Page 61 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

I turn to her. She’s wearing nothing but my t-shirt.

“Come in. You should grab a shower, too,” I say to her. She slowly removes the shirt, and I hold out a hand to help over the rim of the shower. Once she’s inside, I pull her against me. She wraps her arms around my waist.

“I’m sorry. I hope your dad is OK,” she says, looking up at me.

“Me too. I’m sorry we can’t lie in bed, so I can make love to you again,” I say to her as I nuzzle her nose with mine. She gives me a small smile.

“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up, so we can get to the hospital. Your family needs you,” she says to me as she reaches for the body soap.

Lark

Lincoln is quiet on our drive to the hospital. I wish I could fix this for him. I wish I could fix so many things. I’m consumed with conflicting thoughts, especially after last night. I’m not sure what I want to do. We’re supposed to go meet Tiffany today, but who knows if that’ll happen. I still don’t know if I want to meet with Roger. And now I’m worried about Lincoln’s dad.

Lincoln doesn’t spend much time with his parents. I know it’s hard for him, but his parents love him. I’ve seen it in the way they watch him when they come to a show. Or how they look at him when we are visiting with them on holidays. They are the kindest people. Always inviting strays like me over for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I know they miss Carrie, but I also know they love Lincoln so very much. I wish that all three of them could heal over her death and move forward.

When we arrive at the hospital, we’re shown to a private room. Lincoln’s dad, Eric, is in the bed and his mom, Margie, sits in a chair next to him.

“Hey,” Lincoln says. I stand by the door, preparing myself to wait in the hallway.

“Lark, come on in,” Eric says from the bed.

I step inside. “How are you feeling?” I ask him.

“OK. I think I just had a bought of anxiety,” he says nonchalantly.

“Eric, dear, we don’t know that yet,” Margie reminds him, her voice clearly filled with concern.

“What are the doctors saying?” Lincoln asks.

“They ran some tests. We should know soon if it’s a heart attack. Then we can figure out what’s next,” Margie explains.

“Well, any idea when you’ll get the results back?” I ask them.

“No, it could be a few hours,” Eric says. I nod.

“I’m just going to go for a walk then if you don’t mind. I’ll be back,” Lincoln says. I look at him unsure of what to do. I know waiting for test results is scary, but it’s odd that he’s chosen right now to go for a walk.

“Sure, dear. We’ll be here,” Margie says.

“I…do you need anything?” I ask them.

“No, we’re good,” Eric says.

I don’t know what possesses me to follow Lincoln as he walks out of the hospital. I don’t understand his mindset. If it were my dad, I’d stay there and wait, but Lincoln isn’t me.

He meanders through the streets like a pro, which make sense because he grew up here. The hospital is on the edge of his neighborhood where his parents live.

His parents are so kind. They seem supportive, but there’s always tension between Lincoln and them, and I don’t know why. I’ve never asked because I’ve never felt it’s my place to ask. I know it must have been tough for him after his sister passed away, but that doesn’t explain all the tension between them.

We walk past his neighborhood to a small church on a side street. I think he’s going to go inside, but instead, he walks around back toward the cemetery. I keep my distance, walking several rows back from him as he walks with purpose toward a small grave. He stops, and my heart shutters. I know it’s Carrie’s grave before I even read her headstone. He sits down in front of it, placing his hand on the top of it. I can hear him talking softly, and when I see him wipe away a tear, my heart shatters into a million pieces.

I don’t know what possesses me to walk toward him, but I do. When I reach him, I stop, unsure of what to say.

“Why’d you follow me, Lark?” Lincoln asks in a gruff voice, heavy with emotion.

I take a breath and sit down next to him. I look at Carrie’s grave. She was fourteen when she died. I know that, but I’ve never been to her grave before now and seeing the dates on it make her age seem so…real.

I place my hand on Lincoln’s arm. “I wanted to make sure you’re OK,” I say quietly.

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