Free Take Care, Sara by Lindy Zart Page A

truck barrel down the street. Only then did she exhale. Only then was she able to get her legs to move.
    ***
    “What are you thinking, Sara?”
    She set the yellow fleece blanket on the dresser and turned. Lincoln stood in the doorway of the partially painted nursery, arms crossed, eyes directed at her. His hair was messy in a way only a hand repeatedly run through it could accomplish.
    “Where’s Cole?”
    “Outside. Where else? What are you thinking?” he repeated.
    “Nothing. Why?”
    Lincoln straightened. “Bull shit. You might be able to fool Cole because he’s too thick-headed to see the strain on your face, or he’s too deliriously happy to want to think you’re not the same, but I’m not like that. I see you, even when you don’t want anyone to. You’re pale. You’re not eating. Your eyes are red and you’re subdued. What gives? Are you not happy about the baby?”
    Inhaling slowly, she said softly, “Of course I’m happy.” But her voice cracked and there was a tremble to it. “I’m pregnant. I’m supposed to be pale and not able to eat and whatever else you said.”
    “Hormonal. That one I forgot.”
    She gave him a look.
    Lincoln flashed a quick grin before becoming serious again. “This is more than that.”
    Sara didn’t answer. He was right.
    With a sigh, Lincoln put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his head so they were at eyelevel. His hands were warm and he smelled like citrusy soap. It didn’t repel her, like most scents did lately. It was familiar, welcome, like Lincoln. “Talk to me.”
    “I’m scared,” she admitted, blinking her eyes against tears.
    “You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t. What are you scared about?”
    “What if something happens? To me or the baby. I can’t say any of this to Cole. I can’t worry him.”
    “He should be worried,” Lincoln said grimly “He’s your husband; he’s the father. He should be worried.”
    She shook her head. “No. He’s so happy. I want him to be happy.”
    “You want him to be happy while you’re miserable? That doesn’t sound fair. If anything, you should both be miserable together, worrying about things you have no control over, losing hair, losing sleep, looking…you look terrible, Sara. Where’s your glow?”
    Scowling, Sara slapped his arm and moved away. “I haven’t found it yet.”
    “Well, until you do, I’ll be miserable with you. How’s that? Cole can be blissfully unaware of reality and I’ll sympathize with you. You have a worry, a complaint, some disgusting tidbit to share; I’ll be here for you to dump your problems on. You can traumatize my brain and ears with all your pregnancy woes. I’m a man; I can take it. Deal?”
    Sara looked at her brother-in-law, thinking she couldn’t have asked for a better one. But she had to ask, “Why?”
    “I want you to be happy, Sara, and if you’re not happy, I can’t be,” he said simply.
    ***
    It was Sunday. Sara had her portable bed put away and was showered and dressed long before the time Mason had threatened to reappear. She’d even made a pot of coffee, but she defiantly did not bake anything. Part of her wondered if he’d even show up, but in the pit of her stomach, where it churned and flipped all around, she knew he would.
    The knock sounded at exactly nine in the morning, startling Sara from her bleak thoughts. She swallowed, opening the door to cold air, a snow-covered street, and Mason. His amber eyes flickered over her, approval in them. He rubbed snow from his dirty blond head, stepping inside and taking off his brown leather jacket to reveal a black sweater. He handed a small white bag to her, the delectable scent of cinnamon and sugar teasing her senses. Sara took it, looking at it and then at him.
    “I figured the baking comment was probably pushing it.”
    “You were right.”
    Mason smiled and bent down to take his boots off.
    “Where’s Spencer?”
    He paused, glancing up. “Spencer isn’t part of the sessions,