what now? | outerbanks

• fifty-four •

Sarah

    As the engine dies down and the familiar dock comes into view, I let out a long, heavy sigh. Back home. The streetlights still buzz in the early morning, and the slightest hum of conversation flows through the air as fishermen arrive for their early shifts. John B. pulls the boat to the dock, and Cleo hops off first, securing the boat to the cleats with practiced precision, like she was born doing it.
"Damn, this feels good," JJ sighs, getting off of the boat before it's fully stable. He helps Kiara up and out of the boat slowly, working hard to keep the pain to a minimum.
"I'd say the same, but..." She trails off, motioning to the stained bandages. We all understand what she's trying to say.
"Yeah, I gotta agree with you," Pope says, stretching his arms a little and shaking out his pain. "Let's just get home." Pope and John B. get the chest loaded into the Twinkie swiftly and covertly so that no one sees, and the rest of us work on the less important things. As we're moving out of the boat, Rafe, Sofia, and Wheezie pull up to welcome us back home. Sofia texted me last night, and no matter how many times I promised her she didn't need to show up this early, she demanded they come to see us.
"Hi, guys!" Sofia sings in her eternally beautiful way. She wraps her arms around me and whispers something about being so glad we're back home. I hug Wheezie and Rafe then too, and they all embrace John B. after. "I made a big dinner last night and put all of the leftovers in your fridge so you guys don't have to worry about cooking tonight. Take it easy."
Every time I think she couldn't be sweeter, she proves me wrong. "Thank you so much," I tell her, wrapping her in another hug.
"Just to let you know, there were a total of zero problems at the shop. So, maybe, you should hire me more often," Wheezie chirps with way too much energy for the hour.
I rub my belly and chuckle. "I might just have to," I start. "Soon enough we'll need a lot more hands." Wheezie moves on to talk to JJ, Kiara, Cleo, and Pope while I stay talking with Sofia. She asks me about the trip and how it went and then starts telling me about wedding planning, but I only half listen as I watch Rafe pull John B. off to the side.
Both of their faces are scrunched and shadowed, and the sight makes me nervous. Deeper into the conversation, though, John B. reaches in to hug Rafe, which is a rare sighting.
"Baby's looking big!" Sofia exclaims, dragging my attention away from the boys.
"I know! She's been kicking a lot—right in my bladder."
"Stubborn like her mama," she laughs, tucking hair behind her ears.
"I still can't believe it's a girl," I admit quietly, a smile creeping onto my lips. It's true; it all feels so surreal.
"I can. I swear I knew all along. I mean, you two were practically made to be girl parents."
We all finish up our conversations and then the six of us Pogues head home in the Twinkie. I get the front seat, for obvious reasons, as I expect to get for the next many months. John B. holds and plays with my hand through the drive, but he seems aloof. His eyes are strained on the road, and there's a tiny stitch between his eyebrows, like he's thinking hard about something. Something he doesn't want to tell me. Under the weight of everything we just went through, however, I decide it's not the right time to ask.
Pulling into the driveway feels like the freshest breath of air I've gotten in forever, and the sight of my house strangles my hormonal emotions.
"Woah, are you crying?" Kie asks. I chuckle and wipe big, fat tears from my cheeks, but the soaked-up streams are just replaced by new ones.
"I guess pregnancy hormones are real," JJ observes.
"I'm just so happy to be home," I cry. "I don't think I got one lick of sleep on that boat."
    John B. kisses my temple and squeezes my hand in support. "Let's get you inside, baby." As he walks me up the stairs, I notice the flickering porch light—a reminder to change the bulb—but it's more of a comfort than an annoyance.
    The others don't hesitate to start unpacking, carrying bags and the sacred chest up the stairs, absolutely refusing my offers to help.
    "You already got hurt back there; we're not taking any more risks," Kie advises, eyeing me like a mother.
    The second we step inside, the scent of home washes over me—salt, sunscreen, a hint of whatever Sofia made us for tonight. Before I can make it to the couch, JJ and Pope rush past me, basically collapsing onto the couch. The two of them groan like old men, and I try to suppress my laughter.
    "What are you laughing at?" JJ gasps, offended.
    "Yeah, you're acting like we didn't just spend a week in absolute hell," Pope agrees, also offended.
    I raise my eyebrows, shocked at their boldness. "You really want to talk?" I ask, running an obvious hand over my belly. Needless to say, it shuts up their complaints.
    A few minutes later, I settle into a chair, and Kie and Cleo plop down next to their respective boys, exhaustion creeping into all of us. John B. walks in from the kitchen with a cold beer, dropping down the last of my luggage.
    "Alright, ma'am, you wanna shower or eat first?"
    "Shower," I groan, sitting up slowly. "I feel disgusting." He helps me up and grabs my waist, kissing me affectionately.
    "You still look hot," he hums, pulling me even closer. I hum, a small smile making its way to my face.
    "Still here," Cleo interjects awkwardly, her hand covering her eyes.
    "Yeah, no need to know how that baby was made." JJ faked a gag and gets up from the sofa, hunting for wherever John B. got his beer from. John B. dismisses their teasing, and we walk up to the bedroom, getting ready for a shower.
    The hot water washes the past week away within seconds, and I don't think I've ever felt more human before this. I watch him through the glass door, the way his body presses against the double-sink counter towards the mirror as he tries to get a close shave. He still has that look in his eye, the one that says something's on his mind, but for now, I let it go.
    I dry off when my shower is done, breathing in the fresh detergent scent of the towel. John B. rubs lotion into my back, and I think I might just fall asleep at his massaging touch. Once he's done and I've rubbed oil into my belly to hopefully prevent stretch marks, I wrap my body in a plush robe.
    Running product through my hair, I ask John B., "What's up?"
    He pauses for a second, plastering on some fake face. "What do you mean?"
    "Babe, come on. Don't pretend like nothing's going on." I rub a serum between my hands and massage it strategically into my face and neck. "I saw you talking to Rafe earlier at the Wharf. I know something's up."
    He sighs a deep, thoughtful sigh and then finally breaks. "Fine. Finish getting ready first, and then I'll tell you."
    So, I do. I slip on some pajama pants, rolling the waistband below my belly, and then put on one of John B.'s larger shirts. The fabric swallows me, but it's comfortable and exactly what I needed, especially after a week of wearing sweaty second-hand fabrics from Jamaica.
    "Feel better?" he asks, sitting down next to me on the edge of the bed.
    "Much better," I say with a smile, rubbing at my damp hair. "You?"
    "Been worse," he admits, chuckling, his fingers tracing over my skin. John B. hasn't stopped touching me since we got home—his hand on my thigh, his fingers brushing against mine—but he's quieter than usual. His knee bounces slightly, a nervous habit he hasn't shaken since he was a kid.
"So," I start slowly, "what is it?"
    He tenses for just a second, then exhales. "Rafe... told me something."
    "I'm gonna need more than that, babe," I laugh, trying to make light out of the tense conversation.
    John B. runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to figure out how to say whatever's weighing on him. "Something about the Surf Shop. About a rezoning thing that could screw us over."
    I blink. "Wait, what? They're rezoning the Cut?"
    "Well, not anymore," he says. "I don't know all of the details, but Rafe said he got it all handled."
    "Handled how?" My question is cautious, my mind flooding back to all of the other things he's handled in his past. I shudder at the thoughts.
    "I don't know," John B. admits. "Just that it's 'taken care of.'"
    I stand up, rubbing my hands down my face. "I don't like that at all. I'm calling him; I gotta figure out what's going on."
    I find my phone through the chaos of laundry and mess and get Rafe on the line immediately. The phone rings a few times before his scruffy voice breaks through the speaker.
    "Sarah?" he asks.
    "I need you to tell me what's going on," I state plainly, not having time to beat around the bush.
    "What do you mean?"
    "Rafe," I warn. He exhales, not wanting to continue talking, but he does anyway.
    "What did John B. already tell you?"
    "Just that there was some rezoning issue but that you got it covered," I say cautiously.
    "Yeah, and that's all there is to say. What else could you want?" Rafe's words are somewhat sharp, but I can tell he's trying to be as pleasant as possible.
    "What did you do?"
    He scoffs on the other side of the phone. "You think I got this unfairly? That this is some foul play?" He's clearly offended.
    "I mean, I wouldn't put it past you." I pace around the room, stopping at the bedroom window and leaning my wait against the windowsill. I watch John B. as I talk, and I can see that he's trying to hear both sides of the conversation. I switch the call to speakerphone so that he can also hear what's going on.
    "That's really what you think of me, huh?"
    "Can you blame me? I've seen the horrible things you've done, Rafe!" John B.'s eyes follow me carefully, ready to jump in if things get too heated. I want to tell him that I'm good, that I can handle my own, but I don't.
    "I didn't do anything wrong," he says, this time quieter and more genuine. Images of shootings and drownings stick in my brain, but I choose to believe him.
    "Then why won't you tell me?" I calm down too now, already feeling guilty for the things I said.
    "Look, Sarah. I met with the guy behind it all, and the only way he'd give it up was if I'd pay double what they were getting for the land. The reason I didn't want to tell you is—"
    I stop him, shocked. "You paid that much money for us?"
    "The only reason I wasn't going to tell you was because I didn't want you to feel responsible for giving back. I have it all under control."
    I sit back down on the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly feeling weak. "Rafe, that's a lot of money. You didn't have to do that."
    "I know," he says simply. "But I wanted to."
    "What about Sofia?" I ask. "Is she okay with everything?"
    He laughs slightly, and it's clear it's a hot topic over at Tanneyhill. "She is now," he says warily. "The point is: it's done."
    John B. crosses his arms, processing the conversation in silence. I can tell he doesn't know how to feel about this—grateful, wary, maybe even a little guilty.
    I rub my temple, trying to make sense of it all. "I don't even know what to say."
    "Then don't say anything," Rafe replies. "Just keep the shop. Keep what you guys built." His voice is quieter now, less defensive. I hear Sofia's voice in the background, soft and distant, asking if everything's okay.
    "You really mean that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
    "Yeah, Sarah. I do."
    There's a long pause between us, the weight of everything sitting heavy in the air. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I have to fight him. He just... did something good. No ulterior motive. No expectation. Just Rafe, helping me, helping us. Not that he hasn't changed over the past few years, but he hasn't been outright helpful before now either.
    John B. finally speaks up, his voice careful. "Thank you, man."
    Rafe exhales sharply, like he wasn't expecting that. "Yeah. Just take it easy, alright?"
    "Of course."
    The call ends, and I set my phone down, staring at the screen as if it'll give me the rest of the answers I need.
    John B. watches me closely. "You okay?"
    I nod slowly. "I think so. I just... I didn't see that coming."
    He lets out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Me neither."
    I sink back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. John B. moves beside me, pulling me into his arms, and for the first time since we got back, I feel like I can breathe.
    "I mean, could you imagine?" I murmur against his chest. "Could you imagine if we lost the shop? That's everything we've worked for."
    John B. presses a kiss to the top of my head, his fingers trailing over my back. "Yeah. I don't know what we'd do."
    "We should probably tell the others, just to let them know what's going on."
    I groan, agreeing with him but also not wanting to get out of bed, the exhaustion already rolling into my eyelids. John B. drags me out of bed and down the stairs, and when we make it to the living room, I sigh gratefully at the homeliness.
    JJ is sprawled out on the couch, tossing a bottle cap in the air and catching it absentmindedly. Kiara sits cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a magazine she definitely isn't reading. Cleo and Pope are at the table, Cleo picking at her nails while Pope scrolls through something on his phone. They're all relaxed, unaware that John B. and I are about to change that.
    John B. clears his throat, and just like that, all eyes are on us. "Alright," he starts, running a hand through his hair, "we gotta tell you guys something."
    JJ immediately sits up, eyes narrowing. "Well, this sounds serious."
    "It is—kinda," I confirm. "It's about the Surf Shop."
    Kiara groans, tossing her magazine onto the coffee table. "Jesus, what now?"
    John B. glances at me, then at the rest of them. "They were gonna rezone part of the Cut, and the Surf Shop was gonna get screwed over because of it."
    Pope leans forward, suddenly interested. "Wait—like, gone screwed over?"
    "Yeah," I say. "But Rafe found out, and he handled it."
    Cleo squints at me. "Handled it how, exactly?"
    I take a deep breath. "He met with the guy behind the whole thing and paid him off—double what he was making from the deal."
JJ blinks rapidly. "Hold the fuck up. Rafe Cameron just paid off some rich asshole for you? I know he's been working on himself and whatever, but this is crazy nice."
    "I know. I'm just as shocked as you guys are," I admit.
     Pope scoffs. "And you believed him? Just like that?"
    John B. leans forward. "I mean... yeah. I was skeptical too, but I called him on it, and he didn't even flinch. He didn't lie. He didn't try to twist it. He just said he did it and moved on."
    JJ lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Nah. That's crazy. That's insane."
    Cleo looks at me carefully, eyes sharp. "So, just like that? No remuneration or anything?"
    "He said he didn't need anything back."
    Kiara exhales, rubbing her temples. "This is so weird."
    "I don't know, though," I mutter. "I can't just let him do all of this for us. That's a lot of money. I know he has the money, but he and Sofia are getting married, and now Wheezie's moving in—I just can't do it."
    Pope leans back in his chair, looking skeptical but thoughtful. "So, what now?"
    There's a long pause as we all sit in thought. I stare for a long time at the mudflow of the room where JJ placed the treasure chest. It stands out against the living room, its old, barnacle-coated wood contrasting with the newly paneled floors and white walls. It feels strangely out of place, and I'm afraid to get too close to it.
    JJ finally groans, stretching his arms behind his head. "I dunno, man. This is some Twilight Zone shit. If he really did save the Surf Shop, then I guess that's cool, but he didn't have to do that."
    Kiara rolls her eyes but nods. "Yeah. I mean, I hate it, but... thanks, I guess?"
    Cleo smirks. "Damn, never thought I'd see the day when this conversation happened."
    "This has nothing to do with me and Rafe, so don't even start," Kiara snaps, though her voice has some playfulness in it.
    I pay no attention to the argument at hand, focusing only on my own thoughts. Quietly, I clear my voice. "What if," I start, cautiously. "What if we gave him some of whatever we get from the chest? Of course, we deserve a lot of it, especially after the hell it took us to get it, but we don't necessarily need it."
    "So we spent a week in Jamaica to give money to Rafe?" JJ asks, obviously not sold on the idea. He's growing more fond of Rafe over time, but between him being Kie's ex and everything he did to me, some grudges will never be let go of.
    "JJ," Pope says, "leave it be. I'm fine with it, if we can all agree."
    "I'm in," Cleo agrees, propping her feet up on the coffee table. The rest of us settle the idea and decide that it's the best option to show our gratitude.
    "How do we even get money from this, though?" Kie asks. "I mean, aren't people gonna ask how we got it?"
    Pope sits up straighter, his mind already moving into problem-solving mode. "I might know a guy," he says, rubbing a hand along his jaw.
    "Of course you do," I snort. There is nothing more Pope than coincidentally knowing a guy.
    "I can call today and get an appraisal. He worked with my dad a few times, and he keeps things quiet, which is exactly what we need."
    John B. thinks about it, and then says, "If you think it'll work, I'm here for it."
    "Same," Cleo says.
    "Okay, then," Pope says, tapping the corner of his phone against his knee. "I'll call now and see if I can get a meeting set up." He stands up from the sofa and walks to the kitchen. Cleo follows behind him.
    As I get snuggled into a corner of the couch, Kie and JJ walk out onto the back porch. It's still daytime, the sun swallowing their bodies whole, but arriving from Jamaica early in the morning is definitely messing with my sleep schedule. I watch the two lean against the porch railing, bickering back and forth in the way only Kie and Jj can.
    John B. takes a seat next to me and pulls my body into his. He lifts my shirt up right below my chest and rubs a hand over my stomach. I close my eyes and lean a sleepy head against his shoulder. He kisses my temple and cheek and chin, and the gesture makes me smile.
    "If you kiss me again, she might kick," I say mischievously, peeking out of one eye.
    "You liar," he says laughing, "you just want me to kiss you."
    "Okay, so what? Remember I told you to take it while you could get it," I remind him, raising my eyebrows.
    He leans in to kiss me again, this time on my lips and more passionately. "I love you, Mrs. Routledge."
I gasp into the kiss when I feel a sharp jab in my ribs, but it makes me smile despite the pain. Without breaking our lips, I place his hand in the spot where she kicked and then place mine on top.
"I love you too, Mr. Routledge."