what now? | outerbanks

• sixty-six •

Cleo

"You guys are so stupid," I groan, looking up warily at Pope and John B. John B. is holding a stool tight in his hands, lifting it off of the ground. On top of that stool is Pope, who is trying to reach a cobweb in the corner of the shop. Pope is wobbly on the stool, and every so often John B. jostles him on purpose to freak him out. They are an image of pure chaos and stupidity.
Sarah, on the other hand, is resting on a sofa in the opposite corner of the shop. She has a notebook propped against her belly, and has been writing slowly in it for the past hour. Every few minutes she groans or presses deep fingers into her belly, but besides that, she seems rather unbothered.
    "Sarah, are you seeing this?" I ask, truly exasperated.
    She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and I'm trying to ignore it."
    Pope groans from the ceiling. "Bro, why is she always pissed!?"
    "Pope—" John B. smacks him on the back of the head, sending him teetering and falling to the floor with a loud thud. Sarah shoots both of them a glare, but it's extra threatening toward Pope.
    "Why am I always pissed?" Sarah shoots back. "Hm, let me think. Oh, maybe it's because my feet don't fit in any of my shoes, and no position is comfortable for more than five minutes, and whenever I do get comfortable, this sweet, sweet little baby inside of me thinks it's time to play! But, sure, I'll try my best to conceal my anger."
    John B. lets out a low whistle, muttering, "Mama's mad."
    "John B. I would not be talking if I were you!" Sarah places her hands to the side of her, pushing herself up from the sofa, but she doesn't get too far before groaning in pure frustration. Her belly is simply too big now, and she's just 'one girl,' as she reasoned earlier. She flops back down on the sofa, arms crossed and lip popped in a pout.
    John B. watches her all smug, stepping in and trying to suppress a smile. "Need some help, mama?"
    "John B. I swear if you call me mama one more time, I will—"
    "Okay, okay," I yell, cutting over Sarah's voice. "Pope, get up and make yourself useful. Please. And John B., I'd stop nagging unless you want to be divorced in a week."
    "She'd never," he hums, batting his eyes back towards Sarah. She deadpans.
    "Watch me." I've never seen Sarah look so scary, and the look on John B.'s face tells me he hasn't either.
He looks back at me, worried. "Just help her up," I urge, running an exhausted hand over my face.
    John B. grins, offering his hands. "Alright, princess, let me help you up before you pop a blood vessel."
    Sarah swats at him, but ultimately, she lets him pull her to her feet. It takes effort—John B. nearly topples over himself trying to steady her—but finally, she's up, standing wobbly with one hand pressed against her lower back.
    "Ugh, I need a massage," she whines, swaying on her feet. She waddles over to Pope and starts pinching and poking at him, getting back at his earlier comment.
    "I could give you a massage," John B. adds eagerly. Too eagerly.
    She barks back instantly. "Don't touch me." She pauses, thinking for a second but still messing with Pope, making him yelp in pain. "But, you could get me some lunch."
    He holds his hand out to her, smiling softly. "Come on, baby. Let's get you some lunch." This makes me smile because it's so honest. As bossy and aggravated as Sarah can be some days, she's impossible to resist, to say no to.
    She's the most honey-sweet girl you'll ever meet, and she doesn't have a truly bad bone in her body. Sure, she acts tough sometimes, and she will fight someone should it come down to that, but she's irresistibly lovely.
    Sarah wraps an arm around John B.'s waist as they start to walk out of the shop, but just as they make it to the door, John B.'s phone rings. He picks up the device and observes the screen, furrowing his brows in confusion.
    "Who is it?" I ask.
    "It's Rafe."
    "Rafe's calling you?" Pope asks with wide eyes. He's right. John B. and Rafe don't have too big a problem with each other anymore—which is good since they're brothers-in-law—but they're not technically on casual-phone-call-basis either. Sarah doesn't say anything, but just stands there beside him with the slightest wrinkle in her nose.
    "Hey, man," he starts, pulling the phone to his ear. The rest of us can't hear Rafe on the other end, and it's obvious that John B. can't really either. He cups his other hand over his other ear, trying to get better sound. "Wait, you're cutting out some. Let me move around." He walks away without looking back, wandering to the back of the building before stopping in one of the storage rooms.
    "Great. Now we really can't hear," Sarah mutters.
    I think for a second, giggling. "We could wire-tap him. It's not like Pope hasn't done it before."
    He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he wants to laugh too. "That was one time!"
    The three of us stand there together, making small talk as we wait for John B. to return with whatever news Rafe thought was important enough to call for. At one point, I insist that Sarah sit back down, to which she responds that if she does, she'll never get back up. 
    Pope rattles off random facts—the fact that the baby is now the size of a coconut, and that she can now open and close her eyes in response to light.
    "You know, once I delivered a baby that has six toes on one foot," I whisper, wiggling my eyebrows like it's some spooky story.
    "Oh, God, please don't tell me that," she drawls, rubbing deep into her temples. "I mean, I'd still love her, of course. But—"
    "Oh my God!" Pope suddenly yells, disgusted. I look at him, and he's looking at Sarah, who's looking at her belly. "Bro, she just totally tried to escape!"
    "You're being dramatic," I tease, pushing his face away from mine.
    "I am not! I swear I saw her whole foot just now." He's appalled.
    "I know," Sarah huffs. "I felt it." Sarah presses both hands against her belly, her expression shifting between amusement and discomfort. She takes a slow breath, rubbing in small circles over the spot where the baby just made her grand attempt at breaking free.
"That was insane," Pope mutters, still staring at her stomach like he's expecting a full-on alien emergence. "Like, she actually looked like she was trying to get out."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Yeah, welcome to my life."
I nudge Pope's arm. "Babe, what do you expect? She's gotta move somehow."
Pope shakes his head. "Yeah, but I was thinking, like, little kicks, not a full-on jailbreak attempt. That was—" He gestures wildly, at a loss for words.
Sarah just sighs dramatically, still rubbing at the spot. "She's getting stronger. I swear, every day it's something new."
"I brag to Kiara every time she calls," I giggle, wiggling my fingers like I'm plotting something mischievous. "Last night I told her that at this rate, she's bound to miss the baby's birth."
"That's so evil!" Sarah cackles, leaning her head back. Suddenly, though, she's not as amused, and her cheeks flush a little. "I can't wait for her to be back."
"You were just laughing!" Pope exclaims. "How does John B. keep up with you?!"
"He doesn't."
Pope shakes his head like he's still trying to process everything, but before he can respond, John B. finally walks back in. He still has his phone in his hand, his expression caught somewhere between confused and concerned.
"That was weird," he announces, running a hand through his hair.
"What did he say?" Sarah asks immediately, her voice sharper now. She's standing straighter, her earlier irritation temporarily forgotten.
"He just invited us over, but something sounded off," he answers, shaking his head.
"It's Rafe," I interject, "Doesn't he always sound off?"
John B. chuckles, but he doesn't completely let go. "Yeah, but this was different. I don't know."
Sarah frowns. "Off how?"
"Not smug? Frantic? It was weird."
She chews on her lip, her arms wrapped around herself like she's shielding it and her baby from whatever's going on.
"I mean, could it be something with Wheezie?" I ask.
This catches Sarah's attention more than anything. Now she's frantic, pacing back and forth on the creaky, moisture-warped floors. "He would've just said that then, right? He wouldn't hide anything like that."
"Maybe it's something bigger," John B. tells her. I can tell he's just saying it to stop her panic. "You need to sit, baby." He plants his hands on her shoulders and leads her.
    John B. guides Sarah back to the old couch, pressing gently on her shoulders until she finally gives in and sits down. She exhales sharply, adjusting the way she's sitting, shifting from side to side until she finds a somewhat comfortable position. But it's clear she's still tense. Her hands rest protectively over her belly, her fingers lightly tracing patterns against the fabric of her dress.
    John B. settles beside her, his arm instinctively draping across the back of the couch, close enough to her shoulders but not quite touching. He watches her carefully, waiting for her to say something, to let him know where her mind is at.
    Pope sits down across from them, his leg bouncing slightly as he processes whatever thought just hit him. "Wasn't he supposed to meet with Miller yesterday to sign some final papers? Stuff about the payment for the rezoning?"
    I glance at him, then back at John B. "Yeah, yeah. I remember Sofia mentioning something about that last week."
    Sarah's expression sharpens, her eyes darting between us. "So, what? You think something went wrong with that deal?"
    John B. sighs, running a hand through his hair again. "I don't know. Rafe didn't say much, just that he needed to talk." He hesitates. "But yeah, maybe it's about the rezoning. Maybe Miller screwed him over somehow."
    Sarah's lips press together. Her fingers tighten around the fabric of her dress. "Or maybe he did something stupid."
    "Wouldn't be the first time," Pope mutters.
    John B. gives him a look but doesn't disagree. "Either way, I think we should go—just to see what's up."
    Sarah is quiet for a moment, clearly running through every possible worst-case scenario in her head. Then, finally, she exhales and nods. "Okay. But if this is some dumb Rafe thing, I swear—"
    John B. smirks. "You'll what? Waddle after him?"
    Sarah glares. "I'll make your life a living hell, that's what."
    Pope laughs, standing up and stretching. "Well, I, for one, am excited to see what kind of disaster Rafe has gotten himself into this time."
    "We finally got clean of all scandals, and now we're back in some shady shit? Can't we catch a break," I cry out.
    "Come on, Cleo. We're Pogues. We don't like breaks," Pope says, kissing my temple.
    "Speak for yourself," Sarah mutters under her breath.
    John B. helps her to her feet again, steadying her when she wobbles slightly. "Come on, mama, let's go."
    Sarah groans. "John B.—"
    "Okay, okay," he teases, holding up his hands in surrender.
    Pope claps his hands together. "How much you wanna bet this is like... some dead body deal? Like some OG Rafe shit."
"Please don't let it be that."