Sarah
"I hate it," I sigh, turning to the side. "I look... ugh."
John B. comes up behind me. "You look like you had a baby. Because you did," he reminds me. "And I think you look beautiful."
I throw my head back, groaning. "That doesn't help, John B. You say that no matter what."
"You're right," he agrees.
I turn to face him, looking up with sad eyes. I don't have to say anything for him to know how I feel. I've never had to.
"Alright," he muses, turning me back around to face the mirror, my back to his chest. "What don't you like?"
"Everything," I mutter.
He chuckles. "Not an answer. What specifically?"
I look at myself. And I mean really look at myself.
The old Sarah lived in bikinis. Last Summer Sarah wouldn't bat an eye at a two-piece. Before this year, you would've had to fight me to put on anything else in the heat of an Outer Banks July.
But I looked different then.
I've never been skinny, per se. I've always been fit, but in a muscly, solid kind of way. I was on the track team from sixth to tenth grade. I swam competitively for over six years. I never gave much thought to how my body looked because I didn't need to. I knew what it was capable of. I trusted it.
Was I the slimmest girl on the beach? No. But I was healthy, and I was confident in my looks. My stomach was close-to-flat with an honest roll if I sat hunched enough. My arms and legs were strong. My hips were slim but just curvy enough to attract boys. I was the Sarah Cameron. I was of high demand and short supply.
A lot has changed since then.
I run my hands down my abdomen and cock my head to the side. "I don't like the pouch here. Or any of the extra skin," I say honestly.
"Okay," he nods.
I keep going. "I don't like the way my hips go out like that." Then, I trace the scar from my surgery. "And I really don't like this scar. I hate how it looks, and I hate that it bleeds into the bullet-wound."
He smoothes his hand up my arms and stops once they're steady on my shoulders. "Those are all valid things," he states confidently. "A lot of things look different from how they did before. You've been through a lot. But you also can't change a lot of those things. Not quickly, anyway."
"I don't need a lecture, Dad."
"I'm not giving you a lecture. I'm just saying that you shouldn't let your postpartum body dictate how you live your life." He pauses. "Even though you're still hot as shit."
I shake my head at him and grin. He smiles too, and I know it's because he accomplished his goal: make me smile.
"You had to ruin it," I laugh. "But thank you, babe."
"And anyway, it's just the backyard," he reasons.
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, with a dock to a marsh that connects through the whole island."
He sighs. "No one's making you do anything, but I know you'll be a lot more comfortable out in the heat if you're wearing this."
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Because I know you," he responds. "Pretty well."
I squish the little bit of extra skin around my belly button with gentle yet critical hands. "It's just the backyard," I repeat.
He kisses my shoulder once. "Here. I'll grab the monitor and wait outside. Come out once you decide."
I nod and tug again at the adjustable straps.
"Take your time, my love," he says before he steps completely into the hall. "But not too long. The sandwiches are gonna start getting warm."
I turn my head. "You already put them outside?!"
"Yeah..." he says, uncertain.
"Out in the sun?!"
He shrugs like I'm insane. "I put an ice pack under them..."
I drag a hand down my face and stifle every complaint flooding my brain. "I love you, JB."
"I love you... too?"
"Now please just go wait outside and make sure nothing has stolen our lunch by now."
It's not long before I'm making my way through the backyard towards John B., clad in the polka-dot bikini, begrudgingly so. I sit next to him on the blanket and clasp my hands in my lap. Of course, John B. gets an immediate read on me.
"You look great," he hums. "Stop thinking about it."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" I mock. "Let me just forget that I'm, like, twenty pounds heavier and my boobs are two different sizes."
"Okay, first of all," he says very seriously, "you are not twenty pounds heavier. And second of all, no one should be looking at your boobs anyway."
I look up and across the yard to the window of Willa's nursery. "Tell that to your kid. She has no decorum when it comes to boobs."
He laughs and says something back, but my mind is too focused on Willa that I don't hear it. I pick up the monitor and hold it too close to my face.
"Do you think she's okay? Do you think it's too hot? Should we take her swaddle off?" I fire off rapidly.
John B. gently pulls the monitor from my hands. "Babe, she's fine. Let her sleep."
So, we do. Until I pick up the monitor for the fifth time.
"Do you just want me to go get her?" he asks knowingly.
I shake my head and try to smile as comfortably as I can. "No," I lie. "I'm sure she's fine."
He cocks his head at me. His eyes squint. "I'm gonna go get her."
My chest drops in relief, and I sigh a "thank you."
He just laughs as he walks back to the house. He calls behind him, "If it means anything, I didn't think you'd last this long."
I sit in silence for the few minutes I'm alone. It's the first time things have been silent in a month. It almost scares me. But then a boat stutters down the way and the door shuts again with a crack and I'm reminded that silence has never stayed very long anyway.
"Can you say 'Hi, Mama?'" I hear John B. coo to Willa. He has her back propped against his chest and is moving her arm back and forth as if she's waving to me. I wave back and feel my cheeks instantly heat up with that new kind of love I've only ever felt with her.
"Did Dada wake you up from your nap?" I ask, watching her tiny eyes squint against the sun.
They make it to the blanket and he lies her down in front of us, tiny, sleepy, baby-sweaty body squirming on the fabric. She lifts her head for a few seconds, a new skill she's just developed.
"Good job, baby!" I squeal, clapping lightly.
John B. smiles but groans. "She's not going back to sleep, is she?"
"What? No, she definitely will," I say.
He scoffs. "Sarah, she's wide awake now. She's lucky we like her."
"John B." I address, "she'll fall back asleep. Watch."
I pick her up from the ground and cradle her tightly in my arms. I pat her bottom in the rhythm of my heart and blow light breaths on the side of her face to cool her down. Her blinks slow down and eventually stop completely. She's out.
"See," I boast. "Asleep."
John B. looks at me dumbfounded. "What the hell? How did you do that?"
"Mommy Magic," I shrug, remembering my mother using the same excuse when I was a kid.
"Not a real thing," John B. dismisses.
I look at him offendedly. "It absolutely is! And I have it."
"And you know what else you have?" he asks, pulling my lunch out of the cooler. "A sandwich. And you need to eat it."
I shrug. "I don't really think I want a sandwich."
"I don't care if you don't want it. You need to eat it."
I roll my eyes. "I'm fine. You made me breakfast. It was delicious."
I don't even know why I keep trying. I'll never win this fight.
"You need to eat lunch. You need fuel. For you and for her."
He lifts the sandwich up to my mouth and I take a measly bite.
"Bigger," he instructs. I rolls my eyes.
He watches closely as I take a more filling bite and doesn't look away until I swallow it all. He wipes mayonnaise from the corner of my mouth and then kisses where his thumb just was.
"Delish?" he asks.
"Delish," I confirm. "Maybe a little warm."
Just as he's about to quip back, we hear a boat nearing our stretch of the marsh. A voice follows close behind.
"Is that a... Mr. and Mrs. John Booker Routledge I see?" Pope calls from the water, grin taking up half of his face. Cleo sits on the bow in front of his spot in the helm. Both of their faces are marked with the warmth and joy of the summer.
John B. perks up upon seeing our friends. "What are you guys doing back?! Thought you were out with Pops all day?"
"Nah. Party had to end for his mandatory noon nap time," Cleo cackles. "So we're back."
John B. jumps up to help them dock, but I slap his ankle when he almost hits Willa.
"Watch it!" I scold.
He flinches and makes the face of a guilty child. "Ouch!"
Cleo waves exaggeratedly from the boat. "There's my gal!" she shouts. I can't help but smile and wave back. "And her teeny tiny gal too," she says, softening her voice this time. "Coco's on her way, babygirl!"
And she's not exaggerating. I look down once at Willa, and before I can even look back up, Cleo is right there, arms open. I do my best to stand gracefully with only one free arm, but I can tell I look clumsy and awkward. Whatever.
I turn so Cleo can see Willa's face. "I don't want to wake her if we transfer—"
She's already shaking her head. "My arms are open for you," she corrects. "For my Sarah Cam."
It surprises me.
Ever since Willa was born, everyone focuses on her before me. It's not something I'm jealous of. I mean, she means more to me than anything ever. I get it. But it is something I've noticed.
It's something Pope's mom explained to me too while I was still pregnant. She said that once I became a mom, once Willa was born, everyone else would see me as a mom. Nothing else. She told me that, to other people, my baby would be something shiny and new, but I would just be a mom.
But that's not how Cleo is making me feel. She's noticing me first. I'm surprised. And I'm also surprised at how meaningful it is to me.
She pulls me into her arms, careful of Willa in between us. "Hi, Mama."
I exhale in her embrace. "Hi."
"How are you doin'?"
"You know," I sigh into her shoulder, "we're making it through."
"That's all we can do, huh," she agrees.
There's a beat between us, where I fall silent at how she understands everything.
"Yeah, yeah—I guess so. I mean, she's perfect and it's wonderful. But she's also figuring everything out still, which is... really damn hard sometimes."
"You kept a whole human alive for a month," she deadpans. "It is really damn hard, but you did a good ass job doing it."
Just then, Pope says, loud enough for me to hear as well, "Kie and JJ at the shop?"
John B. stills and looks over at me urgently like, "What do I say?" so I take over.
"Well, John B. actually offered to open for them instead, so we're technically just on lunch break now," I explain, hoping he won't ask any more questions. I know someone will have to say something about JJ eventually, but now doesn't feel like the right time.
Cleo cocks her head. Damn her for being too logical. "But today was supposed to be your day off, JB. To spend time with your family. Kie said she was fine with opening."
"Um, she—well—"
I cut John B. off before he can make too big a fool of himself. "Something came up. It was super last-minute, but John B. was able to tag in."
"Something came up? At seven in the morning?" Pope asks suspiciously. I nod and smile just like Ward taught me to do as a kid. "What kind of something?"
I try my best to think of an excuse. "Just—"
"Family stuff," John B. blurts in. I shut my eyes, already anticipating the wrath of Pope's BS detector.
"Yeah, right," he scoffs. "Her parents are in Aruba for at least two weeks. This isn't family stuff. Cut the crap and just tell me what's going on."
John B.'s jaw shifts the way it does when he's about to dig in. "It's not bullshit."
"Then why can't you just say it?" Pope shoots back immediately.
"It's just not our business to share," I try to explain.
"Since when? If it's about JJ and Kie, it should be all of our business."
Cleo shifts slightly in front of Willa and me, protective instinct automatic. "Hey," she warns lightly. "Volume."
"I'm not yelling," Pope says.
I step forward a little. "It's not a big dramatic thing, okay? It was just—"
"Then just tell me," Pope says, eyes back on John B. "Why are you being weird about it?"
"We're not being weird."
"You are," Pope says flatly. "You're dodging.
John B. scoffs. "I'm not dodging. I just don't think everything needs to be a group announcement."
"That's not what this is," Pope snaps. "This is about our best friends. And about the shop."
"And it got handled," John B. shoots back. "You're welcome."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?" John B. demands.
Pope runs a hand over his head, pacing once across the dock like he's trying to physically shake the frustration out. "The point is we're supposed to be a team. All of us. And lately it feels like I'm the last one to know anything."
"That's dramatic," John B. says.
"It's not," Pope fires back. "All of you guys got married. Cool. You had a baby. Amazing. I'm happy for you guys. Really. But since then, it's like there's this whole separate world you and JJ operate in, and I just get updates when it's convenient."
"That's not true," John B. says, but he sounds defensive now.
"Really?" Pope presses. "Because from where I'm standing, that's exactly what it feels like."
Cleo exhales sharply. "Okay. Everybody breathe."
But neither of them is breathing.
John B. steps closer. "You're acting like I'm cutting you out."
"I'm acting like you don't trust me," Pope says.
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Pope challenges. "If it wasn't a big deal, you'd just say it."
"It's not my story," John B. repeats, firmer now.
Pope throws his hands up. "Oh my God. Since when do we have NDAs with each other?"
"It's called respecting someone," John B. snaps.
"It's called shutting me out!"
Willa stirs at the shift in tone. I immediately sway, walking away some and whispering something soft into her hair.
"Volume," Cleo says again, more serious this time. She steps in between them. "Guys."
Neither of them looks at her.
"You think I like not telling you?" John B. says. "You think that's fun for me?"
"I think you pick and choose when I'm useful," Pope says, voice tight. "When it's treasure hunts and big plans, I'm in. When it's messy, real-life stuff? Suddenly I'm 'not involved.'"
"That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?" Pope demands again.
Silence.
John B. opens his mouth and closes it again.
That's all the confirmation Pope needs.
He laughs under his breath. "Unbelievable."
"Don't do that," John B. warns.
"Do what?"
"Act like I'm the bad guy for trying to handle something."
"Handle it with who?" Pope shoots back. "JJ? Without telling me?"
Cleo looks between them, jaw tight. "This isn't helping."
"No, what's not helping," Pope says, eyes still locked on John B., "is feeling like I'm not actually part of this anymore."
John B.'s face shifts. Hurt flashes across his features. None of this was supposed to happen. "You are part of this."
"Then act like it," Pope says quietly.
The dock feels smaller, the sun feels hotter, the cicadas louder, and I'm suddenly so tired. Not physically. Just tired.
"Stop," I say.
They don't.
"I said stop."
Still nothing.
Something in me snaps.
"JJ got drunk last night," I say clearly.
The words cut straight through them.
Both boys freeze. Cleo stills too.
"He went to the boardwalk and got drunk," I repeat, because now that it's out I can't pull it back. "And he tried to drive home, but Kie stopped him before he got too far. They didn't make it to the shop this morning because she was with him."
Pope's face drains first and refirms with disappointment. John B. looks at me, a flash of something—surprise? frustration?—but it fades quickly. He knows why I said it. Because I was done.
"He didn't hurt anyone," I add quickly. "Nothing happened. It was just stupid."
Pope swallows hard. "Jesus."
"I wanted Kie to tell you," I say. "That's the truth. It wasn't ours to spread around. But you two idiots were about to tear each other apart over it."
"Is Kie okay?" Pope asks finally.
"Yes," I say quickly. "She's okay."
"She was with him all night?"
"Yeah."
He nods slowly, processing. "She okay-okay? Or just saying she's okay?"
I give him a small, tired smile. "I mean, she's pissed as hell, but she's okay."
A faint flicker of relief crosses his face. "Good."
John B. shifts beside me. "It didn't get that far," he says. "He didn't wreck anything. He didn't hurt anybody."
"That doesn't make it nothing," Pope replies.
"I know," John B. says.
Cleo rocks gently on her heels. "What set him off?"
John B. hesitates. "Just... stuff."
"Stuff?" Pope echoes.
"He's always felt like a burden, I guess," I say quietly. "Kie said it's some big ugly mix of his dad and his own mind getting to him. No one ever taught him how to talk about his feelings."
Willa squirms in my arms and I adjust her, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. The sun is too bright for her to open her eyes all of the way, but she looks so beautiful when the rays catch her just right.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I almost ignore it, but something in my chest tightens before I even look.
I shift Willa to one arm and pull it out.
It's JJ.
My stomach drops.
"Sarah?" John B. says immediately, noticing the silence.
I open the message.
JJ: heading 2 ER
idk what's happening
not okay
I don't even realize I've stopped breathing.
"What?" Pope asks, stepping forward.
My hands start shaking. "He—" My voice doesn't work the first time. I clear my throat. "He says they're heading to the ER."
All three of them freeze.
"What?" John B. says again, sharper now.
"'I don't—I don't know. He didn't—"
"Did something happen?" Cleo asks.
"I don't know."
John B. is already moving. "Call him."
My fingers fumble as I hit JJ's name. It rings. Once. Twice.
Straight to voicemail.
My heart starts slamming against my ribs.
"Call Kie," Pope says.
I hang up and dial her instead. It rings longer this time. Every second stretches.
"Come on," I whisper.
Her voicemail clicks on, silly and cheery, the same one she's had since high school.
"Hey hey! It's your favorite hippie Kook chick!! Try me later, I'm probably hitting the waves! See ya losers!"
Finally—beep.
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okay ngl i had a whole different chapter written but decided last minute i needed something bigger!!!!!!
put your predictions in the comments 🤭🤭 and pls pls pls vote!
love you guys!
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what now? | outerbanks
Fanfiction'In his embrace, I feel myself start to cry. I don't even know why, but John B. notices and wipes the tears from my cheek. "It's over, Sarah. The chase is over." "Mhm." I nod through my tears, but the words mean nothing to me. "Hey, wha...
