what now? | outerbanks

• forty-seven •

Kiara

    Tonight is the night before we leave for Jamaica, and the tension in the house is telling, though none of us comment on it. Our voices are hushed, paranoid, and they're hardly recognizable over the sound of flushed pages and ruffling maps. This is it—our final chance to plan, to make sure we're all on the same page before we set sail and our lives change for the foreseeable future.
    Sarah's sitting next to a pensive John B, her nose scrunched up just slightly, the way it always does when she tries to hide her anxiety. Cleo is leaning back in her chair, fingers tapping her chin lightly, watching as Pope traces routes along maps. JJ is perched on the kitchen island, legs parted so that my back can lean between them, his arms draped naturally over my shoulders.
    The house feels different tonight, like everything we've been anticipating is finally here, not caring whether we're ready or not. This hunt is different, too. We're not amateurs anymore; we know what we're doing—to some extent—but there are still challenges. Sarah is nineteen weeks pregnant, and although she likes to think she's okay, I can tell her body is a constant burden to her, and that's just while we're still at home. I can't imagine it'll be any easier walking the heated streets of Kingston. We all have a new maturity about us, with ourselves and in our relationships, and that's sure to play a role in all of this as well. For once, we have everything to lose.
    "Alright, let's get this straight, once and for all," John B. huffs, sliding a piece of paper across the table. He has something in his eye—that age-old determination—and something about it makes this hunt even more enticing. "We leave first thing tomorrow. We'll head to the port, get our bags loaded, make sure gas is all good, and then we're off. No hitches."
    "Hopefully no hitches," Pope corrects. "But let's give ourselves an hour error margin, just in case there are hitches. That way, even if we're set behind, the tides are still safe."
    Cleo leans back in her chair, balancing on the back two legs, and her usual smug smirk takes place on her face, despite the heavy air. "I like the sound of that."
    Pope looks back at her with a small smile, adjusting his glasses. He never really wears his glasses, usually caring a lot more for contacts, but I always thought they suited him well. "That's good, but we need to make sure we know what we're doing. Individually, I mean."
    "Got that too. I'll be at the helm navigating and making sure we stay on track. Sarah, you'll be up there with me when you're not getting rest in—out of the six of us, you're the best at reading maps. JJ, you're on scout duty. We know how these things go: danger follows. You need to be vigilant. Kiara, you've got the supplies and gear. Cleo, you're on making sure the boat's in check. And P, you're on backup duty. Helping out wherever you can when you're not studying the wreck site and history. This is a team effort, okay? No slacking. Except for Sarah." His last segment is added on with a small chuckle, and the blonde turns her mouth up just slightly, faking a laugh back at her husband.
    "How come Sarah can rest but we can't?" JJ whines, slapping his hands down to his knees. "I get she's pregnant, but damn, this is unfair!"
    "JJ—" I scold, elbowing him in the gut. "But, yeah. That all sounds pretty solid. It's just—Sarah, are you sure you're good with this?" Her cheeks flush under all of our gazes, and she shrinks at the question. She wants to be good with it. She wants to be able to follow along with hesitation. But the truth is, she can't.
    She'll never say that, though. "I'm good," Sarah says, her voice small. "I want to do this. I want to be a part of it." She looks at John B. for reassurance, and though we can all see that he wants to pull back, he nods and squeezes her hand. It's decided.
    "Okay. We'll do this together," I add, trying to mask my own nerves. JJ presses his thumbs into the prominent knots in my shoulders, and I let out an almost audible hum. I didn't realize how tense I was, but now that he's relieving it all, I feel so much better. It's not even Sarah that I'm worried about. I know what she's been through; I know she can take this. But the caves? The water? The unexpected danger? That's what scares me—the idea of everything that's actively working against her.
    "She can take it," JJ asserts, breaking the silence. "She's strong."
    "Thanks, J." Sarah smiles, seemingly unaware of the circles she's tracing around her belly button.
    "I agree," Cleo chimes, true yet somewhat uncertain. "But one thing happens? One complication, one error, one muscle stretched an inch too far? You're sitting it out." Her words are pointed to Sarah, and she doesn't have to expand any more for us to all understand.
    Pope looks up from his pile of papers, eyes wide with enthusiasm, anticipation. "I think this could actually work," he rejoices, the youthful look on his face taking me straight back to our first dive into Denmark Tanney.
    "And if it doesn't?" I ask, feeling sort of guilty for my doubt, but knowing it's an important question to pose.
    "Then we'll come right back to this life we've built." John B. wraps his arm around Sarah's waist as he talks, his face forming into the cheesiest of smiles. "Wheezie's manning the shop while we're gone, so I hope that isn't for too long because her and her friends will definitely be taking advantage of that. But, we already have so much. If this doesn't go through, we'll come straight back here and live like we should be living."
    "Couldn't have said it better, buddy," JJ quirks, wiping a fake tear from his eye and hopping off the counter to pat John B. on the back. The sound of the smack makes Sarah jump in her seat, and that's when we realize that somewhere in the conversation, she fell asleep.
    "Did someone fall asleep?!" I ask with a silly smile, my voice bright with amusement.
    "What? No," she defends, wiping her eye. "I was just resting my eyes."
    "Yeah, sure. Snore-ah Cameron," Pope coughs, trying to cover up his teasing while still making it somewhat recognizable.
    "You know what? Fuck you guys. I'm going to bed." Sarah huffs loudly, an exaggerated sound, and she stands up from her chair with a big yawn. She smiles sarcastically at all of us and then stomps her way up the stairs. John B. grimaces, sucking in a sharp breath, and then he follows after, mimicking a Catholic-looking prayer with his hands.
    "I'm gonna go, um—yeah," he mutters, running quickly up the stairs. He stops halfway there, turning back to us. "Um, you guys can stay up as long as you want, just don't mess anything up. Please. I won't kill you, but Sarah will." He drags the last few words into a sing-songy voice, and the notes echo throughout the house.
    It makes me smile—the familiarity of it all—and I grow content in knowing that this is what we'll come back to. No matter what happens out there, no matter what this treasure brings us, we'll always have this, and we'll always have each other.