Take Care, Sara

it was all finally over as well. It was destroying her; seeing him, not seeing him, wanting him to live, and wanting it done.
    “Less than two weeks,” she choked out.
    Lincoln’s features tightened and the slump to his broad shoulders deepened. He softly swore, slamming fingers through already mussed hair. He turned so his back faced the bed where his brother laid, every muscle in his body tense, to deal with his grief away from Sara’s eyes.
    The room had that chalky medicinal smell that made her stomach roil. The lights were dimmed in the white-walled room. It was cooler than Sara thought comfortable, but of course it didn’t matter to him. In fact, he’d always liked it colder in the house than Sara did. So maybe it wouldn’t matter even if he was awake. He’d liked his snow in the winter and snowmobiling and all things outdoors; no matter what time of year it was. He’d found a way to adapt to it all; found a way to make it desirable.
    Sara looked down at his gray, sunken face. He’d always had sculpted cheekbones, but now they stood out as sharp blades of bone. His body was dying, his brain didn’t want to or couldn’t wake up, and he was stealing breaths that weren’t his. There was no way to make this situation acceptable. That’s why you gave us the time limit, isn’t it? She hated him for doing that, giving them a figurative clock on the days he had left. But she was also grateful and she hated herself for that. What kind of wife dreaded and longed for something at the same time? This wasn’t a way to live, Sara knew that. He’d known that. But to not have him live at all…it was unfathomable.
    It was too much, seeing him as he was. Did he sleep? Did he hear things? Was his mind completely shut off or did he know she was near? The not knowing was the hardest; that was what was tearing Sara up. Was her husband in there somewhere or was he simply gone? Had he left a long time ago, at the wreck? If Sara only knew, maybe then she could cope.
    She didn’t realize she was crying until a broken sob left her. “I never got to say goodbye,” she wept as Lincoln strode across the room and scooped her into his arms. Tears flowed like miniature waterfalls from her eyes and down her face. “I can’t say goodbye. How do I say goodbye, Lincoln?”
    “You don’t have to say goodbye.”
    Sara stiffened in his arms, slowly lifting her eyes to his. That hadn’t been his voice. “What did you say?” she asked, breathless, her heart pounding.
    Lincoln’s eyebrows lowered. “I said you don’t have to say goodbye.”
    She moved away, putting a shaking hand to her forehead. “But that wasn’t…you…” Sara couldn’t voice her thoughts. She would sound crazy if she did. Was she crazy? Sara had wondered that a lot since the accident.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. I…” Her face crumpled as she turned her gaze to the bed. He was unmoving, his chest lifting and lowering with artificial life. It couldn’t have been him. Why had it sounded like his voice and not Lincoln’s?
    “You don’t have to say goodbye because I’ll always be with you, Sara,” the gruff voice drawled through the air, soft and full of conviction.
    She whipped her head toward Lincoln. “What?”
    “I said, he’ll always be with you.” Lincoln frowned, tapping his fingers on the metal railing of the bed. “What’s going on, Sara? Are you okay?”
    A laugh that sounded much too close to hysterical burst from her. “No.” Sara shook her head. “I’m not okay.” She staggered back, toward the door, bumping into a metal stand and sending it toppling over. “I’m going…to go…I’m going to go outside. Get some air. I’ll be back…to say…I’ll be back.”
    When she bent to right the stand, Lincoln was there, ceasing her movements with his hands on hers. “I’ll get it. I’m going to talk to him a bit and then I’ll be out.” He crouched by her, looking worried. “Will you be okay?”
    Sara tugged her hands away and stood. “What else can I be?” Her eyes slid from Lincoln’s to the bed. Pain welled in her heart, expanded, and wiped all other emotions out. Am I losing my mind?
    As Sara walked out of the room on weak legs, she wondered if that would really be such a bad thing.
    ***
    “I brought you something.” Mason held out a red notebook and a single #2 pencil. He stood near the door, boots and coat removed, waiting for her to take it.
    Sara frowned, hovering near the kitchen counter. “What is that