what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred twenty-four •

Sarah

    By the time I reach the door, I've already rehearsed about twelve different things I want to say. None of them are particularly nice.
    I'm really glad Wheezie isn't home. She left our house earlier this morning to visit a friend's house for her birthday. Thank God. She doesn't need to hear this. I don't want to make her feel like she has to choose sides.
    When Rafe finally answers, he looks at me for a total of three seconds before scoffing and turning back into the house, leaving the front door hanging open in front of me.
    I walk back in angrily, slamming the door behind me. "Nice to see you too," I quip.
    He doesn't turn to look at me once. "Let me hear it," he grumbles, kicking a pair of shoes that are apparently so rudely in his way. "Tell me how horrible of a person I am."
    There's a duffel bag sitting open on the couch. A couple shirts are thrown inside, along with jeans and toiletries. He's halfway through packing.
    "What the hell were you thinking?"
    He pinches the bridge of his nose as if I'm the one giving him a headache. "No need to raise your voice, princess. Sofia already yelled at me."
    I can literally feel the steam pushing out of my ears. "Yeah, well, Sofia's a lot nicer than I am."
    He genuinely laughs, picking up a shirt from the arm of the sofa before folding it and stuffing it into his bag. "Oh, look at you," he teases. "Big, scary Sarah. I'm fucking terrified."
    I stand there in disbelief. He's smiling like this is funny. Like I'm a toddler throwing a tantrum and not his sister worried about him because he threw away over a year of sobriety.
    I hate that after all this time, after everything, after reconciliation, he still knows how to make me feel small.
    "What is wrong with you?"
    He rolls his eyes and reaches for another shirt. "Jesus, Sarah. Laugh. It's a joke."
    "None of this is a joke!"
    "Whatever," he says under his breath. "I'm trying to pack."
    "You're just gonna run away?"
    "I'm not running away."
    "Really?" I shout. "Because it looks a hell of a lot like you're running away." I get closer to him when he ignores me. I don't care anymore. Let me be the crazy little sister. "A year, Rafe! You spent a year getting clean!"
    "I know how long it's been, Sarah."
    "Do you?"
    He finally turns around. "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "It means apparently you don't."
    His eyes narrow. "Oh, here we go."
    "Yeah. Here we fucking go."
    He gives me a look and turns back around, reaching for something else to fold. "God, you're exhausting."
    I laugh incredulously. "I'm exhausting?"
    "Yes."
    "I'm exhausting because I'm standing here trying to figure out why my brother decided fucking up four years ago was worth blowing up his entire life?"
    "I'm not blowing up my life."
    "That is exactly what you're doing!"
    He turns around so quickly that I almost take a step back. "Holy fuck, Sarah. You don't know what happened."
    "I don't know what happened?!" I shout. "I was there when you shot Peterkin, and, newsflash, I was there both times you tried to kill me. You don't think that fucked me up too? You don't think I have bad dreams about all of it? None of it is an excuse to stick some crap up your nose!"
    That shuts him up for a second. Then, he waves his hand like a king to his servant and goes back to packing.
    I point at him. "Don't do that?"
    "What?"
    "That."
    He huffs. "Very specific."
    "That thing where you act like you don't care."
    "I never said I didn't care."
    "You're acting like it."
    "You're unbelievable," he spits.
    I narrow my eyes. "And you're an asshole."
    "Good one."
    "I'm serious."
    "So am I."
    "No, you're not."
    He looks at me again, and there it is—that little look. The one he used to give me when we were kids, and I'd get too close to the truth. Like I was annoying him. Like I was some stupid little kid who had no idea what I was talking about.
    I wonder where we learned to fight like this.
    "You always do this," he says.
    I blink. "Do what?"
    "You get mad and decide you know everything."
    "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have made an appointment before coming over?"
    "That's not what I meant."
    "No, you meant I'm the little sister, so obviously I couldn't possibly understand what's going on."
    "Well, if the shoe fits."
    "Fuck you."
    He laughs under his breath. "You really haven't changed."
    I stare at him. "Excuse me?"
    "You heard me."
    "No, actually, I want you to say it again."
    He looks at me more intently, leaning forward so his face is closer to mine. "You. Haven't. Changed."
    "Okay."
    "You still think if you yell loud enough, everybody has to listen to you."
    "Yeah, well, at least I'm not on fucking drugs!"
    Rafe's face drops immediately. "I'm not on drugs."
    "Oh, bullshit."
    "I'm not."
    "You just told Sofia you used!"
    "Yeah, twice."
    "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
    "I stopped."
    "You don't get points for stopping after you already fucked up!"
    His jaw clenches. "I made a mistake."
    "You don't accidentally do cocaine, Rafe."
    He turns away from me, dragging both hands through his hair. "I am not fucking high right now."
    "I know that."
    "Then what are we arguing about?"
    "You're about to fly hours away, by yourself, and you expect me to believe you're not going to do it a third time?"
    "I won't."
    "How do you know?"
    "Because I fucking know. Plus, it's not that easy to just get more coke, Sarah."
    I scoff. "Right. Of course, you'd know that."
    He stares at me, visibly getting angrier now. "I can take care of myself."
    "That's not the fucking point!" I yell. "You have a wife. One who loves you even after knowing the person you used to be. You have Wheezie. You have custody of her, Rafe. She's your responsibility."
    "I know."
    "You have a house, and a job, and an entire life that you worked fucking hard to put back together. So, how could you be so fucking stupid?"
    He turns away again, grabbing the edge of the couch. "I don't know why I did it, okay? I don't have some fucking answer for you."
    "You need to find one. Because you can't just keep saying you're sorry and expect everybody to move on."
    "I know."
    "Sofia can't trust you right now. Neither can I."
    His eyes flick toward me. I know him well enough to recognize the look in his eye. I know he cares. He always cares. It's his pride that gets the best of him. Still, for a split second, I can see the guilt he's feeling.
    I swallow hard. "And that's really fucking hard for me, because I have a baby now."
    His face softens slightly. "Sarah—"
    "No." I shake my head. "I used to trust you with Willa." He doesn't say anything. "I trusted you with her."
    "I would never—"
    My voice breaks with frustration. "I know, Rafe. I know you'd never do anything, but you have to understand that it is a matter of principle." I rub at my temple. "By my standards, you're using again, and, quite frankly, you're completely out of control. That's not something I can just brush past!"
    He looks down, more ashamed than he's been this whole time.
    "She's six weeks old, Rafe."
    "I want to be better," he says, voice low so I don't hear it crack.
    "Then act like it."
    He shakes his head. "What do you want me to do, Sarah?"
    "Do you want a list?"
    He paces to the window and back, running his hands down his face with a long, deep exhale. "Okay, Sarah, obviously I care. I know I fucked up. If I didn't care I wouldn't be—you know—flying fucking to the ass crack of no where to give my wife space."
    I watch his chin twitch. "How long?" I ask.
    His brow creases. "How long am I leaving for?"
    "Mhm."
    "I don't know. A few days?"
    I nod. "Okay. And you really don't have any more drugs?"
    "No," he says deflectively. I tilt my head. "Fine, they're in my truck. Take them."
    I recoil back. "I don't want your drugs."
    "Just," he sighs, "Just throw them out or something."
    "I'm not touching a random baggy of coke you got from Barry or some other dipshit dealer. Throw it away in front of me."
    "Really?"
    "Yes, really."
    He grumbles under his breath, sliding his keys from the coffee table and walking out the side door. Thankfully, his truck isn't in the front driveway, so we won't have to risk him running into Sofia. Rafe walks around the side of the house, unlocks his truck, and climbs in.
    I stay several feet back.
    He opens the center console and digs around for a second before pulling out a small plastic bag.
    He holds it up. "There."
    "Throw it away."
    He looks at me.
    "Now."
    He mutters something under his breath but walks over to the trash can by the garage and drops it inside. He stands there for a second, looking down at it. Then he shuts the lid.
    "There. Happy?"
    I shake my head. "Not really."
    He looks at me and shrugs.
    "I'm not going to pretend I'm not worried about you, Rafe."
    He bites his lip anxiously, looking back a few times at the trash can. Somehow, I have enough trust to know he won't go digging through it to find the baggy again.
    I lead us back into the house. "But go to the lake house. Clear your head. Figure out what the hell you're doing and, please, at least try to fix this."
    He nods slowly. "I will."
    I look at him one last time, directly into his eyes, almost like I'm trying to telepathically will him to do the right thing. I break away. "I have to go. It's Willa's naptime."
    His head snaps up. I freeze where I am, suddenly nervous I've said too much.
    "She's here."
    I panic. "Yeah, uh—John B.'s in the car with her."
    He smirks. "No, he's not. John B. is at the shop. He had some pretty pointed things to say to me too, today. Over text."
    I suck my teeth. I can see the gears turning in his head. He looks toward the driveway again.
    Simply, he says, "Sofia's with her."
    I don't move.
    "She's here?"
    I pinch the hem of my pajama shorts, pulling relentlessly when I find a loose thread. "Yes, Rafe, but please—"
    He pushes past me, heading for the door.
    "Rafe!"
    I grab his arm, but he pulls free and keeps going. In doing so, he shoves me, mostly an accident, and I bump into a grand picture frame on the wall. He gets to the passenger side of the car before I can catch up.
    "Sof?"
    Sofia doesn't move. She stares straight ahead, rocking Willa back and forth, trying to wind her down. Rafe taps on the window.
    "Hey, baby. Can I just talk to you for a second?"
    Sofia's hand reaches for the lock, and a click resounds from the car. Rafe freezes.
    "Sofia."
    She still doesn't look at him.
    He taps the window again. "Just open the door, baby. Please."
    She shakes her head. "Go away, Rafe." A few seconds later, I see tears rolling down her cheeks. She's doing everything she can to keep her face turned away from him.
    Rafe's expression falls. The heels of his hands press into his temples, and his whole face scrunches up like it always does when he feels conflicted. "Don't cry—Would you just talk to me?"
    The next time he taps the window, it's more forceful, and it startles Willa. Sofia immediately looks down at her, trying to soothe her. It doesn't help.
    "Rafe!" I shout. He looks at me, chest heaving, breaths short and shallow. "Leave it."
    "I just want a second."
    "She doesn't want to talk to you right now."
    "She's my wife!"
    I snap. "Enough, Rafe!" I put both hands against his chest and push him backward. He stumbles a step. "Go inside!"
    He looks past me toward the car one last time.
    "Go finish packing."
    I let out a deep breath when he finally turns around. I wait until he's walking back toward the house before following him a few steps.
    "Maybe do some renovations while you're up there," I call after him, reaching for the doorknob. "It could probably use some work after sixteen years."
    He turns around just enough to glare at me. He looks like dad, I think. "Fuck off," he spits.
    I smile resentfully as I slam the door, yelling, "Call me."
    I hurry back toward the car, heart still pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. My hands are shaking a little. Sofia unlocks the car for me, since the keys are still in the ignition.
    I open the passenger door. "Hey, hey, hey." I immediately reach for Willa. "Mama's here."
    She's still crying, her little face scrunched up, lip poked out. The sound of it makes me physically ill.
    "I know. I know, baby." I lift her out of Sofia's arms and pull her against me, bouncing her gently as I close the door behind me with my hip. "It's okay, Willa."
    She keeps fussing. I wonder if Rafe can hear it from inside.
    I pace the few steps between the car and the front landscaping my dad paid a few hundred grand on, rubbing her back and pressing my cheek against the top of her head. "I know," I whisper. "That was scary, huh? I'm sorry."
    I keep walking with her until her crying softens into little hiccupping breaths, even though I know, more likely than not, she'll start back up on the drive home anyway. I sway from side to side, kissing her forehead, staring blankly ahead.
    I do my best to get her strapped into her car seat with as little jostling as possible, hoping she'll stay calmer for as long as possible. "There we go. Mommy's trying her best, baby." I check everything three times before closing the door.
    My hands fall against the steering wheel. I sit there for a second just trying to get my heart rate back to something resembling normal. Sofia is staring out the passenger window, presumably at the house. Her cheeks are still wet.
    "Sofia," I say quietly. "I am so sorry."
    She shakes her head once.
    "I shouldn't have let him get over here. I didn't think he was going to—"
    "Can we just leave?" she asks. She sounds exhausted.
    I nod immediately. "Of course."
    I look in the rearview mirror to check how Willa's doing. I can see her face in the mirror John B. set up above her seat. She looks upset, unsurprisingly so, but still so, so beautiful.
    I exhale when we get a little ways down the road. "Mommy just said... a lot of bad words," I laugh in disbelief. "I think I need to pray about that."