Take Care, Sara

in the notebook.”
    “Sara.” Her eyes met his. “Sometimes when you think you have nothing, you realize you have yourself, and that’s something. That’s enough. I know you don’t think you are, but you’re strong. You’re strong enough to get through this. You’re stronger than you realize.” Mason paused. “You wouldn’t have jumped.”
    Her eyes burned and Sara blinked them. “How do you know?”
    “Because you already would have by then if you were going to.”
    ***
    The three of them sat at her kitchen table, untouched cups of coffee before them. They wouldn’t meet her eyes. Sara looked from his mother to his father, feeling their blame pointed at her like a loaded shotgun, the trigger already pulled, the damage irrevocably done.
    Henry and Ramona Walker had changed since she’d seen them last, although she couldn’t remember when that had been. The time since he’d left her was a blur; days, months meshing together until she couldn’t remember one from the other. The first six months she’d existed and that was all. Sara was honest enough with herself to admit she hadn’t progressed very far since then.
    Their skin was tanned from the Florida sun, but it somehow had an unhealthy, pale look to it at the same time. Heartache did that to you. It did as much damage on the inside as it did on the outside. They visited their sons from time to time, but never for long, and never her. She knew they held her responsible. Sara didn’t fault them that. She blamed herself as well.
    “I didn’t…I don’t know how…to do this. I didn’t want this,” she said softly, knotting her fingers together in her lap, her eyes down.
    When Sara looked at his father; an older version of him, she saw his blue, blue eyes gazing back at her with accusation, the same look she imagined she would see in his eyes if he ever opened them again.
    She wanted to be angry at Lincoln for calling them, but that would be wrong of her. They had a right to know; even if he hadn’t wanted them to know. Sara wished it was their decision and not hers. They were his parents; she was just the wife. They’d made him; she’d destroyed him.
    Lincoln stood with his hips against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “But Cole did, Sara. This is what he wanted.”
    His name stung her heart and she lowered her head.
    “I don’t know what to say,” Ramona said quietly, her throat convulsing as she swallowed. She was a smaller, more feminine version of Lincoln.
    “Were you going to tell us? Or were you just going to let them pull the plug and let us think he’d died on his own?” Henry demanded; his voice harsh.
    Pain swept over her, making it impossible for her to speak.
    “Dad, that’s enough.” Lincoln straightened from the counter and moved to stand beside Sara. His nearness made it a little easier for her to breathe and she was grateful. “Sara didn’t have to tell you. In fact, Cole didn’t want her to.”
    “Sara didn’t tell us. You did.” Those pale blue eyes drilled into hers, unwilling to let her look away. “You can’t do this, Sara. I refuse to let you do this to my son.”
    “Henry,” Ramona said, reaching over to put a hand on his arm.
    “It’s what he wanted, Dad.”
    “Haven’t you done enough?” Henry snapped.
    “ Dad ,” Lincoln warned.
    Her throat closed. Sara had to get away. She jumped to her feet, the chair scraping against the floor. “I…” Dizziness hit her and she grabbed the edge of the table.
    “You were driving that car. You weren’t paying attention. You did this ,” he continued, his voice vibrating.
    The room began to spin.
    “That’s enough ,” Lincoln shouted, slamming a hand against the tabletop.
    Ramona began to cry, covering her face with her hands. Her frail shoulders shook with each sob.
    Henry shot to his feet, looking at his youngest son like he was a stranger. “How can you defend her? How can you stand to look at her, knowing she’s responsible? My son is gone because of her.”
    Nausea hit her and Sara’s grip fell away from the table. Each word out of his mouth was a knife wound to her soul. Sara couldn’t stand to hear them. They hurt. Her soul was ravaged by them; clawed and mutilated. She stumbled back, her equilibrium off. A ringing began in her ears.
    “I’m about two seconds from throwing you out of here, Dad. I mean that.” Lincoln’s voice was low, even.
    Father and son stared each other down and Sara just wanted them to stop.