “That’s good,” she mumbled, picking at the jagged edge of an uneven nail on her thumb, thoughts locked on Lincoln.
    She’d wanted to open the door; she’d forced herself not to pick up the phone. Sara felt awful about the way she’d avoided him, but not awful enough to call him back or go see him. She was toxic and Lincoln needed to stay away from her. He was better off by himself. He’d hate her before too long anyway. It was best to distance herself from him. Sara wondered if he’d let her.
    Mason rubbed his forehead, letting out a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. I know you want to be alone so you can hate yourself in peace, but…that’s not going to happen. You have people that care about you. You have people that are worried about you. Humor them. Talk to me. Open up. Did you paint, Sara?”
    Sara swallowed, giving an almost imperceptible nod.
    “Did you feel better afterward?”
    She thought of how the urge to create had taken over, how she’d been mindless with the need to paint and hadn’t felt or thought anything for joyous seconds or minutes. Then she remembered the letter she’d seen on the floor after dropping the paintbrush.
    Sara looked up, meeting his eyes. “No. I felt crazy.”
    Mason frowned. “What? Why?”
    She pushed herself out of the chair and stared out the kitchen window above the sink, not really seeing anything. “You want to know what I’m thinking? You want me to open up to you, talk to you?”
    “It doesn’t have to be me, Sara. Anyone. Talk to someone . Talk to Lincoln if you’re the most comfortable with him. You two seem close. Just don’t keep it all inside. It’ll ravage you from the inside out if you let it.”
    It already had. It had torn her up. She was a bloody, throbbing mess of pain; a wound that never healed.
    “Can you do something for me, Sara?” Mason stood and walked toward the door, pulling his coat on and then his boots.
    “What?”
    “Can you try to forgive yourself?”
    Her answer was immediate and needed no thought. It was a resounding, “No.”
    He sighed, opening the door. “Well, that right there is your first mistake. See you next week,” Mason mocked, shutting the door behind him.
    ***
    “Why didn’t you answer the door or phone?” his voice immediately demanded, gruff with annoyance.
    Sara inhaled deeply, something as close to peace as she was allowed trickling over her at the sound of his deep voice, even if he didn’t sound happy with her. Didn’t matter. Her breathing evened, her pulse steadied. All from that one sentence.
    “So you’re going to do that again, are you? Avoid me? Not talk to me? Fine. Try it. I’ll keep calling and I’ll keep showing up. Next time you pull something like that I’m not leaving, Sara. It was too cold yesterday to hang around