Merry Christmas, Lincoln (A Take Care, Sara Christmas Novelette) (2 page)

If you don’t love me anymore, just pretend.
He hated the thought even as he knew he would voice it if it came to that.
I can’t lose you.
I want to be with your more than anything
.
I need you. Always.

“
You are
everything
to me,” she whispered in a voice that shook. “Nothing you could do or say will ever change that; nothing could ever make me stop loving you. You are
it
for me, Lincoln. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Lincoln blinked as that registered in his brain. That wasn’t what he had been expecting to hear. He had been ready to drop to his knees and beg, pride be damned. He had no pride when it came to his wife. And he didn’t care.

Her warm hand cupped the side of his face, those expressive eyes of hers showing the truth of her words. “How could you think something like that? I
love
you, Lincoln. I am
in
love with you. That hasn’t changed. That will
never
change. Where are these uncertainties coming from?” 

He exhaled loudly, turning his head to the side, his eyes landing on his demolished cake. “I don’t know. I guess because you won’t talk to me. You’re pushing me away and I don’t like it. I know something’s going on. You’ve been distant, quiet. You’re sad. I hate seeing you like this and not knowing why. And you don’t just act like that without having a reason.”

He faced her, his jaw clenched. “I want to know what it is. I deserve to know.”

Sara briefly closed her eyes. Opening them, she said, “Yes. You do. Just not yet. Please understand. It has nothing to do with my feelings for you. Nothing’s changed. You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. When I can tell you, I will. I promise.”

“Tell me
now
. Let me help you. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.” His brows lowered. “Is it—is it something with your health? Are you sick?” Lincoln grabbed her slender shoulders and held her at arms’ length, studying the paleness of her skin, the hollows under her cheeks, her slim frame visible even in the frumpy shirt. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? She didn’t look right, not at all as healthy as she generally did.

His breathing turned shallow and he fought dizziness, shaking his head.
No.
“Sara?” he questioned; his voice rough with tears he struggled to keep from his eyes.

Even as her lips trembled and a shuttered look overtook her features, she was shaking her head. “No. Nothing like that. Everything is fine, Lincoln. I promise.”

Her voice lacked conviction and he closed his eyes against the tears that formed and slid down his face. Unabashed, he let them fall, physically not strong enough to lift a hand to wipe them away, not when his emotions were rendering him helpless.

“
You’re lying,” he choked out.    

She grabbed his face, kissing his tears away, her thumbs caressing his unshaven jaw. She pressed her cheek to his. “I am not lying. Please just trust me.
I
am fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t.”

“
Do you promise? Because if something were wrong with you, and you didn’t tell me, I couldn’t take it. I really couldn’t. I
have
to know. I need to know you’re okay. And if you’re not okay, I need to know that too. I mean it, Sara.” Panic was setting in and he tried to tramp it down, but it had locked itself into his brain, hovering just beneath the surface, forming doubts and fears.

“
I know. I know,” she murmured into his ear, her fingers stroking his hair. “I wouldn’t keep something like that from you, not with losing Cole and everything else.”

Lincoln inhaled shakily, searching for composure. “I just became so uncool, crying in front of a girl. I’m pathetic,” he announced, gently pulling away.

She’s fine. She’s okay. Everything’s okay. Believe that.
Make
yourself believe it.

“
You’re not pathetic.” She slowly smiled. “You’re not that cool either.”

“
Not cool enough to even be uncool? I’m hurt. Thanks.”

“
You are amazing.”

Lincoln snorted, swiping an arm across his face. “Amazingly pathetic. I should get a medal.”

“Or at least a button.”

He lifted an eyebrow, brushing at the streak of yellow paint on her left cheek. “What are you painting?”

“Oh.” She hastily rubbed at her face, missing the spot completely. “Just…stuff.”

“
Yellow stuff?”

“
Yep.” Sara opened a cupboard and withdrew an ebony-toned plate. “I haven’t started supper yet. I got sidetracked. Have some cake for now.” She shoved the plate of mashed up cake at him, further tweaking his suspicion. She was trying to distract him with his taste buds. Clever.

He took it; the baked apple, cinnamon sugar smell of it making his stomach constrict in hunger and longing. Clearly his wife was brilliant. “You don’t need to make supper. Cake is fine. You’re acting really strange, you know that?” 

“You’re the one who wants cake for supper and
I’m
strange?” She rolled her eyes and poured coffee into two cream-colored mugs.

He sat down on a bar stool, scooping a forkful of cake into his mouth, the fluffy deliciousness melting on his tongue. “You’re not having any?”

Sara eyed his plate, grimacing. “No. I’m not hungry.” 

Lincoln paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Oh-kay. What are we supposed to bring to Gracie and Spencer’s for Thanksgiving? Are we in charge of the turkey again this year? If so, we need to get it thawed out soon. And get all the insides removed. Thanksgiving is less than a week away. I
love
cleaning dead bird carcasses out. Good times ahead. I know I’m excited. How about you?”

He looked up when she didn’t answer, noting the gray cast to her face just as Sara spun around and ran from the room. Slowly making his way across the floor, he stopped outside the closed bathroom door, the fan and sound of running water only slightly covering up the sound of her retching.

“Sara?” He tried the doorknob and found it locked. “Are you okay?”

The water and fan shut off. “Yeah,” she answered weakly, the door muffling her voice. “I think I’m getting the flu.”

The door opened, showing a drawn, red-eyed replica of his naturally vibrant wife. She set her toothbrush on the counter, the scent of mint hitting him as she expelled a breath.

Relief washed over him, loosening his tightly bound muscles. Maybe that was what had been off. She wasn’t feeling well. It was wintertime. People got sick during the winter. The logical part of him said no, that wasn’t it, but he didn’t feel like listening to it. If Sara was getting sick, then that explained her wan appearance and unusual, irritable, and emotional behavior.
Not for almost two months
, his conscience stated. Again, he chose to ignore that.

“
Then you need to lie down and rest,” he told her firmly. “Come on.” He reached for her and clasped her clammy hand within his. “Do you want anything?” he asked as he tugged her up the stairs and in the direction of their bedroom.

“
No. Wait. Yes.”

Lincoln paused outside their closed bedroom door. “Which is it?”

“I want you to lie down next to me and hold me. Please.”

He touched his forehead to hers, not caring if her germs made him sick. “You got it.” Pressing a kiss to her cool forehead, he opened the door behind him and pushed.

He flipped the light switch up, showing off four walls and a floor made of wood, a king-sized bed in the center of the room. The comforter on the bed used to be black, the walls covered in paintings of outdoor scenes. Sara had replaced the previous blanket with a marshmallow white comforter, but left the paintings alone. Lincoln had threatened to make her sing a duet with him at all local karaoke events indefinitely if she took them down.

She believed him, not touching the framed artwork, but adding her personality to the room in other ways. A mirror with worn white paint hung above her dresser. A dry sink made from old white barn siding stood against another wall. She had added softness to the room in almost imperceptible ways. She was gifted that way. The framed painting of the forest outside his house was by Sara and it remained above his bed, like it had been since the day he took it without Cole knowing, although he’d always kind of thought he’d known.

A smile touched his lips as he thought of his older brother. He caught Sara’s eye and it widened. She was watching him in that curious way of hers; head slightly tilted, eyes zeroed in on him, like she couldn’t quite figure him out. He liked that look on her. It meant he hadn’t bored her yet. He never wanted her to look at him like she knew everything there was to know about him.

“
I love you.” Her voice was steady, wrought with truth.

Lincoln smiled, moving to pull the blankets on the bed down. He patted the flannel white with silver snowflakes sheets. “Come on, sickie. Hop in. We can share germs sucking face. Maybe, if we’re lucky, I’ll get sick too and we can be miserable together.”

Sara shimmied out of her leggings and socks, leaving the paint-clad shirt on. Lincoln didn’t remark on that, though he thought it a little odd. Once in the bed, she nestled against his side, her head tucked into the curve of his arm, her palm resting on the place above his heart. They laid in silence, nothing but the sound of their breathing to listen to, and occasionally the sound of heat rushing in through the vents from the wood burning stove. The glow of the moon shone in through the window, illuminating Sara’s dark hair and pale skin, giving her natural beauty an ethereal quality.

“
Lincoln?”

“
Sara.”

“
Do you remember the first time we met?”

He absently caressed her hip, his fingers making circles against the soft flesh exposed beyond the hem of the tee shirt. “Sure. You were drooling over my brother, blatantly obvious about it. I felt sorry for you.” Her knee connected with his shin. “Ouch!”

“I was
not
drooling over your brother, blatantly or otherwise. And I’m not talking about Cole. I’m talking about
us
. I remember the first thing you said to me.”

“
I’m sure it was impressive.” 

She laughed softly. “You said; I bet you like purple flowers. I had no idea why you would say such a thing to me and I thought you were weird.”

He inhaled deeply, slowly. He’d seen Sara before his brother, but by the time she met Lincoln, she was already with Cole. He vividly remembered the first time he laid eyes on her; the way her ponytail swung back and forth as she walked through the countryside, the neon pink sweatshirt she wore, the purple flower she picked from the side of the road and placed behind her ear.

His grip tightened on her, squeezing her to him. None of that mattered anymore. Everything that had come to pass had brought them to where they currently were, and he couldn’t regret that—would
never
regret that, even if that meant he was a bad person. Loving Sara had never felt wrong, not even when she was with his brother.

“
I was stunned,” he whispered. “The beautiful woman I saw walking was my brother’s girlfriend. My brain wasn’t working right. It was the first thing I could think of to say.”

“
It enamored you to me, either way. It was odd, but sweet somehow.”

“
So it
was
impressive. That’s not the first thing I said to you though.”

“
It’s not?”

“
No. We had a conversation before that. It was something about serial killers, remember?”

“
You’re right. I forgot.”

“
Of course I’m right.” He grinned against the crown of her head.

“
So what was that conversation then?”

“
Hmm. I think that was the second one, although it
was
the first
real
conversation we ever had. The serial killer one was just me being lame. I’m glad you remembered the flower one and not the actual first. That one was a little better. I sounded slightly less creepy. I think I was drinking; otherwise I wouldn’t have brought purple flowers up. And I’m rambling.” His hand moved to her firm stomach and Sara stiffened. “Do you feel nauseous still?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

He let his hand fall away, not believing her. “Get some rest.”

“
You’ll stay with me?”

“
I’ll stay with you,” Lincoln promised, brushing hair from her face and kissing her forehead. “Always. You know that.”

2

Gracie Malone greeted them each with a hug, a wide smile on her freckled face. Her red hair was loose around her shoulders and there was a sparkle in her green eyes. “Happy Thanksgiving!”