Take Care, Sara

head of hair. One side was sticking up and the other was mashed to her head. Sara tightened the tie on the old robe as she shuffled to the door. Fighting a yawn, she unlocked the door and opened it, her eyes shying from the sun-filled day.
    Lincoln grinned at her, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Rise and shine, sunshine.”
    “Don’t you ever work anymore?” she grumbled, moving back to allow him in. Sara was happy to see him. She didn’t want to be happy to see him.
    “I took the week off. I can do that. I’m the boss.”
    “Slacker.”
    “Don’t be crabby.”
    “What time is it?”
    “Seven-ish”, he said, shrugging his jacket off and bending down to remove his boots.
    “I’m allowed to be crabby at seven-ish in the morning.”
    Lincoln stood and Sara caught a whiff of his scent. She backed away, moving to the couch. He tugged down his dark blue long-sleeved tee shirt, covering the band of tanned flesh momentarily exposed. Sara flushed, quickly looking away.
    He messed his hair up more than it already was with his hand and eyed her sleeping arrangement. “What’s that?” Lincoln asked, pointing to the pillow and blanket.
    “A couch.”
    “What’s on the couch?” He frowned. “And what are you wearing?”
    Sara self-consciously fingered the knotted tie at her waist. “A robe.”
    “Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks like a dead animal dyed blue hanging off you. You don’t sleep in your bedroom?”
    She stiffened. “It’s none of your business and if you just came over here to badger me, you can leave.”
    “Oh, no. Uh-uh. It’s day three.” Lincoln crossed the room to her, softly touching her cheek. “Look at you with your sad brown eyes. I want to take the sadness from them, Sara. Let me today.” His face cleared and his hand fell away. “But first, you need to shower. Your hair looks like rodents could get lost in it.”
    Sara took a shuddering breath, remembering she needed air. “I…” Her brain wasn’t cooperating. “What are we doing?”
    “Good question.”
    She waited, sighing loudly when she realized he wasn’t going to tell her.
    “You. Shower. Make yourself pretty.”
    Sara glared at him as she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door a little too exuberantly behind her. She brushed her teeth, fuming as she stared at her flushed face. His brother had never talked to her like this, had never bossed her around. Stop comparing them. She wasn’t trying to; it was involuntary, like breathing when you thought you no longer could. It just happened. Sara grabbed her hair with one hand as she finished up brushing her teeth, and spit in the sink. Her mouth was fresh and cool with spearmint and Sara inhaled deeply, her attention turned toward the shower.
    Sometimes she wondered what she was holding on to. It wasn’t the man she loved, not that cruel replica of her husband lying in the hospital bed. What exactly did Sara cling to? Memories were like ghosts that never went away; always there to haunt her. Is that what she loved; a memory? And what was in the hospital bed then; a ghost? Showing her what she used to have; what she didn’t have and would most likely never have again? Steam filled the immediate air around her, making it hard for her to breathe, though of course she still managed to. Or maybe that was just her conscience.
    Sara quickly washed up, wondering how much longer she would cling to memories she’d be better off forgetting. She winced at the pain that thought caused, shutting the water off. Sara grabbed a towel, shivering, her skin pebbling from the shock of going from warm to cold. There was nothing she could do but continue to love a man who’d left her with a car crash; to let ghosts haunt her so she remembered that love. She had to hurt to feel something other than hurt and still she hurt anyway.
    Dried and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black top, Sara loosely braided her long brown hair so it rested over one shoulder and pulled on a pair of black boots. She met Lincoln in the kitchen, where he was sipping from a Styrofoam cup and staring in the direction of the nursery.
    “Gas station coffee?” she guessed, wrinkling her nose. Sara didn’t want to know what he was thinking, not as he looked at that closed door.
    “Nah. From home.” Lincoln handed the other cup to her.
    “Thanks.”
    “You look nice. Smell good, like vanilla.”
    Sara blushed. “Thank you.” Lincoln watched her take a drink from the cup. The coffee was smooth and the