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The sound of the vacuum subsided and the door that led to the theater room opened down the hallway. Out shuffled Mrs. Bentley, Lincoln’s housekeeper, and the best cook in the world, I was pretty sure.
She was usually perfectly put together, her gray streaked brown hair in a neat bun, and her dresses she insisted on wearing perfectly pressed. Right then, she looked like she'd seen better days. Her face was red and blotchy, her warm brown eyes puffy and bloodshot. She was a short, stout English woman with a motherly air about her, perfect since Lincoln had told me she’d spent his entire life looking after him.
But right now, she looked like she could use some looking after herself.
My heart sank as I took in her appearance. "Is everything okay?" I asked tentatively. “Do you know where Lincoln is?”
Mrs. Bentley’s lower lip quivered as she tried to speak. "Oh, Miss Monroe, I'm afraid it's not good news. Mr. Lincoln's not here."
"Where is he?" I asked, my voice coming out desperate.
Her eyes welled up with tears. "He's at the cemetery, love. It's—It’s the anniversary of Tyler’s death today."
“Tyler?”
A sob slipped from her throat. “His brother, dear.”
My heart sank even further. I’d known Lincoln had a brother, and that he had passed. But Lincoln hadn’t given me any other details…and certainly not that today was the day he’d died. It was a reminder this was all so new. We’d moved at a million miles an hour…but we still knew almost nothing about each other.
Correction, I knew very little about him. He seemed to know most things about me.
"Is he okay? What can I do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Bentley shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don’t know. He—he seemed worse than usual, love. I don’t know what to do."
A deep ache tugged at my heart, and I was desperate to get to him. "Which cemetery is it?" My voice was steadying despite the knot in my stomach.
She hesitated for a moment, eyeing me carefully, but she must have seen how much I cared, because she finally gave in. "It's St. Mary's, love. But please, be careful."
I nodded, determined to do whatever it took to be there for Lincoln.
Just like he’d been there for me.
Getting to the cemetery was a hair raising experience. I wasn’t a good driver, but put me in a luxury SUV, and it was even worse. I could have called for Nathanial to come back and drive me, but I didn’t know what I’d find when I got to the cemetery. And I wanted to protect Lincoln’s pain.
As I approached the gates of St. Mary's cemetery, a chill swept through my body, prickling my skin. The weather was bleak and overcast, with the ominous feeling of an impending storm. St. Mary’s was surrounded by a rusted iron fence that was almost as tall as me, and the gates creaked ominously as I pushed them open. Rows of headstones stretched out endlessly in all directions, and it felt like I was walking through a maze of grief and mourning.
The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut grass, and I could hear the distant sound of church bells ringing. Clouds overhead were a dark, brooding gray, and I could feel the weight of them pressing down on me. It was as if the sky was mourning with me, mourning for all the lost loved ones who were buried beneath the ground.
I walked the path that wrapped its way through the grave sites…until finally, I saw him.
Lincoln. Lying in front of a headstone, a handle of vodka next to him. My heart sank seeing him like that, completely consumed by his pain and grief. "Lincoln," I whispered, tears already prickling at my eyes, my voice barely above a whisper as I kneeled beside him.
He stirred slightly, muttering something unintelligible. I gently shook him, trying to bring him back to consciousness. "Lincoln, wake up," I said, my voice shaking with emotion.
He finally opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused and hazy. "Monroe?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse from crying and drinking. "I'm so sorry. I forgot."
I shook my head, unable to speak through my tears. "It's okay, Lincoln," I managed to say after a moment. "I'm here now."
He tried to sit up, but I held him down gently. "Just rest for a bit," I told him. “And then I’ll get you back home, and I’ll take care of you." Lincoln let himself fall, his face lying in the grass, wet from the humidity of the incoming storm.
Eventually, I helped him up, and he clung to me tightly, his body shaking with sobs. "I miss him so much," he choked out. "I'm sorry, Monroe. I don't deserve you."
I stroked his hair as we stumbled our way back to the car. He could barely walk, and it was all I could do to hold him up. He was so much bigger than me. "Shh, don't say that," I said softly. "It’s going to be alright. I promise."
He just shook his head, another wave of grief clouding his golden eyes.
The car ride back to his penthouse was quiet, the only sound his ragged breathing and the occasional whimper.
