what now? | outerbanks

• eighty-seven •

Sarah

    It feels amazing not to be sick anymore. Well, as amazing as eight months pregnant can feel. I've had the same stomach bug for the past three days, but tonight is the first night that I think I might be able to sleep without having to wake up to vomit. It also helps that my gash is fully scarred over now, so I won't be woken up by any throbbing pain anymore.
    While I've been sick, everyone else has been hard at work making sure the nursery is up to my embarrassingly high expectations. Most things are finished at this point, but they made sure to leave the finishing touches to me so I'd feel like I played a role in my baby's room.
    The room is quiet and chilly, just how I like it. I can hear frogs and crickets from the marsh out back, mingled with the ever-so-slight snore coming from John B. I let my eyes flutter shut, thinking that, at least for now, nothing can touch us.
    My body is molded impressively into my pregnancy pillow, truthfully comfortable for the first time in weeks. John B. fell asleep kissing my shoulder over and over again, so his head is still dipped in the crook of my neck. Surprisingly, baby girl is sleeping too. This might be it. The night I've been waiting for. A full night's sleep.
   
    Knock, knock.

    You've got to be kidding me. A few seconds after the knocks have echoed through the room, Wheezie cracks the door open, peeking in to check if either of us are awake.
    "Wheezie?" I whisper, trying not to wake up John B.
She stands there in the doorway, silently clutching the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her figure is a shadow against the light in the hallway, so I can't make out her face, but just from her breathing, I can tell she's been crying.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispers, voice thick. She's waiting for permission to move. "Can I sleep in here?"
I move immediately, untangling the pregnancy pillow and trying to sit up a little. John B. is still snoring beside me. "John B.," I say, nudging his shoulder. He groans in response. "Can you roll over a little, please?"
He doesn't say anything back or ask any questions, just scoots to his edge of the bed, clearing enough space for an extra body. I scoot so my back is to his chest again and pat the now open spot, telling Wheezie it's okay for her to come lie down now. She tiptoes into the room, shutting the door behind her and wiping her eyes and nose with the cuff of her sleeve.
"Nightmare?" I ask quietly as she curls her body into mine.
She shakes her head. "Not tonight. The room was just too quiet. All I could hear were my thoughts." She pauses for a second, then says, "I keep thinking I'm okay. I mean, I feel okay sometimes during the day, but then I'm in bed, alone, and there's nothing to distract me from everything. That night keeps replaying in my head. Over and over and over. I feel crazy."
"You're not crazy," I tell her confidently, pulling the comforter over us. "It's normal. I promise."
She turns around so we're facing each other now, eye-to-eye like we were all those nights she'd sneak into my room past her bedtime. "Does it ever go away? That feeling?"
I know the feeling. Waking up and immediately feeling like you're drowning in your own life. Getting out of the house just for everything around you to be muffled and angry and sickening. And I want her to know that she isn't alone in this feeling, but how do I do that while still looking strong?
I try to use the right words. "I think—I don't know," I sigh.
She looks away from me, eyes wandering the dark, avoiding meeting mine. "You don't have to pretend, Sarah. I know things happened with you, Dad, and Rafe. I know they put you through some bad things during all the stuff with the gold. You guys try to hide it from me, but there's stuff in the news. People whisper about it when they think I'm not listening."
I nod slowly as her words sink deep into me, igniting and morphing into a sick pit in my stomach. It hurts to hear—that she knows. That she's known for a while. We've all been trying to be careful with the past and keep it under wraps so that maybe—maybe—Wheezie could stay herself forever, untainted. But still, and I've been learning this over the past few months, she never was as naive as we hoped she'd be. She never missed a thing.
"They did," I start quietly, "put me through some pretty bad things."
Her lip trembles a little, and I can tell she's using everything in her not to cry again. "I didn't know. Not when Dad tried to take you to the Bahamas, or when Rose gave you that medicine and took you to the boat. I didn't know anything was wrong between you and Rafe. I believed them, and I hate myself for it."
"It's not your fault. I'm good at pretending."
She shuts her eyes, deep black eyelashes curling against the pink apples of her cheeks. "I wish I was good at pretending too, but I don't think I am. I keep trying to imagine myself in the future, going to another party and hanging out with my friends. Having fun. But I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that night and pretend like it never happened. It'll be lurking in the back of my mind forever."
I nod. "I think it feels like that for a while. I didn't feel safe for a long time. But things change and grow, and you learn. It never goes away, but it gets better. Less sharp. Quieter."
    Wheezie nestles in closer, head tucked beneath my chin, breath irregular but slowly calming against my chest. I wrap my arm around her carefully, adjusting so I don't squish the baby or wake John B, and press a kiss into her hair.
    After a few minutes of quiet, I ask, "Have you talked to Rafe yet?"
    She stiffens against me slightly. "No," she says, barely a whisper.
    I nod. I already knew what the answer was going to be, but it still twists something in me to hear it out loud. I can't blame her. I haven't talked to him yet either—about Wheezie, about Rose, about everything we found.
    He's on his honeymoon with the love of his life. He doesn't deserve to worry about these things right now. I can't hide it for much longer, though. The longer I keep all of this from him, the more of a reaction he'll have when I tell him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little worried.
    "Are you scared to tell him?" I ask gently.
    She shrugs. "I don't even know how I'm supposed to tell him. I don't want to ruin his trip."
    "I know," I murmur. "I don't want to either, but he's going to have to know. He'd want to know."
She's quiet again, but I feel her fidget—twisting fingers and biting nails.
"But what if he gets mad?" she says.
    My chest tightens. That thought has crossed my mind, too—Rafe finding out and losing the careful control he's fought so hard to build.
    "He won't be mad. Not at you, at least. He'll be mad at whoever did this, and he'll be mad at me for not telling him sooner, but I promise it won't reach you."
Wheezie doesn't answer right away. She's trying to hold herself together. Finally, she whispers, "You really think he won't blame me?"
"I know he won't," I say, and I mean it. I think she wants to believe me—needs to—but there's a part of her too scared to let herself hope.
"And what if it breaks him?" she says, quieter now. "What if it brings all that old stuff back? What if it ruins him?"
God, she sounds so small. Too small for everything she's carrying.
I pull her a little closer. "It won't. He's stronger than that now. And you're not going to be the one who ruins him—you're the reason he wants to be better."
Her fingers press against my arm, clinging. "Can you help me tell him?"
"Of course." I press another kiss into her hair.
She nods into my chest, and for the first time since she came into the room, I feel her body soften like she's letting it all go. The baby kicks gently between us, not hard, just a little flutter. Wheezie feels it and smiles.
"Still weird," she whispers.
I laugh under my breath. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
She goes quiet again after that, her breath finally evening out against my skin. I stay awake a little longer, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling, my arms full with this little girl who knows too much yet still has so much to learn.