Take Care, Sara

for?”
    “I think you’ll need it. Write stuff down. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, write it down. If you’re not ready to paint, or don’t want to, or simply don’t want me to see what you’re painting, I’m cool with that. But you need a release. Keep a journal. Write. Or sketch even. Do whatever you want. Write down a memory, one page at a time. Only don’t throw this away.” Mason lifted an eyebrow as he approached her, motioning for her to take it.
    She did, quickly setting it down on the counter as if it would burn her. “I don’t need it.” Sara stared into the half-full coffee mug between her hands, the dark brown liquid endless and free, nothing to tether it, nothing to keep it from gently lapping against the sides of the mug.
    “You know how small towns are.”
    “Meaning?” Sara glanced up, noting how the brown of Mason’s sweater made his eyes seem closer to burgundy than amber.
    Mason sighed and leaned his hips against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze locked on her. “I know about the will.”
    She flinched, her elbow bumping into the cup. Mason scooped it from the counter and raised it to his lips, sipping it. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    “That was mine.”
    He shrugged.
    “I drank from it.”
    Mason lowered the cup, still not speaking, his expression telling her he didn’t care. “How do you feel about that?”
    “Not happy. It was the only cup. Now I have to make another pot of coffee.”
    “Sara.”
    She averted her face, pulling out a chair and sinking into it. “How do I feel?” Like death would be welcome. But he probably already knew that. Sara clasped her hands together and stared at the uneven nail of her left pinky. “Guilty. Betrayed. Angry. Sad. Horrible.”
    “Horrible?” Mason pulled out the chair opposite her, placing his arms on the table as he scrutinized her face, drinking her coffee. “Why horrible?”
    “Do you really have to ask that?”
    “Yes.”
    Sara leaned back in her chair and leveled her eyes on Mason. She couldn’t answer that. Not right now. He lifted one eyebrow in response. “Do you hear your brother in your head? Think he’s talking to you?”
    Mason set the coffee mug down on the table, his gaze on the cup. “Why do you ask?”
    “Because you said something about Derek talking to you and…” Sara’s face burned and she lowered her eyes to the table. “I hear him sometimes.”
    “Who?”
    “My husband. And sometimes…I think I see stuff.” Sara looked up, pain forming in her chest. Her eyes pleaded with him to tell her she wasn’t crazy, or maybe that she was. She just wanted to know, either way.
    “Stuff?”
    “I don’t know. It’s…nothing. Nevermind.”
    Mason didn’t say anything for a long time, finally breaking the silence to say, “I think that’s normal, Sara. It’s how we cope.”
    “So you don’t think I’m losing my mind? Imagining things? Seeing and hearing things that aren’t real?”
    “Is it real in your head?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then it’s real and that’s all that matters.”
    “And you’re not concerned that maybe I’m losing my mind?”
    “If you were, you wouldn’t know it.”
    “Thanks.”
    Mason chuckled. “Anytime.”
    “I used to hear a voice, but sometimes, now, it seems like it’s his voice.” Sara fisted her trembling hands.
    “Sara.”
    She looked up.
    His features were etched in somberness. “You’re not crazy. You’re not losing your mind. You’re grieving. Your mind only gives you what you can accept, what you can deal with, and maybe that’s what you have to see and hear right now to accept what’s going on. You’re fine.”
    “Promise?” she joked weakly.
    “I do.”
    Sara saw how serious he was and gave a slight nod, looking at the table. “I go over all these scenarios in my head,” she began softly. “What if we’d left a minute earlier or later. What if we’d gone another night? What if he’d driven instead of me? Would he still be here? I’m tormented by the ‘what ifs’.”
    “It’s normal. I went through it. Everyone goes through it. It does no good, hurting yourself like that. It doesn’t change anything, Sara. That’s the thing about ‘what ifs’; they don’t matter. They don’t change anything. All they do is make it unable for you to heal. You have to find a way to get past them.”
    She exhaled loudly, her breath quivering as she released it. “Right.” Sara rubbed her forehead, nodding. “Okay. I’ll write