what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred thirteen •

Sarah

The gate code is still Mom's birthday, like it was when we were kids. I come in on my own, hoping they remember I'm visiting today. I texted Sofia a few days ago that I was dying to get out of the house, and she made it very clear that I was welcome over anytime. "It's still your house," she said.
    I haven't left the house in almost a week. Cleo and Pope have been busy with classes and house projects that they will not let me help with even though I swear I'm mostly healed, John B.'s been switching between the shop and short breaks to make sure Willa and I are both still alive, and we've all been giving Kie and JJ space while they recover and her body processes the miscarriage. She texted me today that she's bleeding less, but it's not the blood that worries me. It's her.
    So, for five full days, it's just been me and my five-week-old still trying to figure out how any of this works.

"My baby's here!" calls a shrill voice.
Wheezie is running full speed toward us before I even have the car in park.
"Nice to see you too," I joke as I unbuckle and step out.
She doesn't wait for me to move around the car before she's opening the side door and unbuckling the car seat. I slap her arm away before she can get too far.
"Be patient," I scold.
She stamps her foot playfully and rolls her eyes. "But I haven't seen her in so long! I miss her!"
I ease Willa out of the car seat and pray in my head that she'll stay asleep for a little while longer. "You can hold her inside after you wash your hands."
"I already did," she quips.
I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder and walk toward the house without looking back.
"Yeah, right."
She sucks her teeth. "I swear I did!"
    I sense Willa waking up before she actually does—the twitch of her mouth and the little flutters behind her eyelids. When her eyes finally struggle open, she's immediately curious, observing her surroundings as much as a five-week-old can. I'll never get tired of bringing her new places.
    I smooth a hand over her soft hair. "Where are we, baby?" I murmur. "You've never been here before, huh?!"
We make it to the front steps and the door opens in front of me to a kitchen-swept Sofia. It's clear to me that she's been cooking more real of a meal than I've eaten in days. My stomach grumbles.
"Hola, Mamí," she squeals, carefully pulling me into a hug. Willa lets out a squeaky sigh, still fighting the lingering sleepiness. "And hi to you too, little bug!"
We kiss cheeks before letting go.
"Rafe's somewhere," she says, waving her hand aimlessly in the air. "He wanted to make sure the house looked its absolute best for our new guest."
    My heart swells with emotion. "I can't believe I'm bringing my baby to my childhood home."
    Wheezie snorts from behind me. "I can't believe you even have a baby, and yet here we are."
    I laugh as we walk in, and then something is marked: Willa's first time in Tanneyhill.
    I remember running barefoot in this same foyer. I remember countless games of hide-and-seek that always took too long because there really is an endless supply of hiding spots. I used to sit on the bottom step with Wheezie on my lap, waiting for Dad to get home.
    I remember fighting with Rafe here too, once about games and dumb things, later about real issues and threats. I remember breaking down onto the waxed hardwood floors the day the My Druthers blew up and my whole life changed.
    I remember everything.
    Now, Willa stares up at the chandelier like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.
    "Well," I whisper to Willa only, "this is where Mommy grew up."
    She lets out a big, squeaky yawn.
    "That was a big yawn, missy," Sofia says, tickling her belly. Willa makes the tiniest of coos, but Sofia runs with it anyway. "What's that? You... want to come see your tia?" She turns to me and shrugs. "Queen's orders."
Sofia carefully eases her hands under Willa's body and lifts her onto her chest, head perfectly tucked into Sofia's neck. She bounces naturally and turns to walk through the corridor, whispering, "I wonder where Uncle Rafey went. Should we go find him?"
Wheezie and I stay a couple of steps behind. I nudge her with my elbow. "So, how long do you think it'll be before Sofia and Rafe have their own?" I whisper.
    She nudges me even harder, pushing me out of her space. "Ew. I don't want to think about that."
    "Ew? I had a baby."
    She turns and looks at me as if I'm missing some obvious explanation. "That's its own monster. Sofia and Rafe are in the same house as me. That's worse."
When she puts it that way, it is kind of gross.
"Ugh," I sigh. "Now I'm thinking about it too. Forget I said anything."
    "And I'm not quite sure Rafe is ready to be a dad yet," she admits. "He still...has some issues to work through."
Rafe walks in from the right wing just in time to catch the end of her sentence. "Who has issues?" he asks, clueless.
Wheezie looks at me with a sly smile, and we double over laughing. It's already refreshing to all be together for the day.
"We were just saying," I start between giggles, "that you—"
Sofia's voice cuts me off from the kitchen. "Oh my gosh!" she shouts. At first, I think maybe she forgot about or burned something, but her voice sounds too happy. "Sarah, did I show you the outfits I bought Willa?"
I groan softly. "No."
Sofia does this thing where she buys me things but forbids me to pay her any sort of remuneration. I get that she and Rafe have money to spare, but so do we. I can't help but feel a little guilty.
"Come here immediately," she shouts in a fake scolding tone. "They're upstairs!"
I hear her feet move through the house and toward the grand staircase in the front. I catch up to her and take Willa back when I notice she's starting to root around, little mouth opening against Sofia's collarbone.
"Is she hungry?" Sofia asks, concerned.
    "She shouldn't be yet, but she might get fussy soon," I say, settling against my shoulder.
We disappear up the stairs and down the hallway to the three main bedrooms. The late July sun slants through tall windows and through bedroom doors, painting everything a warm honey-gold.
    "This was Mommy's room," I murmur to Willa as we pass the second door on the right. 
    "It still is your room," Wheezie says as she comes up the stairs behind us.
    I push the door open with my hip.
    And she's right. Everything's the same.
    My high school backpack is hanging by a hook on the wall, overflowing with never-completed homework. There's a glass of water on my nightstand, and there's a pair of jean shorts on the floor I certainly do not fit in anymore.
    I stand in awe of the big window and its view of the grand oak tree we used to climb.
    "Mommy and Kie-Kie used to sneak out of that window right there," I tell her. "I bribed Aunt Wheezie to cover for us every time."
    "Don't give her any ideas," Wheezie jokes behind me.
    Rafe stops short. "Wait, you covered for them? You never covered for me."
    "Yeah," Wheezie deadpans. "Because you were committing actual crimes."
    They continue down the hall, but I linger one second longer, eyes washing over all of the small details that built who I am. I can't bring myself to shut the door fully when I exit.
    "And this," Wheezie sings, "is my perfect bedroom."
Her take is interesting and certainly biased, judging by the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed and craft supplies strewn across her area rug. Honestly, with the bay window and full bathroom, it is the perfect bedroom for a teenage girl. But she's a messy teenage girl.
Rafe leans against the doorframe and folds his arms. "Looks like it was hit by a hurricane."
"It's organized chaos," Wheezie snaps.
"Where is the organized part?" he asks.
I laugh quietly and shift Willa in my arms so she can see out the big bay window. Sunlight spills across the floor, and she squints when it flashes across her face.
"This is Aunt Wheezie's kingdom," I tell her softly.
"Where she does all her plotting," Sofia adds.
"I do not plot," Wheezie says.
"Yes you do," Rafe and I say at the same time.
She flips us both off dramatically before leaning over my shoulder to peek at Willa.
"Hi, little bean," she coos. "Did you come to see my cool room?"
Willa answers with a tiny grunt.
"See? She likes it," Wheezie declares.
"Or she's telling you to clean up in here," Rafe says.
We move back into the hallway after a minute, and I slowly walk Willa along the wall like we're in some kind of museum. I guess Tanneyhill is a museum in a way. It is to me, at least.
"Okay," I narrate quietly, "next stop on the grand tour."
The hallway smells faintly like lemon cleaner and old wood, exactly how it always did. My shoulder brushes the wall as we pass the family photos that have been there forever. Halfway down, I stop. There's a frame I know by heart.
"Look," I whisper to Willa.
I tilt her slightly so she can see it.
It's a picture of Rafe and me with Mom on the beach. The wind is whipping everyone's hair around, and we're all squinting into the sun. Mom's arms are wrapped around us, pulling us in tight like she's afraid the ocean might steal one of us away.
"This," I tell her gently, "is your grandma."
My thumb traces the edge of the frame.
"She was the most beautiful lady in the world," I add softly. "And most stubborn."
Behind me, I hear Rafe shift his weight, but he doesn't say anything.
"She would've loved you more than anything. You guys would have been best friends."
Willa stares at the glass like it's the most fascinating object she's seen all day. Right next to it hangs another photo.
Ward.
It's one of those formal ones from a charity event—dark suit, polished smile, the whole thing. The kind of photo that used to end up in magazines or on some gala website.
I hesitate. Then I nod toward it.
"And that," I say quietly, "is your grandpa."
My voice is steady, but something tight curls in my chest anyway. I don't say anything else. Willa lets out a small squeak and kicks one leg.
Rafe clears his throat from down the hall.
"Alright," he says. "Family trauma tour's over."
We end up in the bedroom at the end of the hallway digging through a tote of outfits Sofia scored from an estate sale in Charleston. I walk out with a bag full of the sweetest vintage baby girl onesies and bubbles, embroidered and smocked to every nanna's highest standard.
Once we all get downstairs, it's past one in the afternoon, and we're all starving.
    The back doors are already open, letting in the warm Carolina air. Cicadas buzz lazily somewhere in the trees, and the smell of grilled fish and garlic drifts across the yard.
    Sofia's set the table outside under the big oak tree, white plates, bowls of fruit, a pitcher of sweet tea sweating in the heat.
    "You made all this?" I ask as we step onto the patio.
    She beams. "You need real food, Mamí."
    "I eat real food," I protest weakly.
    Rafe pulls out a chair. "Name one vegetable you've eaten this week."
    "Tomato," I say proudly.
    "You did not eat a tomato, Sarah. You had pizza."
    "Still counts."
    We settle around the table, and I let Rafe hold Willa while we eat. Every now and then Sofia reaches over to adjust her blanket like she's a tiny queen in need of service.
    For a while it's just easy conversation. Then Rafe sets his fork down.
    "Oh," he says. "I forgot I have something to tell you guys."
    Sofia looks up immediately. "What did you do?"
    "I didn't do anything."
    "That's never a good start," Wheezie mutters.
    Rafe ignores her. "The paperwork went through today."
    Wheezie blinks. "What paperwork?"
    Rafe nods toward her, face flat like it's no big deal. "Custody."
    She freezes. My heart stops.
    "Wait," she says slowly. "Like... actually?"
    "Yeah. Official now."
    For a second she just stares at him like the words need time to load.
    Then she launches herself out of her chair and tackles him in a hug so hard the table shakes.
    "Oh my god!" she squeals.
    "Alright, alright!" Rafe laughs, trying to steady both of them.
    Sofia wipes at her eyes like she definitely isn't crying.
    "That's amazing," I say, smiling. "But you seriously can't keep something like that from me again."
    He leans back in his chair after a minute, rubbing the back of his neck. "And... there was something else."
    Wheezie groans. "Why do you say things like that?"
    "It's—it's weird."
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times before sliding it across the table.
"When the lawyers were finishing up all Mom's estate stuff," he explains, "they found a property."
I frown. "We already went through everything."
"That's what I said."
Sofia nods. "It was under some old company name she used. Nobody connected it before."
I glance down at the map on his phone.
"Where is that?"
"Up north."
"Like Virginia?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Further."
Wheezie leans over the table. "What kind of property?"
Rafe smiles a little. "A lake house."
We all go quiet. My jaw drops.
"Hold on," Wheezie says. "Since when do we have a lake house?"
"Apparently," Rafe says, leaning back in his chair, "since Mom bought one sixteen years ago and never told us."
I blink. Right before Wheezie was born. Right before she died.
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
Wheezie looks ready to explode. "Is it big?"
Rafe shrugs. "It's on a couple acres."
Sofia adds casually, "There's also a dock."
Wheezie slams both hands on the table. "WE HAVE A LAKE HOUSE?"
Willa startles slightly against my chest and wrinkles her brows. Wheezie notices and leans over to see her face.
"Willa," she exclaims, "we have a lake house!"
    I push her out of the way. "We're supposed to be letting her nap," I fuss.
    "No napping allowed," she shrugs. "We have a family vacation to plan."
    Sofia nods a little. "The paperwork said it hasn't really been touched in years. Just basic maintenance."
    "So it's been sitting there," Wheezie says slowly, "this whole time?"
    "Pretty much."
    She leans back in her chair, staring up into the branches of the oak tree like she's picturing it.
    "A lake house," she mutters again.
    I look down at Willa, smoothing my hand over the soft fuzz of her hair.
    "You hear that?" I murmur. "You're already inheriting vacation properties."
    Rafe snorts. "Let's not call it that yet. We haven't even seen the inside."
    "When can we go?" Wheezie blurts.
    "Jesus," he says. "Give it five minutes."
    "No, seriously," she presses. "When?"
    Sofia glances at Rafe. "The keys come next week."
    "Next week?" Wheezie nearly chokes.
    "That's what the lawyer said."
    Wheezie looks between all of us like we're moving way too slowly for her liking.
    "So we're going next week," she concludes.
    Rafe points a finger at her. "That is not what I said."
    "It is what you implied."
    "I didn't imply anything."
    "Road trip," she says firmly.
    "Honestly," I say, picturing my full sink and unwashed laundry, "a lake sounds kind of nice."
    Rafe glances at me. "You just had a baby."
    "Exactly," I reply. "A lake sounds really nice."
    Sofia smiles softly. "Fresh air. Quiet. No tourists."
    "Fishing," Wheezie adds.
    "Swimming," Sofia says.
    "Boats," Wheezie continues.
    Rafe sighs like he's already regretting telling us.
"You guys realize this could also just be some run-down shack in the woods."
    Wheezie gasps dramatically. "How dare you."
    I glance down at the phone again.
    Sixteen years.
    All this time, Mom had a place like that. A place she never got to go.
    "Maybe," I say slowly, "she bought it for us."
    Rafe looks up. "What do you mean?"
    I shrug, watching the sunlight flicker through the oak leaves above us.
    "Like... a backup plan."
    "Well," she says, pointing at Willa again, "good news for you, kid. You're getting your first lake trip before you can even hold your own head up."