Merry Christmas, Lincoln (A Take Care, Sara Christmas Novelette) (4 page)

His gaze went to her midsection. The purple jacket she wore was unzipped and he slowly walked toward her, his chest tightening as he placed a hand against her firm, slightly rounded stomach. What an idiot he was for not noticing sooner. It was barely perceptible, but her abdomen was harder, more prominent than it normally was. He stood like that for an indefinite amount of time, closing his eyes as his head lowered, just letting it sink in that his baby was in Sara’s womb, growing and being.

His baby was in there—
his baby
.

“
Every life…is a blessing,” he said in a raspy voice, his throat rough from unshed tears. Lincoln raised his head, staring at his wife. “You have a little soul growing inside you, Sara. Be thankful instead of scared, be happy instead of sad. Even if this is all we get with our baby, we have to treasure it.
Together
. Let me be a dad to our baby.”

“
I will,” she promised, touching his cheek. “Of course I will. I’m so sorry.” The smile that formed to her lips wobbled and he wanted to kiss the tremble from her lips. “You always bring me back, Lincoln. When I’m lost or floundering or scared, you always center me. You make me see reason when I’m blinded by emotion.” She traced a cold finger down his jawline. “How do you manage to do that?”

“
I love you,” he said simply.

A sob left her and Sara clutched him to her, kissing his face, his neck, and lastly his lips. “I love you too. I love you so much.
So much
,” she murmured.

When her arms went around him and held him like he was her anchor in a world of unknown waters, he let her, holding her just as tightly as she held him, and between them, their baby nestled—safe, alive.

***

The garage had been turned into Lincoln’s workshop. It was where the wood usually spoke to him, telling his hands what it wanted to be. It was where he went when he needed to think or to be alone. It was where he went when he was bothered by something. And it was where Sara found him Sunday night, staring at the pile of lumber he built small furniture out of when inspiration struck. Divine guidance hadn’t deemed it necessary to pummel him for a while. He sat on a wood bench he himself had made, hands clasped between his knees, shoulders hunched.

That pile of wood wouldn’t obliterate the listlessness he felt no matter how hard he looked at it. His hands were useless, unable to create. It was cold in the white-walled garage, his breath visible puffs of air each time he exhaled. There was one prevalent thought in his head as he sat there: What kind of father was he going to be? Farther back in his mind was: Why him and not Cole?

He felt like he’d done something wrong, like he’d taken something meant for his brother, and he didn’t want to feel that way, he really didn’t. If he knew how to take the self-inflicted blame away, he would. Cole wasn’t around, but what if his son or daughter could still be? And he was
so happy
that a part of him and Sara would live on in a little being and that had the remorse rising up as well, because there was nothing of Cole left to live on.

Sara eyed him, not speaking for a long time. “I brought you some coffee,” she finally said, nodding to the steaming mug in her hands.

“Thanks.”

“
What’s going on?” She set the mug down beside him, brushing hair from his eyes.

When he didn't respond, she said, “Your hair is getting long and hiding your gray eyes. We can’t have that.” She smiled. “I hope he or she has your eyes. They’re beautiful, like stormy gray skies.”

Lincoln fisted his hands. “You need to go to the doctor, Sara.”

She dropped her forehead to his, resting her hands on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, calm slowly seeping into him. “I know. I will. I should have gone as soon as I found out. I just—I have a hard time getting excited about this when I know how easily it can be taken away.”

“That’s the wrong way to think about it.”

“
I know that too. And what about you? You’re brooding. What are you thinking about?”

He sat up straighter, rubbing his face. How did he put into words the inadequacy hovering over him, the guilt he felt? “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

When he got to his feet and walked toward the door, Sara snagged the hem of his green sweatshirt. “What part of your speech to me did you not think applied to you as well? What’s got you scowling? I demand to know.”

“
You
demand
?”

Sara grinned, her brown eyes twinkling as her face went from pretty to striking. Her smile was like the sun and it warmed him every time she graced him with it. “Yes. I demand. I’m your wife. I can do stuff like that.”

Lincoln sighed. “I’m just…scared,” he admitted. It was true, partially.

The curve of her lips softened and she cupped the side of his face, pressing her cheek to his. “I’m glad you’re scared. If you weren’t, I would worry. Everything’s going to be okay. You said so yourself. And if it isn’t, well…we’ll deal with that together, like you said. So suck it up and be positive, like you always tell me to be.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Hands clasped, they made their way through crunchy snow to the inviting warmth of the house. The air, thick with the scent of burning wood, froze any body parts not covered and seeped through his clothing to those that were until he was shivering.

“
Is Dana coming back for Christmas?” he asked, the twinkling white Christmas lights lining the deck and roof giving the night life.

“
New Year’s.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.

Sara laughed. “She wants to get drunk and she says I can be the chaperone.”

“
Nice of her to volunteer you like that,” he said wryly.

Shrugging, she said, “She was teasing. You know her.”

“More than I’d like to.”

“
Stop being so sexy and then maybe she’ll stop fondling you.”

“
Oh, so it’s
my
fault she can’t keep her hands to herself?”

“
Yep,” she cheerfully replied, opening the front door.

“
I’m kind of nervous about showing this to you,” she said as they walked up the stairs to the second level of the house.

“
Why? Did you paint a room black or something?”

Sara glanced back at him. “No. But I painted.”

“Let me guess: something yellow?”

Wordlessly stopping before the closed door of the room that used to be Cole’s, he looked from his fidgeting wife to the door. He stared at it, dread churning through him. Obviously Sara had painted the room. It hadn’t been touched in years, always staying the same, and she’d changed it. Part of him was relieved to know she had let the past go enough to be able to do such a thing; part of him resented that last piece of his brother being taken away. Yes, he hadn’t walked into the room in months, but he’d known it was there, just the way it had always been. He knew when he opened the door that would no longer be true.

“Stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking and just look at it.”

Her strained voice broke through his musings and Lincoln frowned at her, studying the wideness of her eyes and her clasped hands, hands held so tightly together her fingers and knuckles were white. Sara was more than nervous; she was
terrified
. As it sunk in how worried she was about his reaction, he decided it didn't. Whatever she’d done to the bedroom didn’t matter. It was a
thing
, not a feeling, not a memory. Those couldn’t be taken away. And whatever she'd done had been done out of love and that made it okay.

He grabbed her face and kissed her on the mouth, hard and quick, turning away before she could respond. Lincoln grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open. He stepped into the room, flipping on the light, smelling the dried paint. He slowly walked into the middle of it and stopped there, his eyes taking in the magic on the walls.

White vines with leaves grew up from the base of the latte-toned walls, and on them perched little birds in shades of blues, greens, and yellows. She’d painted the trim marshmallow white and the neutral-colored curtains were gone, pale blue and green-striped ones in their stead.

“
How did you get everything out of the room?” he asked, catching Sara chewing on her lower lip.

She exhaled slowly before answering. “Mason helped.”

“And where is it now?”

“
In a storage unit. Until…until you decide what you want done with it.”

“
There is another bedroom in this house you could have used. Why did you pick Cole’s room to be the baby’s room?”

Sara blinked and a lone tear streamed down her cheek. He wasn’t asking the questions to be cruel. He wanted to know. Everything was still being digested and he was taking a moment to process the finality of Cole’s touch on his life, and the new life about to take over his. Already he could see it happening; his thoughts were consumed by the baby. He wondered if it was a girl or a boy. He wondered what they would look like, act like. He wondered all kinds of things, all of the time.

His eyes dropped to Sara’s stomach, as they so often did now that he knew there was a little being growing inside of it.

“
You’re going to think it’s stupid,” she said softly.

His eyes lifted to her face as he waited.

Sara walked to one of the walls and lightly traced the shape of a bird. “I thought maybe, I don’t know, it would be like he was watching over the baby, like he was here with him or her. It makes me feel better, safer, to think that way.”

She looked at him. “This baby is ours, but there is also a part of Cole in it, the part of you that is part of him. It just...feels right to me.”

His head dropped forward as she washed away the very doubts he’d had in his head moments ago in the garage. She was right. Cole wasn’t gone and he never would be. Lincoln was part of his brother and the baby was part of him. That’s how it worked. He took a deep breath, loosening the tightness in his chest.

“
Lincoln? Are you upset? Say something.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“
No
you’re not upset, or
no
you’re not going to say something?”

“
Either. Both.” Lincoln reached for Sara and pulled her to him, spinning her around so her back was fitted to his front. “I love this room. I love you.” He kissed the side of her neck, feeling her pulse pick up against his lips.

“
Can you show me how much? In our room.” Her voice was husky, her hands trailing down his thighs.

When his body reacted, still he hesitated, going perfectly motionless. What if something happened to the baby because of him?

Sara spun around, slapping his chest. “Don’t make me seduce you.”

Lincoln groaned. “I would
love
for you to seduce me. You may have to.”

Her eyes darkened as a coy smile claimed her lips. “Challenge
on
.”

3

“Where are you going?” Lincoln demanded, draining the last of his coffee and quickly washing the mug in the sink.

He turned to watch his wife approach. Sara fought with the zipper of her coat as she walked into the kitchen area, it refusing to budge just below her small belly.

“I’m getting too fat! My coat won’t even zip!” she said in frustration, a scowl on her face. She tossed her hands up, slapping them on the counter top on the way down.

Laughing, he moved to help her. “Relax. And you aren’t fat. You’re beautiful.”

“How can one week make such a difference in my stomach size? And I don’t know how it’s growing when all I’ve done is throw everything I eat back up for the last how many months. I guess now that that’s stopped the fatness will begin. Pretty soon you’re going to be abhorred by my appearance.” She looked and sounded miserable, a frown pulling her mouth down.

“
Never,” he vowed, kissing the tip of her nose. He slowly zipped the jacket up, liking the way it was tighter across her middle. “Where are you going?” he asked again. “We have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree to find today.”

Sara blinked at him. “You aren’t working?”

“This week’s been slow, and no, I don’t have anything to do today. I thought we could find our tree. It’s tradition. You don’t mess with tradition.”

“
Can we do it later? Mason asked me to speak to a grief support group this morning. Someone else was scheduled to talk, but they got sick. He asked me to fill in.”

Mason Wells—the man who made Sara realize there was something to want to live for. Granted, that something was him, but any guy who was significant to her was slightly irritating to Lincoln. At least he was funny; otherwise he wouldn’t be quite so accommodating to their relationship. Mason was a grief counselor, having gone through his own loss and finding a way to deal with his demons. Sara helped him when it was asked of her, because he had helped her even when she hadn’t asked for it. It was all volunteer work, but the peace it gave Sara was priceless.