what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred seventeen •

Kie

    "And you think the man asking for a ride is the same guy who was driving the SUV?"
    "Yes."
    Pope sighs. "Did you see the guy in the SUV?"
    "No, but it was him," John B. says confidently.
    Sarah groans. "You didn't even see who was driving, John B."
    "I know it sounds crazy to assume, but trust me. I know it was him."
    "Have we steered you wrong before," JJ asks, trying to balance the TV remote on his forehead.
    There's a comedic lull.
    I snort. "Do you want us to answer that?"
    Cleo's pacing the pace between the sofa and the wall, not distracted by the guy's antics. "What did he look like? The guy on the road."
    The two think for a moment.
    John B. starts. "Pretty tall. Muscular build."
    "He had a tattoo," JJ adds. "It took up, like, his whole arm."
    "A tattoo of what?" Pope asks.
    "No clue. Didn't get that good of a look."
    Cleo nods, unsatisfied. "Wow. So helpful."
    "What did he look like, though?" Pope asks again. "Like, physically."
    "Well—" JJ starts.
    "He had brown eyes," John B. adds as the first piece of even slightly helpful information. "I think."
    "He was... hm—"
    Pope deadpans. "Was he black? You can say he was black."
    JJ and John B. sigh in relief.
    "He was black, yes."
Cleo stares at them.
"Thank God," JJ mutters. "That was getting stressful."
"You two are helpless," Sarah says.
"See, this is why we didn't want to say it!"
"You literally just say it!" Pope argues.
"Well, now we know."
I groan. "Can we focus?"
Sarah leans against the doorframe. "He said he was from Figure Eight?"
    John B. nods his head. "Made it seem like he still lives there."
    "Matt Brown?"
    He nods again.
    I know the look on Sarah's face. She's genuinely wracking her mind for even an inkling of recognition. None.
    "He's lying," she says simply. "Maybe there's a Matt Brown from somewhere else local, but not Figure Eight. I spent almost seventeen years there; there isn't anyone I don't know."
    "Kie?"
    I shake my head slowly. "Never heard of him."
    "I already asked Rafe," John B. adds. "Doesn't exist."
    Pope looks dumbfounded. "So who is he? Why is he lying?"
    Lightning flashes through the windows, but the thunder to follow is low and slow-rolling. I can tell we're coming to the end of the chaos.
    John B. shifts carefully against the couch cushions and immediately regrets it. "Ow."
    Sarah doesn't even look at him. "Good."
    "I said I was sorry."
    "You said, and I quote, 'It wasn't technically our fault.'"
    "It wasn't. It was a hurricane."
    JJ points. "See? That's exactly what I said."
    Sarah turns her glare on him. JJ immediately looks away.
    Cleo stops pacing. "What kind of tattoo?"
    JJ blinks. "What?"
    "The tattoo."
    "The guy's tattoo?"
    "Yeah."
    "I don't know. A tattoo."
    Cleo's face hardens. "JJ."
    He sits up. "What?"
    "What kind? What was it?"
    "I told you, I didn't get a great look."
    "Did you get any look?"
    He looks to John B. for help, who just shrugs in return.
    He rubs a hand down his face. "Okay, well, it wasn't words. It was definitely a picture, or pictures."
    "But of what, JJ? That isn't helpful!"
    "It was dark, Cleo, I couldn't—I don't know! It was wrapped around his forearm. Wasn't colorful, just regular black ink."
    John B. squints toward the ceiling. "Some kind of vine maybe? Some sort of design along his arm? We weren't paying attention to his shitty tattoo."
    Cleo's face stays perfectly neutral. "Oh," she says. "Okay."
    The conversation moves on so naturally that nobody else seems to notice, but there's something strange about the way Cleo completely switches.
Just a minute ago she was pacing uncontrollably, so enthralled in the mystery, so anxious. And now suddenly she doesn't care? My eyes follow her as she crosses to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe not.
Pope's phone buzzes against the coffee table. He picks it up and immediately groans. "Oh, shit."
"What?" Sarah asks.
"My parents." Everybody straightens up. "Some water got in the house. Probably the shop too. We'll have to head over in the morning to help clean."
We all agree immediately. There's no question, especially when it comes to one of the only people who has ever cared about us.
    Pope scrolls through photos on his phone. "He's not sure how bad it is yet. Says there's water in the den and back hallway. Maybe some in the storage room of the shop too."
    "We'll head over in the morning," Sarah suggests, "as long as the rain has died down."
    "Absolutely."
    JJ suddenly stands. "Anybody want a beer?"
    Pope laughs. "That's your solution to everything."
    "It's worked so far."
    Without waiting for permission, he heads straight for the kitchen.
    "This is my house," John B. calls after him.
    "Then you should know where your beer is."
    "I do know where my beer is."
    "Great. Then we're both qualified."
    A minute later JJ returns triumphantly carrying an armful. "Found it."
    "Those are my beers!"
    JJ winks. "What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine."
    John B. shakes his head. "If we were married!"
    JJ starts passing them out anyway.
    Pope takes one.
    I take one.
    Cleo takes one.
    John B. reaches for one forcefully.
    Then JJ holds one out toward Sarah, who looks down at Willa sleeping in her lap, then at the beer.
    "I don't think so."
    "Come on."
    "I have a baby."
    "You always have a baby."
    I reach over. "I'll take her."
    Sarah immediately tightens her hold. "Kie, no. Drink your beer."
    "You deserve one drink."
    "I'm fine."
    "You got screamed at by a newborn for two whole hours."
    "That's parenting."
    "You also found out your husband got chased off the road during a hurricane."
    "That's also apparently parenting."
    A few laughs ripple through the room.
    Finally Sarah sighs. "One."
    JJ raises both hands victoriously. "That's all I needed."
    Carefully, Sarah transfers Willa into my arms. The baby doesn't even wake up. Her head settles against my chest. I can't help but smile down at her. Perfect as always. My throat tightens unexpectedly. Sarah notices.
    Her eyes soften just a little. "You okay?"
    I nod. "Yeah."
    That's definitely a halfway-lie. I'm still not the same as before, but I know I'll be okay eventually. The way Willa's chest rises and falls against me, the way her tiny hands grasp onto me, even just the way she smells—I don't think I've felt this okay in a long time. 
    Sarah studies me another second before finally accepting the beer. "There." Immediately she takes a sip. "God, that's good."
    "See?" JJ says. "Look at you, relaxing."
    Sarah melts into the cushions around her. "Not relaxing. Just one beer."
    "We'll see."
    For the rest of the storm, we sit around the living room with lanterns and flashlights because the power is still out and it's only four in the morning. I can still hear the wind, but the rain is softer now, and the sirens have stopped.
    At the two-and-a-half-beer mark, John B. and JJ start some stupid hybrid game of truth or dare and spin the bottle. Two rounds in, Sarah gets annoyed with John B. and quits, claiming she's "going to check on the rest of the house."
    Still, the tension eases. Pope, John B., and JJ break out into a friendly argument over something that happened in the seventh grade, and Sarah returns with a second drink—something more girly that JJ must not have gotten into.
    I glance across the room. Cleo is smiling now. She's talking, participating, but every so often I catch her drifting. Just for a second, her eyes unfocus, then she snaps back.
I can't stop thinking about the tattoo.
JJ must sense something because he comes closer and leans into my side. He whispers, "What?"
I hadn't realized I was staring.
"Nothing."
"You've been looking at Cleo for like ten minutes."
I lower my voice. "Doesn't she seem weird?"
He follows my gaze. Cleo is listening to Pope explain something with his hands. Of course, she looks completely normal.
"What do you mean?"
"The tattoo thing."
    Even Willa moves then, against me, like she's noticing it too.
JJ shrugs. "What about it?"
"You didn't think she was acting totally strange? Like she knew something about it?"
"I think you're reading into it."
"Maybe."
"You are."
"But she completely changed after that."
"So?"
"So she cared. She was so involved the entire time you guys were explaining what happened, asking questions about the tattoo, then all of a sudden she just doesn't care?"
"Maybe she got tired."
I look back at Cleo. Maybe. Something about it keeps bothering me. Or maybe I'm the tired one.
By three in the morning everyone is a little more delirious than usual.
"Truth or dare?" JJ asks.
John B. rolls his eyes. "Dare, obviously."
JJ's eyes gleam maliciously. "I dare you to let someone here read your last ten text messages." Before John B. can accept, he adds, "Anyone but Sarah."
    John B.'s response is immediate. "Yeah, no."
    "So you're a pussy?"
    "What?"
"Can't take a dare?"
    "I could do it. I just don't want to."
    Sarah perks up, giggling. Her drink and a half is certainly getting to her. "Sounds pussy to me," she shrugs.
    I gasp. I keep my voice low for the baby but still poke fun. "Sarah! That's a nasty word for you!"
    She just blinks at me. "What?"
    "Sarah, you've, like, never used that word ever in your life."
    She rolls her eyes. "Yes I have," she insists.
We all deadpan.
"Guys, I say bad words."
    JJ squints. "You apologized for saying "crap," like, two days ago."
    "Okay, well, that's only sometimes."
    "Like when you're sober?" I snort.
    "You don't think I'm sober?"
    "I think you're two drinks in after no alcohol for almost ten months. You're tipsy."
    She's taken aback. "I am not tipsy!"
    John B. touches her arm. "Baby, you just called me a pussy. You're definitely tipsy."
She just crosses her arms. "Whatever."
JJ taps the table. "Don't think I forgot your dare. Give it up, baby," he says, grabbing for John B.'s phone.
John B. snatches it away from JJ. "Not to you!" he shouts.
I shush him.
"Not to you," he says quieter. "I at least get to pick who reads."
Suddenly, John B. sits straight up. His eyes have sobered. "Wait."
The room goes still. I look down at Willa. Nothing's wrong. Instead, he's clutching his phone to his chest.
"What?" Sarah sounds just as confused as the rest of us.
"I take it back."
Pope's eyebrows wrinkle. "Take what back? The dare?"
Sarah tilts her head.
JJ is beyond amused. He's halfway out of his seat and cracking up. "Someone's hiding something?!"
    Sarah lunges forward. "Give me your phone."
    John B. holds it higher, out of reach. "It's private," he shrieks.
    "I am your wife! You better hand me that phone right now, or so help me God, you will be sleeping on the couch until Willa starts high school!"
    John B. rakes a hand through his hair. "Can we not make this a thing?" he groans.
    "You already made it a thing!"
    Cleo is out of her seat. "This is the best day of my life."
    "Lucky you," John B. grimaces.
    "Well," JJ starts. "Who gets the honor?"
    John B. looks around the circle like he's genuinely trying to find a loophole in reality.
    Sarah takes another long sip of her drink. It won't surprise me if she moves on to her third bottle before the next round of the game.
    John B. stands up. "I feel very pressured right now in a game that I made up."
I shrug. "It's almost like... you made up the consequences yourself!"
"That was before I knew the consequences would concern my marriage!"
Sarah's head whips to him. "Oh, so our marriage is involved?"
He buries his head in his hand. "I didn't mean it like that."
"How did you mean it, then?"
"Ummm... that I love you?"
"Oh, is that right? You love me?"
He hesitates. "And I'm scared of you."
JJ and Pope erupt.
"Oh, shit!"
"Dude, he's dead!"
"Give me the phone," Sarah demands.
He shakes his head and, failing, tries to look as convincing as possible. "Let's just talk about this later. Once everyone else is gone."
"John Booker Routledge."
He winces. "That's my name."
I haven't seen Sarah look this pissed in a while. "Alright, that's it!" She lunges for him and reaches for his hands, but her coordination is off and she misses by half a foot.
In a second of panic, John B. calls my name and throws the phone over Sarah, in my direction. "Kie!"
It's miraculous, honestly, how stealthily I catch the phone while also keeping a newborn asleep on top of me. I glare at him. "I'm holding your daughter, dipshit."
"I'm sorry. I panicked!"
    Sarah jabs her hand into his bandaged wound and he yelps in pain. "Are you insane!?"
    His face is an unforgettable image of fear, like a dog who has just torn through his owner's new couch and is waiting for them to notice.
It isn't until I stare at his lock screen for a moment that I realize what I now have to do.
"Wait," I whine. "Do I have to?"
Sarah shifts closer to me. "I will physically hurt you if you keep this from me."
Reluctantly, I open his phone. Genius, I think. Same password he's had since middle school.
"Don't skip around."
"Word for word, Sar."
I scroll. "Okay. First one." I clear my throat.