what now? | outerbanks

• ninety-three •

John B.

The morning is already heavy with heat when Shoupe calls. His voice is calm, but there's something in the way he says, "Can you come by my office?" that makes the back of my neck prickle.
My phone isn't on speaker, but I know Sarah hears anyway. Before I can get to the door to grab my keys, she sits up straight on the sofa, blanket pooling around her hips.
"You're going to the station?" she asks.
"Yeah. Shoupe asked me to come in."
She's already standing up before she even bothers asking. "I'm coming with you."
I walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her back and kissing her face all over. "You, my love, are staying right here on your sofa oasis where you're supposed to be.
She shakes her head, stubborn as ever. "Nope. I'm coming with. I'll stay in the car, I swear, but I need to go. I have a feeling about this."
I sigh. We both know I'm not winning this one. "You... are something, Sarah."
She kisses me once more, then says, "Can you get me some shoes?"
I grab some sandals from near the door, crossing to help her slide them on. She leans forward and kisses the top of my head as I get them secured, and for a second, everything's normal. No bedrest, no murder case, no impending doom.
I get Sarah settled in her seat with her water bottle and a pillow behind her back. She has this blank stare toward the windshield, and I know she's thinking about what Shoupe might say.
I speed the whole way there.
I sit for an extra few seconds after parking, preparing myself.
"You're gonna be okay out here in the car? I'll leave it running," I say, rubbing a thumb back and forth over her knee.
"Mhm." She tries to smile, but she's too anxious, so it's only half-fledged.
I leave the keys in the car, radio low, and air blowing cold because I know she'll sweat if it's not.
"I'll be quick."
She nods, sinking lower into the seat. "Go. I'll be fine."
My keys jingle in my pocket with every step. I hate coming here. I have so many memories of this place, and most of them are things I wish I could forget.
Shoupe's at his desk when I walk in, manila folder spread open in front of him. His eyes meet mine, and there's no small talk.
"Sit down," he says.
I pull the chair out, and the legs scrape the tile with a sickening screech. I lean forward on my elbows. "What is it?"
Shoupe exhales through his nose and flips to a page in the folder. "We caught him. The guy from the party."
My chest feels tight. "You're sure?"
"We talked to some of the kids who were there that night, and then a tip came in about the car. We tracked it, and the guy driving fit the descriptions we got. He confessed a few hours after we brought him in, but he swore he wasn't connected with Miller. Said his dad did some jobs for Miller a few years ago, but nothing else. Guy didn't even know Miller was dead."
It's like someone punched me in the gut, but in a way that knocks the breath back into me instead of out. I hate the guy, but I'm glad it's not tangled deeper into the mess we're already in.
"So, just a creep?"
He nods. "Some sick guy looking for a thrill. A twisted coincidence.
Anger hits me first. Then relief. "Jesus."
"Your buddy Pope came in the other day," Shoupe adds, leaning back.
"I know."
"So, now we're on the same page. I know what you guys have been drawing up—Luke and Rose, the whole mess. You're getting into something big, son." He shakes his head. "I'm going to figure this out. For real this time."
I meet his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he sounds like more than just a man trying to keep peace. He sounds like a sheriff.
"Thanks, Shoupe," I say, and I mean it for once.
The air hits me like a wall when I get back outside. Sarah's watching through the car window, like she's been waiting for me this whole time.
When I slide into the driver's seat, her eyes go wide and expectant.
"Well?"
I know this will impact her, so I need to say it right. Right words. Right tone. "They caught him."
Her lips part, and for a moment she just stares at me before covering her face with both hands. Her shoulders shake, and she lets out a choked sob that's half laugh and half relief. "Thank God."
I let her have her moment, but her relief turns anxious quicker than I realize.
"Do we tell her today? Do we make Sofia and Rafe tell her when they're both home from work?" She sits up straighter, eyes still glossy. "Shit, John B. Do you think they'll make her testify? Will she have to give a statement? I—"
I take her hand. "I don't know yet."
Her jaw tightens. "I don't want her in some courtroom. I'm serious—she's a kid! She shouldn't have to relive that."
"We can talk to Shoupe about all of this once Wheezie knows."
In a second, her tears turn into drops of anger. "I can't wait to see his pitiful face. I want to—I want to ruin his life. Make everything a living hell.
I rub my face. "Sarah—"
"I mean it, John B. He doesn't get to walk away from this with just some jail time." She has her right hand over her heart as if it physically pains her to think about all of this. Her other hand clutches her belly to ground herself. "I hate him."
Her voice wavers, but it's not from weakness. It's from the sheer force of everything she's holding in. I can see the pulse in her neck and the way her breathing's gotten faster. That's when I reach over, gently pressing her hand on her belly a little lower, reminding her without words to breathe and not push herself too far.
"I know you hate him," I say quietly. "I hate him too. But don't overwork yourself."
Her eyes soften just a little, but I can tell her mind's still running a mile a minute. She leans her head back against the seat, staring out the windshield like the answer might be written in the clouds.
"I just don't want her scared anymore," she whispers. "I want her to feel safe in her own skin again. I want—" She breaks off, wiping at her face with quick, angry swipes. "God, I wish I could've been there. I wish I could've stopped it."
"Hey." I take her hand again, firmer this time. "Let's not focus on everything that didn't happen. We can't change that, but we can move forward and do everything to patch the hole in her heart."
For a long moment, the only sound is the squeak of the air vent that's been broken for a while. Then, she lets out a long, shaky breath and nods. "We tell her today. No matter what. She deserves to hear it from us."
I start the car, pulling out of the lot. "Alright. We'll go home, and I'll call Sofia. We'll figure it out together."
She hums her agreement, but she keeps her gaze fixed out the window. I know she's not just thinking about Wheezie or the guy they caught. She's thinking about everything. She always is.