what now? | outerbanks

• seventy-one •

Sarah

I slam the door harder than I mean to, and a harsh, metallic scream sounds from the bell above the door. I walk inside angry, streams of frantic, silent hot tears dripping as I grip the counter with a white-knuckle grip. My stomach is tight—not contractions, I don't think—just heavy with weight and burden.
I'm already tired. I have been for months. Now, though, with shallow, jagged breaths and shaking limbs, I feel exhausted. Drained. My vision is blurry with anger as I buzz my hands around the counter like I'm going to straighten up the mess. My fingers move without purpose, skimming over the counter, shoving things aside that aren't even in the way. I'm thirty-two weeks pregnant, I remind myself. I shouldn't be this worked up.
It's not that I expected them all to fall in line behind me like little ducklings, but I at least expected something from John B. A nod, a word, a look, even. But he gave me nothing. He just sat there, staring into the fire like if he watched it long enough it would all stop. That I'd stop talking, stop fighting.
I meant everything I said—that I don't want to do this, that we shouldn't be roping ourselves into whatever nonsense this is now. It scares me. We've never made it out unscathed, never been left alone by danger, and now, the risk is even more pressing. As if this isn't scary enough, I'm scared about infinite other things right now—birth, and babies, and pain, and death, and everything in between.
The panic climbs up slowly, hot and awful. I blink fast, trying to shake away what I know is coming, but I can't steady myself. I splay one hand on my belly, trying to feel something—a kick, a thump maybe. Just anything to ground me. My other free hand grasps the edge of the counter, bitten-down nails digging into the veneered wood.
Just then, I hear the door open behind me. It's Kie—I don't have to look to know. Her feet shuffle carefully, like she doesn't want to startle me or make me snap, and I hate that I made her feel like she has to do that. I hate getting mad like I did out there, and I try never to do it, but sometimes it's uncontrollable.
"Sarah?"
I can't even respond—I'm too mad, too scared and unsteady. She's at my side quickly, hands on my arms and back and belly like she's trying to feel what's wrong. My breath is just as shallow as it was before, if not more shallow, and I can see the panic grow in her eyes as she assesses the situation.
"Sarah, talk to me."
"I need to sit," I choke out, knees feeling wobbly.
Kie doesn't hesitate, holding my shoulders and walking me over to the rocking chair Pope set up. She eases me down into it slowly, a hand on my back and one on my arm. It's still a little creaky when I sit, and I silently pray in my head that it'll lose its squeaks when the baby gets here.
I'm still gasping for a full breath, my body shivering in some gnarly mix of fear and anger. I press my hand harder into my belly and lean forward with my elbows on my knees, my hair falling messily in front of my face.
Kie crouches in front of me, her eyes searching mine, scanning my face for any tell. "Are you hurting? Is it the baby?"
I shake my head weakly, searching for words that won't make it sound like I'm unraveling. "I just—God, I hate this!" She keeps quiet, close but still giving me some space, and her silence doesn't interrupt, doesn't rush.
    "I hate that I keep having to fight like this! I'm already having a hard time holding it together as it is. I try to stay sweet and calm and Sarah, but I'm constantly terrified that something's gonna happen! I didn't feel like this when we first started the gold-hunt shit, and I tried to ignore it in Jamaica, but we got too close to the fire too many times." My throat starts to feel like it's closing up, but I keep going. "You got shot, Pope got stabbed, and I can't keep pretending like it's no big deal anymore. We keep throwing ourselves at danger just because it feels familiar. One of these days we're not going to be so lucky." Finally, I take a deep, primal breath in, my eyes fluttering shut as I get air.
    Kie sighs. "I get it."
    I snap. "You don't get it, though! Not really. None of you guys have any clue what I'm going through right now."
"Sarah—"
I feel tears welling back up in my eyes, but I persist. "I just—I feel crazy! Like no one else can see how obviously stupid this is. Like I'm the only one who cares about anything!"
"Sarah." This time, her voice is more stern, breaking me out of whatever I'm stuck in. "Sarah, you're not crazy. You're smart and careful and a mom. You know when things are too dangerous, even when the rest of us won't admit it."
I'm crying again now, my voice wavering as I talk. "I feel like no one listens to me anymore."
"I listen to you," she says with a small smile. "I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I do."
With that, I come unraveled. My body shakes with everything it's been trying to hold in, and Kie just stays there with me, grounding me. She's not trying to fix anything, but she's here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering John B.'s face. "He didn't say anything," I whisper. "I know he didn't agree, but he could have at least looked at me."
Kie doesn't defend him, doesn't do that thing where you automatically soften and try to mend sides. She doesn't say, "He's trying too," or, "He didn't mean it." She just nods.
"He needs to apologize to you."
"I'm not going back out there," I cry.
"No. Let them come to you, Sarah. But when he comes in, you tell him what you need."
I wipe my nose on my sleeve. "I feel so selfish. Like, everyone wants to do this thing and I'm the one holding them back."
She wipes snotty hair from out of my face. "You are anything but selfish. You know better than them; you're the only one actually thinking. And when they come back inside, you need to tell them that."
I nod an unconfident yet present nod. It's the kind of nod you give when you're doing your best to believe something someone else believes for you.
Kie stays in front of me with her hands on my knees. "You don't have to be okay right now," she starts, "but this bottling-up thing you're doing? It's eating you alive. You can't keep pretending like you're okay."
I let myself fall back into the chair, my chest rising and falling a little slower than before. The panic is still there—it always is—but it's receding now.
    We sit there for a long moment—just the two of us, the rocking chair creaking quietly beneath me, the quiet hum of the fridge in the background, the faintest sound of the fire crackling outside. My hands are still resting on my belly, and finally, finally, I feel a nudge beneath my palm.
I take the deepest, most relieved breath I think I've taken in my entire life. "She finally moved."
Kie looks up with twinkling eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I've been trying to get her to move all night. Something to ground me."
"This is what you do it for," she reminds me, her hand on my bump. "You're doing this for her."
    I smile through the wet streaks on my face. It's a small, exhausted smile, but it's there.
    "Come here," she says softly, holding out her hand. I'm not sure what we're doing, but I grab it anyway, taking a few moments to stand out of the chair. She walks us out of the makeshift nursery and over to the sofa across the shop—somewhere we can both sit.
    She sits down first, and then guides me down next to her, wrapping me in a warm hug. I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder, and suddenly, we're fourteen again, hiding from the world in the treehouse her dad built for us. Only now, the stakes are higher, we're both married, and I'm carrying someone's baby.
    Kie rubs my back in slow, grounding circles. "You know, you don't always have to be the strong one."
    I snort through the tears. "It feels like it. Especially when they're that impossible. Feels like if I don't act strong, we'll all come out dead on the butt of it."
    "I'm gonna talk to them later, okay? I'm gonna make them hear you."
    I roll my eyes. "Kie—"
    "No, Sarah. Don't feel bad that you actually care how this turns out. You're right. They're wrong."
    I don't know how to respond, so I don't.
    "You've been through a lot. And you're going through a lot as we speak. You know this better than anyone else out there. Don't shy away from your truth."
    Then we just sit there, just two friends who have no idea what's gonna happen next. I feel small and young, and I know she does too. You'd think after everything—the near-death experiences, getting married, buying a house, having a baby—I'd feel like an adult, but I think I'll feel like a child for the rest of my life. I don't think I'll ever stop being a teenager.
    Suddenly, I remember the other day. "I talked to your mom," I say softly, not knowing quite how she'll react. She shifts, turning her head to look at me straight.
"What? When?"
"I was out grocery shopping, and she pretty much demanded I stop by for a rest-stop. I was going to decline, but she was adamant that I needed to sit for a minute."
"She didn't like...condemn you for getting pregnant so young? Or say something about how stupid everything we're doing is?" Her voice is wary and careful, and I know it's because she never quite knows how to talk about her mom.
"No, no. It was—it was good, actually."
"Good?" She laughs. "Anna Carrera. Good?"
"I mean, at first it was just small talk. The baby, you and JJ getting married—"
"Oh, God. I don't even want to know how she feels about that," she groans. I giggle a little, forgetting the fear that took over me just a few minutes ago.
"Well, and then I sort of broke down. I didn't mean to, but she started talking about being a mom and babies and whatever, and I lost it."
Something in her eyes changes, and I know what she's thinking. Her mom? The same one that yelled and kicked her out? Who totally disowned her for who she was friends with? Who betrayed her and sent her away? She tries to keep her voice neutral, but it's still a little sour. "And what? She comforted you?"
"I was surprised too," I laugh. "But she just sat there with me and let me cry." I pause. "Kind of like this," I add.
Kie distances a little, thinking. She had just started mending things with her parents when I found out I was pregnant. I wish she hadn't, but she focused on me a lot more then, abandoning the ties she had been working so hard to fix. She hasn't really talked to her since, but I know she wishes she would.
"She really loves you, you know?" I tell her.
She looks away, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Yeah, I know. It's just hard, I guess."
I smile at her, holding her hand close to me. "I get it." I let the air go quiet between us, just to take a few breaths and sit in it all.
Then, she asks. "Do you really think she's trying?"
"I think so. The best he can, anyway."
She nudges my belly, giggling. "What kind of advice did she give you?"
"Mostly that it's gonna be okay."
"Damn right, it is. Do you want me to talk to them?"
Honestly, I'm not sure if I want her to or not. Will it make me look weak, making her do it for me? Will they be aggravated at my persistence? Suddenly, I'm scared again.
Thankfully, though, Kiara can see how hurt I am by tonight, and she makes my mind up for me. "Fuck it. I'm talking to them." She kisses the top of my head, gives my knee one final squeeze, and then leaves the shop.