— CHAPTER 10 —
TO THE GRAVE

THURSDAY 1st NOVEMBER,
1984

NANCY'S pastel wallpaper drowns itself in the grey, afternoon light sieved through her lacy curtains — the colours reduced from a pleasant pale to a depressing dull. It seems all the more fitting for what they are about to do, the plan in question still making Daphne's stomach churn with anxiety.

Simply put, Daphne knows that in a few minutes she will be making a phone call to Tonya's parents, to arrange a meeting about their daughter; only after Nancy has done the same for Barb's parents too.

When Nancy first put forward her plan, she thought the girl was insane. Of course she knows how the Hawkins Lab are covering things up is unjust. So many questions still linger about Tonya, ones which clamours for answers for on the nights she can't sleep. But the thought of running headfirst into looking Mrs. McCarthy in the eyes and telling her the truth... it sends Daphne into a cold sweat. Her soul is torn between the compulsion to go along with Nancy and push for justice at last, and equally the chilling memory of how Dr. Owens laid bare the sheer power of the lab almost a year ago...

"You sign this, and that's it," she hears him say again, the lab coat-clad man materialising in her memory. "We can leave you alone, you can leave us alone. But if you don't... that is when things get complicated."

     The tiffany blue phone set sits on the neatly-made, patchwork quilt of Nancy's bed. Such a seemingly innocent object, and yet suddenly weighed down with so much purpose. It seems Daphne isn't the only one who is staring at it tensely either, Nancy fixated on it while Jonathan paces back and forth.

     Finally, he lowers himself down to sit at the end of Nancy's bed. "Okay, are you sure about this?"

"No..." Nancy blinks rigidly at the phone.

Still, she takes the plunge, and with such suddenness that it startles Daphne. The air in the room thickens and tightens with anticipation, the painfully slow click-clack of the rotary phone permeating their silence. Nancy then holds the phone to her ear, her gunmetal blue eyes alert.

     Daphne can tell Mrs. Holland has answered, her voice muffled through the receiver — but Nancy sits paralysed, holding her breath. Jonathan gently places a reassuring hand on her knee, which snaps her back into reality.

     "Mrs. Holland! Hi, it's um... it's Nancy." Her knuckles whiten around the receiver. "I, uh... I need to tell you something. About Barb. I... I haven't been honest with you."

     The Wheeler girl looks to the pair for reassurance, and they nod gently. She parts her chapped lips and continues to talk, sucking in a deep breath through her nose to steady herself. "But I can't tell you here on the phone. Meet me tomorrow, Forrest Hills Park, 9am. Don't tell anyone. And don't call me back here. It's dangerous... I just need you to trust me. Please."

     Before Mrs. Holland can question her any further, Nancy hangs up the phone. As if the rotary phone stings her with electricity, she hastily slides it over the quilt in Daphne's direction.

     "What, now?!" Daphne panics.

     "You don't have to say much," Nancy reassures her, although still shaken from calling Barb's mother. "Just... try and get to the point. We can't waste time here."

     Daphne nods and swallows thickly, glancing at the phone. From her pocket she pulls out a crumpled piece of paper — the phone number of the McCarthys. With missing posters of Tonya still haunting lampposts and shop windows across Hawkins, it wasn't hard to get the number from there. Still... calling them is a whole other thing. At least Nancy knows Barb's parents. To the McCarthys, Daphne will just be some stranger they might vaguely know of.

She reluctantly starts tapping in the number on the rotary phone, the painfully slow process nauseating her even more. It all feels far too real when the dial tone murmurs in her ear, and all she can do is feel Jonathan and Nancy's stares burning holes in the carpet as they wait for a response...

A click at the other side of the line, then a crackled breath.

"Hello? This is Mary McCarthy speaking?"

"Hi..." Daphne whispers down the line. Then, after coughing, she tries speaking at a normal volume. "Hi, Mrs. McCarthy, I don't know if you know me... my name's Daphne Delaney."

"Daphne, hm..." Mrs. McCarthy trails off. Suddenly she sounds as though she perks up, her smile audible through the phone. "Oh! That Daphne! You're friends with Felix, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's right."

"He's told us a lot about you."

"... He has?"

"Yes, he's such a nice young man. I– sorry, could you hold for one second? I need to go check on the brisket..."

Daphne hears Mrs. McCarthy place the phone down and scurry off to what must be the kitchen, being left to the white noise of the McCarthy home trickling into her ear. Felix once told her that the family was pretty well-off and owned a sizeable house — she wonders if, without Tonya, the house feels hollow and empty without her. Daphne would hate that. Her absence would be felt in every empty chair, every vacant room, every creaking floorboard you would mistake for footsteps.

By the time Mrs. McCarthy returns, her mouth feels like it's been cemented with tar. "Sorry about that!" the woman chirps. Daphne can clearly see where Tonya got her innocent charm from. "So, what's this about?"

"I... well, uh... it's about Tonya."

A long, fragile pause meets Daphne through the line. She glances nervously between Nancy and Jonathan, then stares back down at the quilt to try and focus herself again.

"... Mrs. McCarthy? Are you still there?"

"Y-yes, I'm still here," Mrs. McCarthy clears her throat, in a way that sounds so strangled that Daphne feels a lump form in her own throat. "Sorry, did you say you... you know something about our Tonya?"

Daphne shudders through a breath. The Upside Down flashes through her memory, seared with Tonya's last screams and the frantic rush to clamber back through the tree portal.

"... I might know something, yeah," she finally settles for.

"Oh my... I, um... well, I suppose you'd better tell me then. I might just go get a chair in case—"

"No, Mrs. McCarthy, wait—" Daphne frantically adds, reminded of the task ahead by Nancy vigorously shaking her head. "Don't get a chair or anything, just... listen to me. I can't tell you right now. Not here on the phone."

"It's bad, isn't it?"

A beat passes, and Daphne freezes.

"If it weren't bad, you could just tell me on the phone. Oh God..."

"It's just... it's not safe to tell you here, on the phone. I don't want to take any risks." Daphne fiddles obsessively with a string at the end of her sleeve, winding it around her fingertip.

"Dangerous? Daphne, what is going on? Is my daughter okay?"

"Just meet me tomorrow in Forrest Hills Park, at 9am sharp. I promise I'll explain everything. Oh, and don't tell anyone. It's too risky..."

"I... alright, if you say so."

"I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Okay..."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. McCarthy."

"Tomorrow..."

When Daphne hangs up the phone, she feels herself release a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She feels Jonathan squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, but her mind is so detached from her body she can barely fathom it. Having organised the meeting tomorrow — no turning back now — the trio split off, Daphne giving the excuse that she has to pick up Cath from school, which is partly accurate.

But before anything, Daphne stumbles into her car and locks herself in, pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes until phosphenes float in her vision. It's real. It's happening. The crushing weight of all she endured last year sinks herself further into the seat, along with a dash of despair and panic. The truth is going to come out.

She has no idea what that means — for her, for her family, for the McCarthys and the Hollands. What if the Hawkins Lab found out? What exactly would they do? Was Dr. Owens really going to be as understanding and Mr. Nice Guy as he had tried to project, almost a year ago when they met?

     Her head swirling with what ifs, Daphne starts driving and rolls her window down, trying to anchor herself in reality by feeling the breeze wash over her skin and hair. She even plays a little music on the way to Hawkins Middle, slipping a cassette of a new band she had gotten into — The Smiths — into her car radio.

     When Daphne pulls up outside Hawkins Middle, for a split second she worries that she has miscalculated time — it wouldn't be too out of character for her. The doubt sets in her mind upon seeing Cath sat on the steps waiting for her, her bag between her legs and chin resting on her hand, with a tiredness that could well suggest she'd been waiting for hours. Still, the moment she recognises Daphne's car, Cath hastily slips her bag on and scurries over after a couple of paranoid glances left-and-right to check for traffic.

     "Hey," Daphne greets her, "I wasn't late, was I?"

     "Hm? Oh no, you're fine," Cath says absentmindedly, buckling herself in and hugging her bag to her chest. She seems to be purposely averting her gaze to stare out of the window. There is something strangely erratic about her behaviour, and Daphne can't help but worry.

     "So, was school okay today, or...?" Daphne eases herself in, stealing a side glance at her sister.

     "Yeah, school was fine. Not really much to say I guess."

     "Nothing?"

     Cath stares down at her lap and sighs slowly. "Will's not well, Daphne."

     Furrowing her eyebrows, her heart skips a beat at the strangely ominous tone with which her sister speaks about the Byers boy. "What makes you say that?" she asks cautiously.

     "He's... he's having these episodes," Cath goes on to explain. "It's like he is in the Upside Down all over again, in his head, but outside he is in the real world. And I knew they were bad, but now... they're really awful. He just had one on the school field this afternoon. I found Will standing there, so I tried to reach him somehow, calling his name, I– I don't know. But then... he started shaking, and his eyes rolled back... I didn't know what to do."

     Daphne's fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, her mind trying desperately to piece together the new information. God, why can't Will get a moment's peace? she thinks to herself in despair. The Byers boy doesn't deserve a bit of the harrowing things he has and is enduring. Suddenly she is reminded of what Jonathan told her earlier that morning, about Will being different ever since he came home last year. Not that she's seen Will much herself, but together with what she remembers and what Cath just told her, she can see how. He has always been a little on the shy, sensitive side — Daphne often feels he is reminiscent of herself when she was his age. But things are different now. The loving spark that used to light up his eyes has dimmed, leaving a more withdrawn shell of Will Byers instead... not that she can blame him.

"Anyway, were you somewhere before?" Cath asks, with a tired inquisitiveness. "I was just wondering, 'cause I didn't see you parked up when I first left school..."

"Oh, I was– I was just with Nancy and Jonathan. That's all..."

Cath blinks at her, staring with an intensity that almost startled Daphne. There's an underlying inkling that her sister might have seen straight through her bullshitting — it would make sense, considering how they ran circles around each other last year. Still, that would be too much to unpack for her now. Daphne herself is still struggling to process the notion of meeting Tonya's mother tomorrow...

"We were just hanging out," she says finally. "Is that such a crime?"

"No..." Cath mumbles. Then, after a few beats, she adds: "As long as hanging out doesn't include wandering off into the woods together."

━━━━━━

WHEN Cath was in the Third Grade, she started taking piano lessons. She remembers having loved the sound of the piano since she was very young — so naturally, to satisfy her perfectionist streak, she wanted to master this instrument she loved so dearly, to replicate the magical effect it had on her. Practice, practice, practice would get her there.

However, her perfectionist streak was overridden by her timid sensitivity, which is how a ten year-old Cath silently dropped the lessons when she had a new teacher, much meaner and stricter than the last one.

It was only after the events of 1983 that Cath returned to the black and white keys once more. A couple years prior, the Delaneys had inherited a small, beautiful upright piano after Martha's father (and the girls' beloved grandfather) had died, along with a mass clearing out of other belongings. The piano had been tucked snugly into Martha's old office, which seemed fitting considering its origins — apparently her mother used to love to play it herself when she was younger.

Passing the piano every day at home after that November in 1983, Cath found herself drawn to play it again. While there was still the inkling of motivation to master it, its meaning to her felt different this time — it was therapeutic nowadays. She decided to try and teach herself instead. Practice, practice, practice. Paying attention to the details of some of her favourite songs, she would slowly teach herself the notes and gradually build up the whole song. It was sometimes a painstaking process, focusing all of her mental energy into those black and white keys, but practice made perfect. Cath had also learned which songs were easier than others — she found that the Carpenters were not too complex for her liking, 'Yesterday Once More' becoming a personal favourite of hers to play.

     But today is different. Today, she can't seem to focus enough.

     Her fingers are playing the right notes of 'Annie's Song', but her heart just isn't in it. Nervous jitters from earlier still make Cath's hands tingle, the memory of Will on the school field haunting every spare thought. It frightened her how absent he had been in that moment, how unreachable he had felt to her. And when he finally came to, there was a vacant look in his doe hazel eyes, like he was still stuck in limbo. The incident confirms the dreaded question in her mind — has the threat of the Upside Down really vanished after all? To which the answer is, a solid no. But what does that mean? Where do they go from here?

     Naturally, Will isn't the only thing weighing on her mind. She can feel her soul sagging under the weight of concern over all her friends, among other things, and of course the most recent emerging thing on her mind... her mother. Cath feels her gaze drift upwards to the top of the piano, where a photo frame of Martha sits comfortably. In the black-and-white photograph, she is sat on the porch outside and squinting into the camera through dappled sunlight, while she cradles an infant Daphne in her arms.

     Cath releases a shaky breath. She can't do this anymore; sit in this office, like a living relic of this woman's past. She has the sudden sensation of pressure within, like she might abruptly buckle under the weight of it all. Getting up from the piano, she wonders who she could tell — not Daphne, who she sees through the crack of her door laid atop her bed listening to music and staring at the ceiling. Obviously her father is out of the question, not able to clue him in on the real details of 1983, and even more so with Aunt Peggy. Cath also wants to avert bothering any of her friends right now, especially Will...

     Then she has an epiphany. The realisation that there may be someone who can listen, and not ask any questions.

Tip-toeing carefully through the house, Cath slips downstairs to shrug on her coat and put on her Mary Janes. Then ever so carefully, she opens and closes the door behind her, retrieving her bicycle propped up by the porch and hopping onto it. She knows exactly where she is headed, meandering down the memorised route with a calm haste.

Still, her heart manages to skip a beat when she brakes next to the Hawkins Cemetery.

She's never been here alone. Usually she would never come willingly, only when she really has to — Martha's birthday, and the anniversary of her death... falling unfortunately the day after Cath's own birthday. However, she knows this has become a place of comfort for her sister and her father. A place where they perhaps feel closer to her. So maybe, just maybe, she can allow herself experience that same comfort if she really tries.

     Cath walks slowly through the cemetery until she locates her mother's grave, just where she knows it should be. Her eyes wander over the inscription, as if just to check it's definitely her:

Martha Elisabet Delaney
July 6th, 1944 – February 21st, 1971
"A beloved mother, daughter
and life companion."

     Swallowing thickly, Cath slips her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. The sun is setting, directing angled beams of light towards her that have finally burst through the grey clouds. They illuminate Martha's grave in a warmth, a light that diminishes the shadow that Cath can never shake off whenever she comes here. It is as though it beckons her to stay. It's alright. You can feel safe here.

"... Hi Mom," she finally murmurs. "It's Cath."

Cath takes a deep breath, squinting at the inscription again. Mom. That words feels so unfamiliar, so strange rolling off her tongue like that.

"I know I don't come here often... not more than I have to. I guess I just had a really bad day today."

She waits. When she is only met with silence, she scoffs quietly to herself. What was she expecting? A response? Still, there is something welcoming about the non-judging silence that meets her. She imagines her mother replying "Go on," in a soothing tone. Cath looks over her shoulder to check if the coast is clear — but the cemetery is completely empty of visitors, except for her. She crouches and pats the grass below, then cautiously lowers her knees onto it and sits.

"There are a lot of things I worry about — well, I guess I wouldn't be me if I wasn't worrying about something." At this, Cath manages an uneasy chuckle. "I don't know if you know about everything that's happened the past year, but it's been... really tough. Especially the last few weeks as we're coming up to the anniversary. I worry that something awful's going to happen; maybe that's just me being paranoid, but so many things are starting to go wrong and I have no idea how things are going to end up."

A light breeze sweeps through the cemetery, brushing a blanket of autumnal leaves onto Martha's grave. Cath carefully leans forward and scoops her place clear again.

"Then I worry about my friends," Cath adds sadly. "We've all been affected by what happened in our own ways, I guess, but it's hard. Will's having these awful visions which might now be real, and I have no idea how to help. Mike's the one I would usually look to in these situations; he kind of feels like our leader. But I think he's really hurting, because he keeps shutting everyone out, including me. And then Andrea... I just feel like we keep getting more distant. I mean, we're close and everything, but the trouble is I can't tell her anything about what happened last year. And I think that bothers her. Who can blame her though?"

Considering this, Cath rubs a hand back-and-forth over her knee while thinking. "Lately it's like I can see everyone struggling, and I try to help, but I can't quite... reach them." She spreads out her palms and sighs. "I feel like I'm trying to lend everyone a helping hand and I only have so much to give, you know?"

Naturally, there is still no response. Cath doesn't feel she needs one. Getting all of this off her chest feels both miraculous to alleviate, and crushing to admit. She has always been so used to suffering in silence. She is always the shoulder to lean on for everyone else, but never lets herself be the other way around. There are some secrets that not even her closest friends know; ones she will probably end up taking to her grave. The words she finds the courage to say next are among them:

"And... I've been thinking about you," she says, directly to the gravestone. Cath imagines her mother's surprise — "Really? Me?" — and manages a small smile. "A lot, actually. I don't know why you cross my mind now of all times. I never met you, you didn't know me. We both know how that worked out..." Her smile has now faded. The shadow begins to return. "No one really talks about it, especially Dad. I think it makes him sad; to think about what could have been. It makes me sad too, but now I just can't stop..."

She gazes long and hard at her mother's grave. Suddenly she finds her breath hitching in her throat, her emotions bottled up for so long coming thick and fast.

"It's just... I never got to have that mother-daughter thing, you know? It would be one thing if I'd known you a little while before, like Daphne did, but I never even got the chance. And part of me... part of me feels like it's my fault that we didn't get that. I know that's irrational to think. It's true though, right? You might still be here if... if it weren't for what happened..."

     A pang of heartache stops her from going much further. There is a part of her that fears if she tells her everything, if she really just cracks herself open to reveal even her darkest thoughts, she might start to believe them. Cath's hand retreats into her sleeve and wipes at her eyes, blurring her vision with a cloudy sheen of unshed tears.

     "What I'm trying to say is just that... I miss you. I mean, I miss what we could have had. And I didn't... I didn't realise how much I missed that until now. And I'm also sorry I don't come and visit you more often."

     Another breeze sweeps through, and Cath notices the sky turning a more powdery blue with the sun's glow fading quickly. She would rather not stay out past dark, especially in a cemetery.

     "Well, I should probably go," she sniffs, brushing herself down. "I, um... I love you."

     Briskly walking to shake off the nerves coursing through her, Cath meanders through the cemetery and back to her bike, her feet trembling on the pedals as she starts driving away. Did that help at all? She has no clue yet, retracing her route back home with uneasy glances upwards at the fading sky. All she feels right now is the desperation to get back in her safe, warm house and forget that today ever happened.

     On her way back, she passes a swing set and plastic slide attached at the hip. Two young children go back-and-forth like pendulums on the swings; there is a hypnotic quality to them which Cath fixes on as she slowly drives past. There is a third child too, a little older than them, who approaches the playground. It takes her a second to realise, but the figure feels familiar — Cath remembers them from the hallway this morning. The head of curls, the slightly oversized brown jacket with the baggy jeans and sneakers.

     Cath squints at the figure to get a better look. She can get a better look at their face now, especially when they suddenly glance up and lock eyes with her in a surprisingly intense stare. The pull is magnetic, unable to tear her eyes away from who she first assumes is a boy, but after closer inspection wonders if it might be a girl. There is something familiar about them...

In the passing moment, the swapping of perspective as Cath glides past her on her bike, the pair of eyes burn themselves into her memory — suddenly she knows where she has seen them before. A rapid reel of flashbacks shoot through her mind, of a buzzcut girl of few words with that same intense stare, whose screams ripped through an empty Hawkins Middle as she saved them all. But it couldn't be... could it?

Eleven?

With a startled gasp, Cath slams so hard on her brakes she thinks she might fly past the handlebars. The motion certainly thrusts her forward and her pelvis aches after being jolted by the bike seat. Once she has recovered, Cath frantically turns around and searches behind her for any trace of who she just saw. Was she a figment of her imagination? Or was that really...

Real or not, Eleven seems to have vanished into thin air. Gone once again.

━━━━━━

"IS the lasagna good?" Thomas finally asks awkwardly. During this meal, it might be the first real bit of dialogue anyone has contributed since they started eating; even as a quiet man himself, this is a whole new level of bizarre. Seated on one side of him, Cath immediately blurts out words of praise, with Peggy on his other side shooting him a half-hearted thumbs up.

Daphne is the one who still hasn't replied. For the past few minutes, he's noticed, she has been staring vacantly at her plate while slowly picking at bits of lasagna to eat. Thomas knows that look — it's like she glosses over. He remembers when she first started doing that as a little kid, and how that led to a series of her wandering off or bumping into things. Of course, it can't be for any unfounded reason, because he himself tends to space out like that when a lot of things weigh on his mind. It's a coping mechanism; escapism. The question is, what is on her mind to make her be so distant...

After a few moments, Cath nudges her sister gently under the table. Daphne shoots her a confused look, then notices Thomas staring at her — she blinks and gives her head a little shake.

"Sorry," she mumbles, "I think I spaced out."

"You think?" Peggy remarks with a smirk, though still not as chirpy as usual.

"It's fine," Thomas dismisses it with a wave of his hand. "Is the food alright?"

"Oh, it's– yeah, it's... awesome..." Daphne replies.

"Okay, that's definitely overkill," chuckles Thomas with furrowed brows. "A microwaved lasagna is not awesome."

"Better than some of the crap I've been eating before I came here..." Peggy trails off.

"Peg..." A pang of responsibility striking him, Thomas glares at his younger sister and looks pointedly over at Cath — language! When Peggy seems to receive the message, she only shakes her head and washes down her mouthful of lasagna with a sip of water.

"Come on, she's thirteen now," Peggy snickers. "You're starting to sound like Mom these days."

"Oh yeah, did you see Grandma today?" Cath suddenly asks politely, changing the subject.

A beat passes. Thomas exchanges a knowing glance with Peggy, whose gaze is now buried into her almost-empty plate. Her fingertips press into her temple leant on them, her jaw clenching slightly at the memory of what happened today.

"Yeah we did," he answers quickly. "She, uh... she finally got the loose slab on the steps fixed. That thing was a death trap waiting to happen. But no, uh, apart from that, pretty... pretty normal."

Pretty normal is a white lie. Although it is only a lie if Thomas counts what he lets his daughters in on — for what he knows and remembers since his adolescence, what happened today has been a pretty normal staple of every Delaney family reunion since the 1960s. Thomas was meaning to go visit his mother today anyway, but since Peggy was in town, he asked for her to tag along too. His sister had been painfully reluctant to go, but his intention was that maybe seeing their Mom would do something for her. Maybe he'd hoped it would give her a sense of familiarity in amongst her life being turned upside down...

... If a sense of familiarity was a long lecture by their mother, then yes, Peggy certainly got it good.

The tension began like it did every time — despite Thomas's best efforts to preface Peggy's situation to his mother Vivien in the kindest, most neutral way possible, she still criticised it heavily. It was only a matter of time before she was linking it back to Peggy dropping out of college, as always. But this time it got blown out of proportion. Soon Thomas was having to intervene as mediator, after insults of Peggy "bunking up" with her brother like a "hippie" and Vivien being "a tragic excuse for a mother".

Thomas knows they have always had strong personalities; he does believe the Delaney women have always been stronger than the men. Their criticisms had to come from a place of love, he knows this deep down, but still... Thomas can't pretend that it doesn't drive him insane sometimes. Sometimes he grows sick and tired of acting as the intervention — he did that all through his childhood, having to grow up and fill his own father's shoes at times when he was incapable. Now, he has his own family, two daughters who he loves unconditionally. He can't help but wish sometimes that he had somewhere to go, like to his sister or his mother, where he could feel like the son, the brother. Not the man of the house once again.

Nevertheless, if he has been doing it for this many years, Thomas finds it a hard habit to break, which is why his concern grows for Peggy sat next to him. She has been unusually quiet all day; even, in hindsight, before they visited their mother. She gave the impression that she was a little delicate right now, both physically and mentally.

"Hey, what time does the drugstore open on a Friday?" Peggy suddenly asks hoarsely.

Thomas falters for a moment, blinking twice. "I don't know, uh... maybe like, 7 or 8 in the morning? Why?"

"I was just going to drop by and get something, that's all."

"Are you feeling sick?" he asks, concerned.

"I guess I'm a little rough," Peggy stammers with a sudden defensiveness. "I don't know yet, I– I just... have to check. Just in case."

Her forehead creasing with stress, Peggy lets out a shaky sigh. She reaches for her napkin and swipes her lips hastily before placing down her cutlery on her plate.

"I just need the bathroom," she murmurs. "Excuse me."

     As Peggy vanishes to the bathroom, leaving another empty chair at the table, Thomas quizzically mulls over what she just said. What's at the drugstore that she could be so secretive about? What did she mean 'check'? Check what, exactly? Thomas massages his temple and decides to let it go for now — he can always try coaxing something out of her in the morning, after he's come back from his shift at the Hawk Theatre tonight.

     "And then there were three," says Thomas with a smile to the other two remaining girls seated. Cath and Daphne chuckle awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on on their lasagna. Well, that was a bad reception, he thinks sheepishly.

     Oh yeah, he reminds himself. Note to self: your daughters are teens now. They don't think you're cool anymore.

     However, he notices Cath in particular suddenly seems nervous, taking strangely large gulps of water.

"So, where did you run off to before dinner?" Thomas asks her curiously. When they meet eyes, he notices her stare has widened and she has frozen in her seat. He holds his hands up in defence and adds, "You're not in trouble, I promise!"

Still a little on edge, Cath shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. I just... went out for a little bit."

"Did you go see Will again?" Thomas has noticed quite recently how she and Joyce's youngest son have reconnected. They even had him over for dinner the other day after the pair had hung out downtown, and it had been lovely. Thomas had always liked Will Byers — he was a polite, gentle young boy who had clearly been raised in a loving household (excluding Lonnie, of course). So it was wonderful to see him and Cath befriending each other again after all these years; even when they had met as babies, Thomas and Joyce had always said how they felt those two would be connected for life...

"No, not tonight," Cath answers grimly. She pauses for a moment, glancing over at Daphne who nods in affirmation. The behaviour makes Thomas squint at them sceptically. "He... he's not very well, Dad," Cath goes on to explain. "It's kind of to do with last year. He has these episodes, and they've been getting worse the past week."

"God. That sounds horrible."

"It is."

"Poor kid..."

Cath takes another large gulp of water, as Daphne hyper-focuses on her lasagna again — studying the two of them tonight is the most puzzling spectacle for Thomas. He gets the feeling that there is something Cath isn't telling her, and subsequently Daphne too with all the strange looks they keep giving each other throughout the meal. It's almost as if they are in on something he's not.

Thomas does detect a nervousness of sorts in them tonight. He reflects on a conversation he had with Jim Hopper just today, when he bumped into him on a lunch break downtown. They had somehow gotten onto the topic of everything that had happened in Hawkins last year, which Hopper had wrapped up rather quickly in his own words: "Last year, I guess... it's got everyone on edge. It's the anniversary in less than a week now, you know? The day Will went missing. I know Joyce is keeping an extra eye out for the kid. Just... just be there for Cath and Daphne, okay? Those girl have been through more than you know."

     More than I know. Thomas can definitely believe that. Sometimes he feels like there is still a large chunk of the story last year that he's missing, because his daughters never come to him for things anymore. But if so, why has no one told him? He could almost say it all feels rather sketchy. Nevertheless, when the Chief of Police tells you, then so be it — even if said Chief of Police is Jim Hopper, who Thomas still remembers begrudgingly helping through a hangover in the Senior year so the teachers wouldn't notice.

     Cath dabs her lips with a napkin and starts pulling her chair out. "Do you mind if I leave the table?"

     "Hold on, is everything okay?" Thomas asks, reaching out a hand to gently tap her arm. "That goes for the both of you by the way."

     Daphne seems to wake up out of a trance, and the two sisters shoot each other yet another secret look. What is going on in this house tonight? Thomas would ask them, but he just feels like they are distancing themselves from him so much — part of him wants to be as overbearing and concerned as he can, yet the other just wants them to feel comfortable either way. The best he figures he can do right now is extend the olive branch.

     Tucking his chair in a little bit, he looks between the two of them and says, "Look, I know it's been a hard year... for both of you, and it's coming up to the anniversary of it all. I understand that. Really, I do. But you do know if there's anything wrong, you can come and talk to me about it, right? Now I know I might not be the coolest dad in the world —" At this the girls manage a smile, which floods him with relief, "— but there don't have to be any secrets in this house. Okay?"

     After a brief pause, Cath and Daphne nod affirmatively at differing intervals.

     "Now, are you sure you guys will be okay while I'm gone?" Thomas inquires worriedly.

     "Mhmm. We'll be fine. We can keep ourselves busy," says Cath quietly.

     "Yeah, I know what you're doing, Little Missy," Thomas teases her. "Tuning into more 'Family Ties' right on the dot, as always."

     But to his surprise, she answers half-heartedly: "I don't know... maybe not tonight. I– I have homework."

     "Wait, you're sure?" To this, Cath nods in confirmation, leaving Thomas perplexed. 'Family Ties' has become Cath's favourite show, particularly the past year, and it has become ritualistic for her to tune in every week for the new episodes (totally not because she had a certain fondness for the young actor Michael J. Fox, which Thomas had picked up on instantly...). Anything to tear her away from another episode would have to be really big.

     "What about you then, Daphne?" he asks his eldest. "Do you have homework too?"

     "No, not really... I'm, uh... um..." For whatever reason, Daphne fumbles around for an answer, as if she is looking for an excuse. But then suddenly a flash of inspiration seems to hit her like a lightning bolt, making her straighten up in her seat. "I'm actually going to a friend's house. To... study."

     "Study?" Thomas echoes incredulously. Since when has Daphne willingly gone out of the house to study?

     "What, is that so hard to believe?" Daphne cowers, almost slightly offended.

     "Alright, alright, just... who's this friend?"

     "Oh, just... someone."

     Okay. He doesn't like that secrecy at all. But at this rate, Thomas also feels as though he can only smother her so much. "Fine," he gives in. "But no partying, no drinking, no drugs—"

     "Dad, what part of 'study' did you not hear?"

     "I'm just saying!"

     With a defeated sigh, Thomas glances down at his watch just as Peggy re-emerges from the bathroom. "Alright. Just don't be home too late, it's still a school night. I want you both in bed by the time I get home... that means you too, Peggy."

     "Oh yeah," Peggy scoffs. "I'll make sure to have my pacifier and my nightlight on me too."

     After rolling his eyes at her sarcasm, Thomas finds himself suddenly alone at the table as the other three disperse in their separate directions — his daughters descend into the unchartered territories of their bedrooms, while Peggy goes to watch some TV. Alone again, he thinks with a shrug. It might as well be time for him to go to work.

     Thomas finds his uniform jacket and shrugs it on over his white collared shirt, then pats down his trouser pockets to check he definitely had his keys on him. Mid-stroll past the hallway mirror, he notices his tie looks a little bit wonky, so he backtracks and starts adjusting it.

     When he finishes with his tie, he lingers in the hallway — for some reason, he finds himself staring at the vacuum of space behind his shoulder in his reflection. It transports him back to a memory filled with colour and laughter, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but warming his heart once more...

     "Here, let me help you with that."

     Thomas falters on the spot. Brows creased, he spots a pair of twinkling hazel eyes peeking over his shoulder, and he can see from the way they're squinted that she is smiling. Surely enough, when he turns around to face Martha, it is the same unabashedly gleeful grin that knocks him off his feet every time.

     "But... I've already done it?" Thomas says quizzically. "Why do you– do you even know how to tie a tie?"

     "Oh, sure I do. Come on, undo it, I wanna try. Please?"

     "Martha, I'm gonna be late for work—"

     "Pleaaaaaaase!"

     "Okay, okay..." Thomas chuckles, undoing his tie for her. His thins out his lips in the effort to hold back an amused smile, watching as Martha takes both ends of the tie now dangling limply from his collar. With a cautious perseverance, she starts cross-crossing the different parts over each other, and he follows her every move with his eyes.

     "... I can see you laughing, honey."

     "I'm not, I'm not," he shrugs teasingly. "It's just... why the sudden urge to dress me like I'm five?"

     "Isn't this what all the cute old married couples do? Tie their husband's ties before work?" Martha asks rhetorically, dimples carving into her cheeks at the thought. "That's what my mom did for my dad, before she..."

     Her heart seems to sink a little, at the fresh memory of her mother being gone. He knows how hard it still hits her these few months later. It was just a relief she made it to their wedding in her last few weeks. Trying to comfort her subtly, Thomas gently caresses her elbow with the back of his hand; Martha's eyes seem to flutter a little as she gives him a moved smile.

     "Alright, voilá. You can look in the mirror now."

     Thomas spins around to see his reflection, and his brows shoot up at the new tie that only comes down to his chest. "Wow..." he says, "I look like I got shrunk in a laundromat. What is this, like a gnome's tie?" he jokes sheepishly, his heart still skipping a beat like a little kid when he hears Martha's giddy laugh. "Alright, that's it, I'm taking it off."

     "Aw, come on, you can just zip it up under your jacket!" she protests playfully.

     "No, no, I'm fixing this before I go into the Hawk, which has to be in the next minute. 'Shenandoah' isn't going to play itself—"

     "Wait, I just..." Martha threads her fingers through his, a softness seeping into her gaze. "When will you be back? Not too late, right?"

"My shift's past midnight tonight. Hey, you don't have to stay up all night for me, you know," Thomas says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Believe me when I say I'm not worth staying up all night for. After a shift like this, I'm grumpy as hell and just want my sleep."

"I know that, you don't have to tell me."

"Cheeky..."

Martha grins up at him, running her hand up and down his arm before catching his hand and kissing his knuckles. "I love you," she murmurs, eyes still gazing up at him. Thomas leans in and gently presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too."

     Returning from the memory, Thomas finds himself back in the same hallway, some odd twenty years later — the empty space where Martha once stood still lingering. He finds his fingertips brushing the knot of the tie at his neck, not as the freshly married young man he was, but the forty-something widower, starting to grey and wrinkle around the edges.

     With a heavy sigh, Thomas locks away the memory, and silently walks through the door off to work.

━━━━━━

A/N;

oh god, writing this chapter was an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish, especially the graveyard scene and the marthmas flashback... (i really love them so much). but you know what was even more of a rollercoaster? volume 2 of stranger things 🥲👉👉 DO NOT COMMENT SPOILERS HERE, but my god... it's been 10 days and i'm still recovering.

also i'm fully aware that recently with how crazy i've gone with updates, you guys might be like this every time whistleblower pops up in your notifications:

^^ "AGAIN?! DOES IMOGEN EVER REST?" (the answer is no, she doesn't)

but yeah, either this chapter or the following one (chapter 11) will be the last as i take a little break from this book — i'm feeling 100% inspired for this book, don't get me wrong, but i feel like some of my other fics are feeling a bit neglected and i should probably show them some TLC first... 😅😅

however i have a feeling you guys might like/want chapter 11 first before i take a break, because i'm just going to casually mention that it's a staphne chapter... and nothing else. this is NOT a drill!! chapter 11 is PURELY steve and daphne interacting. i can't make this up. so look forward to that i suppose?

thank you for reading as always, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

(p.s: if you see any awful grammar/spelling errors or anything... no you didn't 😳 i wrote this chapter during a heatwave and i just don't have the energy to edit it properly, oops)

— Imogen

[ Published: July 10th, 2022 ]