railings of sorrow

“What's wrong with this?”

“Let’s go. I'll sugar mama you.” 

John B snorted, already following her inside the store. “You’re not my sugar mama.”

“I am, for today.”

𓇢𓆸

Thirty minutes later, John B stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing a clean button-down shirt and dark jeans.

He looked like a completely different person.

The shirt actually fit him—no stretched seams, no faded fabric from years and years of use since he was fifteen. The sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms instead of hanging loose like most of the stuff he owned.

He tugged awkwardly at the collar, turning his shoulders slightly as if the mirror might suddenly expose him as an impostor.

“I don't like this.” He didn't know whether he was referring to the clothes or the whole situation with Sarah Cameron. Involving her on Pogue stuff? How low can he get? He can already picture Kie’s face when she finds out what he did to get these files. Which she won't find out, by the way, ever. 

Still, the thought lingered in the back of his mind.

The lengths he would go to just to find out if his dad was alive or not.

Ever since Big John disappeared, John B had been holding on to the thin thread of hope that refused to snap. Everyone else had accepted it by now — the looks people gave him said enough. The quiet sympathy. The awkward silences when his dad’s name came up.

Missing long enough usually meant dead.

But John B had never been good at accepting things like that.

It had always been just the two of them, as far back as he could remember. His mom had left when he was around seven, and the memories of her were foggy at best. A perfume he couldn’t quite place anymore, the sound of a suitcase rolling across the floor, a door closing somewhere in the house.

After that, it was him and Big John against the world.

Fishing. Long rants about long lost treasures. Nights eating takeout on the porch with the mosquitos. 

JJ would tag along too. And Pope and Kie and Cece would come over to hear Big John's stories around a bonfire with s'mores. They did one of those a month before he disappeared. Kiara took a picture from her polaroid and he still has it on his fridge. 

“You’re doing that thing again,” 

John B blinked, pulled out of the spiral. Sarah was holding out two bags for him to hold and he grabbed them, helping her out everything in the trunk. 

“What thing?”

“The staring into space thing,” she replied, watching him curiously. She noticed he would stare out into nothing sometimes, lost in thought. Sarah knew what happened to his dad, mostly because her dad commented once during dinner. How unfair it was, for a kid to lose his dad so young. She shivered when Ward said that. She couldn't imagine losing her dad at her age, she would've lost it. It must be hard on John B so she doesn't blame him for spacing out. 

“Ready to go?” Sarah asked before turning the engine on and putting her sunglasses. 

John B saw how she embraced the Kook energy without even trying. She is a Kook, dude. He could practically hear JJ mocking him. 

“Yes.” He buckled up, about to roll down his window when she turned the AC on. Oh, he won't complain about being a sugar baby for the day. 

𓇢𓆸

“You’re where?!”

Sarah grimaced at her best friend's indignation through the phone. “It was an emergency, K. I'll be back—”

“An emergency about what exactly?” Kamari questioned, suspicious. “You had to figure it out all the way to Charleston?”

Sarah waved John B off when he urged her to go in again because they didn't have the whole day. “It’s just… I'll tell you when I get back, okay? I promise.”

There was some silence on the other end and finally: “Fine. We'll reschedule shopping, I guess. But I still have to pick out my dress for Midsummers.”

“We’ll do it this weekend. I gotta get mine too—I have to go.” Sarah rolled her eyes at John B’s gesticulating wildly. “Bye, babes.” 

Sarah slipped her phone back into her purse and let out a breath.

John B was standing a few steps away on the sidewalk, arms thrown out in exasperation.

“What?” she said.

“You done?” he asked, glancing toward the tall brick buildings around them. “Because we don’t exactly have a reservation in there.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but walked toward him anyway. “Chill out, we're going!” She led the way to the front desk with the confidence of someone who had spent her whole life in places where doors usually opened for her.

She offered a polite smile to the archivist and spoke in that practiced, pleasant tone that made people assume she belonged exactly where she stood.

A few minutes later they were being directed down a quieter corridor toward the historical archives.

John B leaned closer as they walked.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I gotta admit… that was impressive.”

Sarah didn’t look at him. “You’re welcome.”

They stepped into a reading room where a few researchers sat scattered at different tables, quietly flipping through boxes of documents.

An employee wheeled over a cart holding several archival folders.

“Materials relating to Denmark Tanny,” the woman said softly before leaving them alone.

John B sat down slowly, staring at the boxes like they might disappear if he blinked.

Sarah pulled the first folder closer. He went after one in another pile. 

For a while, the only sound between them was the soft rustle of old pages. Property records. Handwritten notes in faded ink.

Sarah skimmed through a stack of documents, occasionally sliding something toward John B if it looked even remotely relevant.

Across the table, he was reading with brows furrowed, fingers carefully turning the fragile pages like they were something sacred.

After nearly twenty minutes, Sarah leaned back slightly, brushing her hair behind her ear. 

“You actually believe in this?” she asked. “The Royal Merchant and all that?”

He finally lifted his head. “My dad did,” he said.

“He spent years looking into it,” John B continued, glancing down at the documents scattered across the table. “Maps, journals, shipping records… anything he could get his hands on.” His voice had softened without him noticing.

“He was convinced that ship went down somewhere in the Outer Banks.”

Sarah studied him carefully. “And you believe him.”

John B hesitated. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

He stared down at one of the pages again, but it was clear he wasn’t really reading anymore.

“It wasn’t just some crazy treasure story to him,” he continued. “He had evidence. Real stuff. He always said people just didn’t want to believe it because it sounded impossible.”

The silence between them stretched for a moment.

Finally Sarah spoke. “I get that.”

John B glanced up, surprised.

She shrugged lightly.

“People think they know everything about your family,” she said. “Or what your life’s supposed to look like.” She spoke from personal experience. They may have very different upbringings, but she knew a thing or two about people pressuring you to move on. Her fingers idly traced the edge of one of the old folders. “But they’re not the ones living it.”

John B studied her for a second, something thoughtful crossing his face. The pain in her voice told him she understands it. 

Then Sarah cleared her throat slightly.

“And… for the record,” she added. “I’m sorry about the job thing. My dad firing you.”

John B let out a quiet breath. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Still,” Sarah insisted, flipping a page. “It kind of started with me.”

“I’ve had worse days.” He shrugged. That earned a faint smile from her.

For a moment they just sat there across from each other, the stack of old history between them.

“Do you have any idea of what you're looking for? ‘cause I'm kinda lost…”

“Something that he wrote.” John B’s eyes worked fast across the page. Sarah bit her lip, he looked so focused. 

She slid another sheet aside.

Across the table, Sarah noticed when John B suddenly stopped turning pages.

“What?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away, fingers had gone still over a single sheet of paper that looked older than the rest, the edges slightly darker with age. Carefully, he lifted it from the folder.

“What is it?” Sarah whispered, leaning forward.

“I think we found it.” He smiled down in awe at the letter. 

Sarah leaned closer, their shoulders nearly touching now as they both tried to decipher the aged handwriting.

“A letter?”

“Yeah. Denmark Tanny's letter.”

Sarah tried to read anything but couldn't. “What does it mean?”

“I’ll figure it out at home, but this is what I needed.” John B says and grabs the latter carefully to place it inside the envelope. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sharpening slightly. She reached across the table and took the envelope from his hands. “You can’t take that.”

“I need this.” He grabbed it back, frustration creeping into his voice. “Why do you think we came?”

Sarah snatched it again before he could tuck it away, holding it out of reach.

“My dad donated all this stuff to the university, John B…” she said, lowering her voice when she noticed someone turning a page at a nearby table. “…this is literally part of the archive.”

John B ran a hand through his hair, pacing half a step away from the table before leaning back toward her.

“They’ve got copies of everything here,” he whispered harshly. “They won’t even notice.”

“That’s not the point.”

Sarah stared at him.

“You’re asking me to help you steal something my family donated.”

“I’m asking you to help me find out if my dad is alive.”

Sarah’s jaw slacked with incredulity. “Okay, that’s—that’s so not fair. And how does this even prove your dad’s alive?”

“I don’t know!” John B exclaimed, losing his patience. He inhaled sharply and looked around. 

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “This is a terrible idea.”

John B didn’t argue, he kept watching for her next move. She could very well tell on him after this was over, she owned him nothing. 

Sarah glanced around the reading room. A few students. One archivist at the far desk. No one paying them any attention.

Slowly, she slid the envelope back toward him.

“If we get caught,” she whispered, “I’m blaming you.”

He grinned at her while carefully slipping the letter back into the envelope and tucking it inside the folder he was carrying.

Sarah leaned back in her chair, heart beating a little faster than before.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s get out of here. Just-just don’t act suspicious.”

They walked between the long wooden tables, their footsteps softened by the thick carpet. The room smelled like old paper and polish, the quiet broken only by the turning of pages and the distant hum of an air vent.

Sarah resisted the urge to look back at him.

She reached the desk first, offering the archivist a polite smile as she set down the remaining materials.

“Thank you,” she said lightly. “This was really helpful.”

The woman barely looked up, already stamping something on another document.

“Of course.”

Sarah exhaled slowly through her nose.

They had barely reached the end of the hallway when a voice called after them.

“Excuse me!”

John B’s entire body locked mid-step. This is how he would go. Pathetically. Being caught at a library, not even around his friends, his home. Sarah felt the same bolt of panic shoot through her chest. For a split second neither of them turned around, like maybe—just maybe—the voice hadn’t meant them.

“Excuse me, you two!”

When they turned, the archivist from the desk had stepped into the hallway, holding a stack of folders against her chest. John B’s stomach dropped. His hand instinctively pulled the folder behind him.

“Yes?” Sarah asked carefully.

The woman studied them for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then a soft smile borke out in her lips.

“You two look like such a cute couple,” she said warmly. “It’s nice to see students interested in local history together.”

“Oh—uh—we’re not—” John B stammered, his face warming up.

Before he could finish, Sarah smoothly slipped her hand into his. Her fingers laced with his like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stiffened for half a second, startled, then glanced down at her. 

She gave his hand a subtle squeeze and flashed the woman a bright smile.

“Thank you,” Sarah said sweetly. “That’s really nice of you.”

The archivist nodded approvingly. “Enjoy the rest of your day, kids.”

“We will,” Sarah replied quickly.

Still holding John B’s hand, she turned and walked down the hallway toward the exit. John B followed automatically, his brain still catching up to what had just happened.

They pushed through the doors and stepped back out into the warm afternoon light. Only then did Sarah let go.

John B stared at his hand for a moment like it had just done something illegal. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” Sarah cut in, already heading down the steps. “You were about to confess to stealing a historical document.”

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were.”

John B jogged a step to catch up with her, still half laughing in disbelief.

“Well,” he said, glancing sideways at her, “for the record…”

Sarah looked over, lifting a brow.

“…we do make a pretty convincing couple.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile as they headed across the lawn.

𓇢𓆸

Charleston felt different from the Outer Banks. The streets were wider, the sidewalks crowded with people moving in slow afternoon rhythms. Historic buildings stood shoulder to shoulder with cafés and little shops that spilled music and conversation onto the street. Sarah missed that back in Kildare. She wished it had more cute little places to hang out, other than the Country Club and Wonderwall’s Milkshake shop. 

Sarah insisted they stop walking when she spotted a small ice cream stand tucked between two brick buildings.

“I think we deserve ice cream.” Sarah said, tugging him toward the pink place. He sighed but didn’t complain because 1) he wanted ice cream too and 2) she was his ride.

Sarah ordered something overloaded with caramel and chocolate drizzle, the kind of thing that came in a cup instead of a cone because it would melt too fast otherwise.

Then she turned toward John B, studying the menu like she was responsible for his choice.

“Okay,” she said decisively, tapping the board. “You’re getting salted caramel.”

John B frowned. “Why that one?”

“Because you look like a salted caramel person.”

He licked his lips, pondering. “I don’t know, I've never tasted it.”

“You’ll like it. Trust me.”

They ended up sitting on a low stone wall across the street, the late afternoon sun warming the pavement beneath them. People drifted past in loose groups, and somewhere nearby a street musician was playing guitar, the sound carrying lazily through the warm air.

She looked at him through her eyelashes, sipping a big spoon of her ice cream. “Well…?”

“It’s good.” John B replied and she gave him an I told you so look that he made a face to. 

“You have a—”

She looked up at him, confused. “I have a what?”

He gestured vaguely with his cone. “Just… here.”

Before she could react, he reached over with the napkin he’d been holding and lightly wiped the corner of her mouth. As soon as he felt Sarah’s honey brown eyes staring at him he pulled his hand back just as fast, like he’d suddenly realized what he’d done. He crumpled the napkin between his fingers and cleared his throat, looking down at the pavement.

“There,” he muttered. “You had ice cream on your face.”

“Oh.” Sarah blinked, touching the spot with the back of her finger like she needed to confirm he had touched there.

A small smile tugged at her lips but she looked away, turning her face so he wouldn’t see her smiling like a schoolgirl. Get yourself together, Sarah Cameron.

By the time they got back to Kildare, the afternoon had slipped quietly into evening, the sky transforming into wide streaks of burnt orange and soft pink that melted slowly into purple blue. Lights had begun flickering on across the island—porch lamps, dock lights, the glow from kitchen windows where people were settling in for the night. 

John B parked the car near the Cut, Sarah had thrown her keys to him when it was time to get back, claiming she was tired of driving. He didn’t complain, of course, it felt nice driving a good car rather than the Twinkie (that his girl never hears that, he loves her to death). 

Sarah leaned back in the seat, letting out a quiet breath. 

That had been the best day she’d had in a long time.

Sarah didn’t say it out loud, but she felt it in the lightness sitting in her chest as she stared out the window. The whole day had been different from the careful, polished routine she usually lived inside her house. A little bit of chaos. That kind of thing had always done something to her. 

Sarah Cameron was an adventure seeker. She craved stories to tell later in her life, looking back at memories that made it all worth it. 

She glanced at John B beside her. His hair was still a little messy from the wind earlier, the expensive button-down she’d made him buy now wrinkled and slightly untucked like he had already given up trying to make himself look respectable. 

He wasn’t so bad.

“Thanks for helping.” John B cut the silence and glanced at her, but she was already looking at him. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I, uh… Bye.” John B cleared his throat and opened the door, walking fast. 

Sarah didn’t think, she just sprinted out of the car and called out for him. Only then did she realize that it was raining hard, the sudden downpour soaking through her clothes almost instantly. But John B stopped a few steps down the driveway and turned around. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead, the rain running down his face and dripping from his jaw. For a second neither of them moved. Their eyes meeting through the water said things none of them knew how to explain it yet.

“What?” he called over the sound of the rain.

Sarah slowed to a stop a few feet away from him, breath uneven, heart beating faster than she could explain. The moment stretched between them, the kind that feels bigger than it should.

She hesitated, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this was going to sound. “I forgot to say something.”

“What?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The words felt too small for everything that had happened that day. How alive she felt. So alive.

Stepping forward, Sarah grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down into a kiss. John B barely had time to register what she was doing until she did it and he stopped breathing. Then he kissed her back. 

The rain poured around them, relentless, plastering Sarah’s hair to her face and soaking through John B’s clothes, but neither of them seemed to notice. One of his hands came up instinctively to her waist while the other steadied her shoulder.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing a little harder than before.

Sarah blinked rain out of her eyes, suddenly shy now that the moment had actually happened. She laughed while covering her mouth, not actually believing what she did.

For a second they just stood there in the rain, smiling at each other like two people who had just crossed a line they couldn’t uncross.

Finally Sarah gestured back toward the car.

“I’ll, uh…”

John nodded stupidily. “Yeah, drive-drive safe back… to Tanyhill.”

She giggled. “Alright!” She yelled over the rain and ran back toward her car.