what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred four •

Kie

    "I'm so glad they were able to go home," I rant, looking out my side window. JJ's driving silently beside me, one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the gearshift. "After everything, I know Sarah wanted to leave that hospital."
    JJ doesn't say anything. He just hums in agreement.
    I continue anyway. Me and silence don't mix. "I mean, can you imagine? The shit on the boardwalk, going into labor early, your body pretty much failing out on you when you have to push a whole baby out of it—all in a few days. I keep thinking how exhausted I was sitting, waiting in the waiting room; I can't imagine how she felt."
    Another hum in response.
    "And I talked to John B. on the phone yesterday, and he said that Sarah hardly lets him get up to help with the baby, so she's pretty much doing it on her own at night. Like, the bassinet's right there, so she doesn't really have to get up, but she should get, like, weeks of rest after pushing out a baby!"
I glance over at JJ, waiting for that little smirk, that joke he always has ready. Nothing. His jaw's tight, his eyes locked straight ahead, knuckles white against the steering wheel.
I blink, leaning back a little. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he says quickly. Too quickly.
"You don't sound okay."
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, still not looking at me. "Just tired, Kie."
"Bullshit." My voice softens. "You've been weird all morning."
That gets me a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, but still no words. The silence stretches long enough that I think maybe he's not gonna answer at all.
Then, finally. "It's just been... a lot," he says quietly.
"Yeah," I agree. "It's been a lot for everyone."
He nods once, but it's the kind of nod that says not like this. His eyes are glassy in the light from the window, and I realize he's not really here with me. He's not in this car, not on this drive. He's somewhere else.
"JJ," I say softly.
He tightens his grip on the wheel. "You ever think about how we all keep losing people?" he asks suddenly, voice flat but cracked around the edges. "Like every time something good happens, something bad's waiting to cancel it out?"
My heart dips. "JJ..."
He swallows hard, keeping his eyes on the road.
"I keep seeing it," he says, quieter now. "That day. Your face. Sarah screaming. The blood. The look on Rose's face right before—"
He cuts himself off, biting down on his lip.
The air in the car goes still.
"Hey," I whisper, reaching over to rest my hand on his arm. "It's over. He's gone."
"Yeah," he says, but the word sounds hollow. "That's the thing."
He laughs once, but it's not really a laugh—it's small and broken. "My dad's actually dead, Kie."
My chest tightens.
"I hated him," he says. "For everything he did. For what he turned me into. But then, he's just gone, just like that. And now I don't know if I'm supposed to be relieved or... I don't know. Sad? Angry? I just keep thinking that he died the way he lived: stupid and violent."
"JJ," I whisper.
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. "He killed Rose, right there, in front of everyone. And then he ran like he always did. And I thought maybe, just maybe, this time he'd get away and I wouldn't have to deal with his shit again. But he didn't."
I don't say anything right away. I just reach over and slide my hand over his, prying his fingers from the steering wheel until he lets me. His hand is trembling.
"There isn't a rule book for things like this," I tell him. "You can be glad he's gone and still wish things were different."
He glances at me, finally, and his eyes are red. "I don't even know who I'd be if he hadn't been my dad."
"Someone better," I joke.
He laughs again, and this time it's authentic. "That's not a high bar, Kie."
I squeeze his hand. "Doesn't matter. To me, you couldn't be better if you tried. You're already the best."
For a while, neither of us speaks. The sound of the tires on wet asphalt fills the space, raindrops evaporating off the summer street.
When we pull into the lot by the surf shop, he doesn't turn the engine off right away. He just sits there, eyes on the water in the distance.
"You ever think maybe we were all just cursed from the start?" he asks quietly.
I look at him for a long time. "No," I say finally. "I think we just got handed a lot of bad cards. But we keep playing them anyway. That's what makes us Pogues."
He exhales, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Guess that's something."