Intensity (19 page)

Rather than throwing myself into bookkeeping or chores, I let myself take a mental health day. Not that Linc would let me do otherwise.

After eating, he raided my bedroom closet and lugged an armful of board games into the living room, swindling me into playing the afternoon away. We razzed, elbowed, and wrestled each other through each wonderful, hilarious game. I watched with rapt attention as the bigger- than-life man sat Indian style and
played,
which
would’ve left any woman with half a heart.

It was sad. He beat me in Monopoly, Clue, Yahtzee,
and
Scrabble, rubbing victory dances in my face after each loss. His gyrating, and butt and arm pumping, did me in. Warning labels should be slapped across his fantastic body. When he smiled deep from his soul, the happy-go-lucky appearance devastated me. Throw in his knee slapping, gut-wrenching laugh that radiated through his entire being—he took my breath away. My heart had no chance. I would not survive the devastation—bamboozled, all-out goner, head over heels.

It would’ve been nice to laugh along with him, but I couldn’t. Not wanting to miss a single second, I sat in still silence with an admiring smile, mesmerized by his silliness.

And on some subconscious level, I desired to see him—
genuinely
happy
.

Since the first day I met him, the melancholy he wore on a regular basis and an agonizing sensation called to me. Drew me like a moth to a flame. Not for the light—because of the pain, the burn. Two yearning souls—conversing
in silence—unburdening each other’s torment.

Whether he realized it or not, he had a tell that gave him away. At least
I
thought he did. Shadows would pass and shutter, causing his blue eyes, day or night, to become cloaked like a ghost. Now though, that look was nowhere to be found.

A couple hours before the lounge opened, Linc and I remained cuddled on the couch, watching—
game
shows of all things. Winner’s choice. He had a serious obsession.

“Serena.” His abrupt call-out had me searching his wrinkle-free face for a clue to the urgent plea. “Thank you. I had fun…kicking your ass.” His beaming grin made his cheeks puff up like a chipmunk’s and little crinkles appear in the corners of his twinkling blue eyes.

Oh, a lucky day for him indeed. In a great mood, I acted as if the smart-alecky comment didn’t deserve an ass clobbering and nodded, not in agreement, but in confidence. Giving myself a mental pat on the back, I launched a casual, non-affected, chit-chatty comeback: “I let you win.”

Just as the last syllable left my mouth, his rabid tickling began, causing me to leap to the floor and scramble away to an unnamed home base.
Game on!
The seven-inch height difference had me at a serious disadvantage. Tackled from behind, we tumbled and rolled like spinning tops, the inertia petering us out, until I lay flat on my back with Linc beside me in the exact same position. The ceiling twirled and our loud, huffing breaths echoed one another. Leftover grilled chicken and perspiration, an aroma that any other day would be a terrible combination, in one breath smelled like heaven.

He intertwined his sweaty palm with mine, his rhythmic pulse thumping on my wrist. Different than any other time before, but somehow the same, he brought my hand to his moist lips and graced one finger after another with a heartfelt, worshipping kiss.

From the corner of my eye, a single tear trickled into my ear, conveying in a private whisper a message of love and peace to its twin consoling soul—Linc.

On the interstate for over two hours, Linc turned the black SUV onto a windy road, each side bordered by towering weeping willows and creamy-white, blush-pink, and pale-blue flowering dogwoods. A breathtaking and picturesque scene provided a major motion picture view. A few miles along, a stone mansion similar to a castle from medieval times appeared. I leaned forward, almost pressing my nose to the windshield in wonder. Photographs and paintings couldn’t come close to reality and the stunning grandeur.

Quiet the entire trip, he pulled into a parking spot near the front entrance. Anticipation and nervousness had me climbing out and onto the lush green lawn with a rainbow of blooming scents. Botanical gardens dotted the landscape left and right, including the entire foreground.

He led the way to a small portico made from rough-hewn rock and pushed an intercom button. Mahogany doors at least fifteen feet high with carved, angelic-like centerpieces added to the regal appearance.

“Yes, how may we help you?” the monotone voice called.

“Lincoln Jefferson.”

No matter how many times I heard his name it gave me chills. Either his parents were politicians, or they had a thing for presidents. From head to toe, his tall stature and intense demeanor were well suited. A powerful and formidable man, it fit him
very
well.

At the buzz, Linc stood back, letting me enter first. Antique mahogany panels decorated the walls and thirty-foot-high ceilings, and included polished marble floors, the stately appearance enhanced by paintings and statuesque bronzes often seen in museums—fit for a royal family. Unbelievable.

A short, gray-haired woman with a beaming smile greeted, “Lincoln, it’s wonderful to see you,” extending her hand to him and turning to me with the same gesture.

“This is Serena,” he relayed in a solemn tone, apprehension evident in his stiff form and fisted hand gnawing my lower back.

“I’m Mrs. Golden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Pleasant but reserved, she glanced between me and Linc several times throughout the brief introduction.

“Likewise.” My whispered reply seemed necessary, since the tension rolling off Linc snapped onto me, shattering my vocal cords when I spoke. Suddenly, the unknown reason for this trip and turn-on-a-dime exchange induced a discomfited
this is not a happy occasion
premonition and life-altering anxiety.

“We’re going up.” He directed, not wasting any time, herding me in front of him and toward the stairs.

“Sure, of course, Lincoln. If you need anything let me know.”

He nodded to her on the way up the grand staircase.

At the top, plush red carpeting and antique furnishings lined the hallway along with several closed mahogany doors. He stopped in front of the last one on the right, breathing deeply before his somber voice broke the silence. “Serena, thank you for not asking questions and… giving me time.” The last few words trailing off on a hush.

Scared to death of his constricted face and the other side of that door, I wanted to cry, but couldn’t figure out the reason. Gathering courage, my slight smile came out of nowhere.

His white-knuckle grip on the knob turned right, and he walked in first, his rigid shoulders in my direct line of sight, blocking the view.

Elegant furnishings and surroundings continued into a bedroom. My attention drawn, though, to the most stunning young woman I’d ever seen, worthy of gracing any fashion designer’s runway in the world. Except her prone body, motionless in a bed, said my assessment wasn’t quite right. The longer I watched and waited for her to wake up and acknowledge us, the more I began to notice about her, and determined this was a dismal scene. Colossal lumps clogged my throat while I stood still near the entryway, unable to move any further.

Linc sat in a cushioned chair near a large picture window, clasping his hand around the sleeping beauty’s pale one. Moisture filled his eyes as he motioned for me to sit in the adjoining seat. “I brought Serena with me today.” His graveled, heartbroken tone caused me to collapse with abrupt finality in the chair. My gaze flitting from him to the woman, a massive hole forming in my stomach and extending up to my chest, both constricted and burning.

He leaned down and kissed her hand with such love and tenderness, I had to turn away as tears flooded my eyes. “This is my sister, Belinda.” His whispered greeting forced me to face him.

Oh, Linc.
Not able to stop my own cascading tide, I grabbed hold of the armrests and prepared myself for whatever he might say next. He cuddled her fragile hand against his cheek, and as he blinked, one after another of his tears were captured on her fingertips. I wasn’t even sure she could feel them, because she hadn’t moved since we got here.

Her lean body clothed in an immaculate yellow organza dress appeared ready for a night on the town. Their resemblance uncanny, her midnight-black hair, lengthy frame, and beauty matched her brother’s. Uncertain what to say, he must have sensed my reluctance and explained, “She’s been here…almost ten years.” He paused and on an exhale murmured, “She was in a coma, but now—PVS.” His voice so faint, had I not been inches away I wouldn’t have heard.

God, no
. After experiencing Gram’s sickness and seeing her body deteriorate, I understood the helplessness. But
this
, year after year willing a stagnant form—to wake—to live. Gut-wrenching pain consumed me, along with a deep affection for him and the never-ending agony her condition sentenced him to.

I brushed the wetness from my eyes and pulled a portion of his devoted strength inward before speaking. Even so my voice wobbled from the noticeable suffering. “What happened?”

A shake of his head brought any further discussion to an end. “Later, okay?”

In silent agreement, I placed my hand on top of his and his sister’s, all three lying at her side.

We spent two hours in the room while he told her about his week and the goings-on in the world. A way I guess to maintain some type of connection even if she couldn’t return the sentiment.

Afterward, he and I walked along the floral-lined pathways, and I waited for him to speak. When he did, the entire tale gushed out, as if not wanting to ever repeat it again.

“She’s three years younger. The age difference didn’t mean a thing though. We spent every minute together. A week after I graduated high school our parents died in a car accident. Since she was underage, even though I was eighteen, the courts weren’t sure about custody. We didn’t have any other family, and eventually the judge decided in my favor.

“From the time I turned sixteen, I had a job. My parents taught me to be frugal and save, which helped afterwards. I had a full academic scholarship and college plans, but ended up not going. We were just two lost kids, whose lives would never be the same.

“I didn’t know shit about bills and expenses, which made managing finances a hell of a lot worse. The insurance company didn’t pay right away and added to the problems. The first year, I used savings to pay the mortgage, cars, and expenses. When the insurance did pay, it was enough to live on a while. None of that mattered though.”

On a deep sigh his voice wavered as he described the resulting effects. “My sister…shit.” He came to an abrupt stop and stared up at the sky, taking several gulps before he continued. “Losing them both that quick hit her hard.”

He grabbed my hand in his and turned toward me. “I tried—I tried so damn hard to help her. Working two jobs, I wasn’t home much. She needed more than a fucking paycheck…needed a brother…needed attention…needed…” He turned away from me, his mumbles filling the space between us. “Caught up in my own shit I didn’t realize…”

My heart hurt at the self-defeat in his account and the trauma they had both experienced. After a moment, I laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. A small gesture and nowhere near the engulfing embrace I wanted to give. To capture and wipe away every ounce of his pain.

Cuddled up to his side, I held on to his arm, leaning in to offer unspoken support. His face looked light years away. “A year later, a few months before her eighteenth birthday, I came home and found her beaten to a pulp.” His hand squashed mine like a vise, but he didn’t seem to notice. Pinpointed on the landscape, his gaze
really far off
, reliving a nightmare stuck on rewind.

“The police told me a few weeks later, when they arrested a pimp for her assault, that my sister was a prostitute. It was her punishment for a job gone wrong.” Head down, his next testament transformed his typical strength to debilitated in mere seconds. “I didn’t even know.” His deep voice cracked when he continued. “Belinda’s in a permanent vegetative state. Doctors say she’ll be that way until—” he drew in a ragged breath and expelled, “as long as she lives.”