A/N: Hopper will be a little out of character for this chapter because of how drunk he gets.
It seems that not only did Hopper remember what I tried to do, he hated it. And I suppose I don't blame him - what was I thinking, trying to make a move on a grieving father who was confiding in me as a friend? I haven't seen him since I left the police station so early on Monday morning. It's now Friday, the day before his daughter's birthday. I sigh. I really fucked up.
I would be repulsed by me too, in his place. I start to trust someone, show them vulnerability, and it turns out that they were only being so nice to me because they wanted me? I would hate that person. I mean, I would have helped him out even if I wasn't attracted to him, but he doesn't know that. And if I'm being honest, I certainly wouldn't have been nearly as willing to do so.
But I'm also very worried. He's had a really bad couple of days. Since he's not asking me for rides, is he driving? He isn't coming into the bar, so he's drinking somewhere else, somewhere where someone might over-serve him without a thought. In my desire to help him, I ended up putting him entirely out of my protection.
I can't stop kicking myself for that stupid fucking lean in. If I hadn't done that, Hopper wouldn't hate me. Hell, I think I was getting close to actually being able to help him get better instead of just enabling his unhealthy coping. The least I can do is apologize, and I definitely will, but not until June, at least.
Despite the bar being packed, the shift drags by. Each time the door swings open, my heart jumps to my throat with hope it will be Hopper, and each time in sinks lower than before when it inevitably is not him. When I finally make it home, I collapse into bed, regret and sadness my now-familiar companions.
The next morning, my mom wakes me.
"Tricia, work is calling for you," my mom calls into my bedroom. With a groan, I kick off my covers and head to the kitchen where the phone is. I clear my throat before I answer, trying to clear the sleep from my voice.
"Hello?"
"Tricia, you need to get down here right away," Alex, one of the managers, says.
"Why, did Linda not come in?" He is asking me to take up a shift today, and I really do not want to do that. I need a goddamn break.
"No, everyone is here. But so is Hopper." My heart pounds at his name. He's paused as if that statement explains everything.
"So? I'm not the only person who can serve him." I can't believe he woke me up for this.
"I don't think you understand," he whispers. "He's absolutely sloshed, and he keeps asking if you're working today, saying he needs to talk to you."
"How sloshed?" What exactly is going on? Why does he want to talk to me - yell at me for being disgusting and immoral? Well, so be it. And I'm not going to pass up the chance that he wants to actually talk to me.
"Like he double-parked out front and his ability to stand up is questionable. And his ability to speak below a shout."
"Is he still drinking?"
"Yeah-"
"Alex!" I scold.
"If we didn't serve him, he said he would leave," he exclaims.
"Jesus. Alright, I'll come by, but not to work, just to try to get him a bit more stable." I'm about to hang up. "Oh, and, Alex, for the love of God, take his damn keys."
"What was that about?" my mom asks, peeking her head in the kitchen. I'm frantically making toast and washing an apple.
"I need to go into work." I try to add an explanation, but I'm trying to limit how much I lie to her.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, just need to help take care of one of the customers who got a little unruly."
"Why do they need you to do that? Shouldn't they just call the police?" It's a reasonable question.
"The customer isn't very...I'm the best at handling him, is all. And we want to handle the situation delicately. He's a good customer." I leave the kitchen to get dressed, throwing on jeans and a Blondie t-shirt and my worn converse.
"Okay." I can hear the hesitation in her voice. "When will you be back?"
"What's with the third-degree, Mom? Didn't you want me going out and being independent?" I tease. She huffs.
"I'm a little concerned by this situation. And you're being...shifty."
"I am not," I feverently deny.
"Well, when will you be back?"
"I don't know, Mom," I say, exasperated. "This could take a while." I make to move to the bathroom, but she blocks my way. "Look, I'll call you from the bar when I know more."
"Alright," she concedes, letting me by.
"Who is this customer, anyways?" I freeze mid-toothbrushing, but I recover quickly.
"You don't know him," I say as casually as I'm able.
"I'd like to know his name, at least, in case I ever meet him."
"It's Jim," I answer around my toothbrush.
"Jim what?" I'm rinsing when she asks, so I have a few seconds to think.
"You know, I've never actually caught his last name." I feel a little obligated to preserve the Chief's dignity...and I can't bring myself to completely forego the possibility, however stupidly remote, of my mother approving of him. I grab my purse and the toast and apple to eat on the way and head out.
As I pull up to the bar, I see what Alex meant about "double parked" - Hopper's very distinct truck is slanted the wrong way for the angled parking spaces. I don't care if it will make him hate me more - I will be giving him an earful about getting behind the wheel the second he's sober. But I'll be fixing that parking job ASAP to prevent the entire town from seeing it.
The second I walk in, I spy him slumped against the bar. And I notice the place is unfortunately populated, with everyone keeping about a radius of five feet from Hopper.
"Keep an eye on the bar, I'm going to fix the truck," Alex whispers as I walk over. I nod. He's probably more worried about the parking space being blocked than appearances, but hey, whatever gets the job done.
"Jim?" He starts, whipping around, his hand falling to his holster. Alright, priority number one is getting a loaded gun away from him.
"Oh, Tricia! There you are. Where have you been?"
"I don't usually work Saturdays," I explain. "Where have you been?"
"Passed out, mostly." He takes another swig of his drink, draining it. I make a silent plea that he won't ask for another, and thankfully he doesn't.
"Alex said you were asking to talking to me?" I brave the topic and brace myself for a torrent of rage.
"Oh, right. Can we go some place quieter?"
"Yeah, of course. Have you eaten?" He furrows his brow.
"I don't know. Possibly not. You been to Benny's yet?"
"I don't think so."
"They've got great burgers. You're driving though." He gathers his hat and throws some bills on the counter. He sways as he gets up, and I grab his shirt sleeve in an attempt to keep him upright.
"Easy there," I warn as he staggers to the door. Alex tosses me Hopper's confiscated keys as we leave. In the car, it takes him over a minute to get his seatbelt buckled, but after what happened the last time I got a little too forward, I want to give him plenty of space so he knows I'm not coming on to him. "You know how to get there?"
"Yeah," he grumbles as he lights up.
"Open the window, please."
"Yes, ma'am," he says around the cigarette. Right up here." Other than directions, the rest of the ride he's quiet. He leads me to a greasy-looking diner, but this is definitely in line with what I know of Hopper's tastes. "Do you need help?" I ask as we leave the car, but he ignores me, stumbling around on his own.
"Benny!" Hopper calls loudly as he enters. A burly man looks up from the table he was serving with an expression of surprise and walks over to greet us.
"Hopper, hey, man, how you doing?" It takes him a second to notice me, and when he does, he looks me over. "I don't believe we've met, name's Benny," he says, hand outstretched. I shake it.
"I figured as much," I say with a smile. "I'm Tricia."
"Nice to meet you. What can I do for you two?"
"A table and a beer for now. Tricia, you want anything?"
"Just water for me."
As Benny leads us to a table away from the other guests (good - we're going to need some privacy with Hopper like this), Hopper starts to fall again, and Benny helps stabilize him. It's a relief to have someone muscular to help with that task.
Once we're seated, Benny heads back to the other table.
"You said that your grief knocked you out for a bit." That was abrupt. I nod. "How did you get over it, you know. I'm assuming you are since you're thinking about going to art school."
"How do you know that?"
"Heard you talkin' bout it with Harriet." Oh, yeah, I guess I did mention that. He really has trained himself to pay attention to every detail.
"Oh, right. And yeah, yeah, I did get over the worst of it. I still miss her, of course, but it's not the same soul-crushing thing."
"So, how?" he prompts. I think for a few seconds.
"Time, obviously, but that's sort of...anyways, I also found that finding little ways to honor her in my daily life made it easier to move on." Benny comes over with our drinks.
"A burger for myself and, Tricia, you too?"
"Do you have anything vegetarian?" I ask with doubt. I notice Hopper makes a face as he takes a sip of his beer.
"Eh," Benn scratches the back of his neck. "I can get you some fries?"
"That'll be fine." With a backward glance, he leaves us to our conversation.
"What do you do? To honor her," he adds at my confusion.
"Oh, well, she really liked candles, and so do I. So every time I light a candle, it makes me think of her. I wear a ring of hers," I hold up my right hand to show the gold band on my ring finger. "It helps me think of her and feel close to her. And I try to live my life like she would advise me to: taking no shit from anyone and being kind to others. When things get tough, sometimes I sort of talk to her," I admit, playing with the wrapper on my straw.
"How?"
"I mean, not literally. I just think about driving around with her, like we would do when I was younger and was fighting with my mom or dad. And I tell her about what's going on, and I imagine what she would say. It's sort of silly, but it helps." He grunts.
"It doesn't sound silly. It sounds nice." There is a long moment of silence; I want to ask him about his daughter, but I don't want to make him feel worse. "Your grandma, she sounds like a wise lady."
"She was," I say with a sad smile, surprised that tears are welling up in me. I wipe them away, embarrassed to have shown that emotion to Hopper. "Like I said, I still miss her." There's a strange expression on his face, almost like relief.
"When my daughter, Sarah, died, people always would say time, time time. I suppose they meant well. But it's been time. It's been years, and it's still just as raw." I reach for him, laying my hand on his before I can stop myself, but he doesn't pull away.
"Yeah. And it doesn't help that people seem to expect, you know, that after two, maybe three, weeks, you're back to normal."
"Exactly!" He slams his mug down, spending droplets of beer flying. I move my hand off his to wipe off my skin and the table. "Sorry," he mutters.
"It deserves the emphasis," I say with a smile. "I think that makes it worse, even. Not just not having the space to mourn, but the expectation that you should be fine. Makes it harder to reach out and be supported." Before he has the chance to respond, Benny delivers our food. But based on the shining expression on his face, that resonates with him.
"Everything look good?"
"Yessir. Another beer though." Benny looks at me for confirmation on this order. I just shrug - so long as Hopper's not throwing up, he can keep drinking.
"Coming right up, Hop." Hopper slides the near-empty mug back and forth across his side of the table, and then twists it in his hands.
"Was it sudden?" he asks. I shrug.
"Sort of. She was hospitalized with what we thought was pneumonia but turned out to be lung cancer. At that point it was too late to do anything, and she passed away a few weeks later. So we knew it was coming, but it all happened faster than we thought." I swallow hard.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be making you talk about this-"
"You're not making me, and it's good to talk about. My mom and her weren't particularly close, so even she's tired of talking about this now. I like remembering her, sharing her memory with others." I wait to see if he'll start talking about his daughter, but he just takes a bite of his burger.
"Those blue bands you wear - they were Sarah's?" I venture. He freezes for a second, and I'm worried I've pushed him, but then he sets his burger down and nods.
"Yeah. Her hair ribbons. It's like you said - it keeps them on your mind." I eat my fries, giving him space to talk. I feel like he's close to- "For us, it wasn't that sudden. It was...drawn out. She was in the hospital for months, fighting. She had the best of care, but it just wasn't enough." He swallows and downs the rest of his beer, and I get the feeling he's trying not to cry. "It was obvious she wasn't getting better, but I couldn't give up hope. It hurt like hell to see her suffer, and I was terrified each time we visited it would be the last, but I still wasn't ready when it happened." I reach my hand out again - he didn't seem to mind before, and it makes me feel like I'm doing something to help him. When he speaks again, his voice is even deeper and gravelier than usual.
"Diane, my ex, she was more prepared for it. I think for her, even though Sarah was now gone, it was easier. There was something concrete to mourn, and the tortuous anticipation was done. But I just couldn't," his voice cracks. He might not be crying, but I'm close to crying for him. "I couldn't wrap my head around her being gone." I squeeze his hand. I wish I could hold him in my arms, but he'd hate that. "There was just this awful loss."
"It probably wasn't easy, processing it all differently than your wife." His eyes go distant.
"Yeah. I sure put her through a lot," he sighs and looks around for more beer. He looks behind me for Benny, and a few seconds later Benny brings the second mug over. Seconds later it's near-empty. He wipes the foam away with the back of his hand. "She had to deal with my baseless optimism the whole time Sarah was in the hospital while she had already come to terms with reality.
"And then I...I wasn't there for Diane, after Sarah died. It hurt too much to see her. She looked so much like Sarah. And I couldn't stand how...resilient she was - it seemed like she didn't care. I mean, I see now that taking care of things, keeping our lives from falling apart, it helped her. She coped by keeping living while I was drinking away my paychecks and gambling what I didn't drink. Believe it or not, I used to be worse than this," he says with a dark smile as he finishes the rest of the beer. He then gestures to Benny for another.
"Would it help to tell me about her?"
"Who?"
"Sarah," I clarify. His gaze goes glassy again, and I know he's far away. He's quiet for a long time, I figure the answer is no, but then he starts talking, and he doesn't stop. He tells me about her smile, her laugh. How smart she was; how she wanted to know everything about dinosaurs and stars and animals. He tells me about the park near their house where they would play, about the vacation they took to the lake and how she asked him questions about the waves until he had to promise to get her a book on it when they got home. He tells me about how she would jump up and down in excitement when he got home, or they went to get ice cream, or they started watching her favorite movie.
As he talks, he'll gesture wildly or beam at a pleasant memory of her intelligence or kindness or silliness. He makes me laugh, he makes me have to hold back tears, he makes me desperately wish I could bring his daughter back.
"She sounds wonderful," I tell him after he downs another beer, his eyes going distant again. "And it sounds like she was blessed with wonderful parents." He looks at me with a sharper pain than I've seen before - whoops. Looks like I unintentionally hit on something. I lean in. "I mean that, Hopper. I really do."
"Thank you," he mutters and gestures for another beer. Hours have passed, and the sky is growing pink, but I don't want to say goodbye. And I don't want him to be alone.
"Jim, just so you know, we close in thirty. Now I'm happy to let you stay-"
"No, you don't need to trouble yourself. Tricia should be going home soon anyways. I've kept her captive here long enough. What do I owe you?" Hopper stands, so I do too. But I can see that the sadness has settled on him just as deeply as before, so there's no way I'm leaving him just yet.
"It's on the house," the man just as big as Hopper replies.
"Benny, c'mon-"
"Jim, I said it's on the house." For doing someone a favor, he's being rather firm about it, but I suppose it's because he knows Hopper is going to be reluctant to accept. And I'm not at all surprised when Hopper throws $30 down before Benny can object.
"I'll have drunk you broke otherwise," he argues and heads for the door, linking his arm with mine. Benny just sighs loudly.
"Take care, Hopper."
Back in the car, Hopper sighs heavily. "You mind stopping at Big Buy before you drop me off? I'm out of booze."
"That's fine, just direct me."
We get to the store, Hopper managing to keep on his feet the whole way inside. He heads directly for the beer aisle while I trail behind, ready to catch him if need be. Thankfully the store isn't too crowded right now, so only a few people are witnessing their Chief of Police staggering around. Unsurprisingly, we garner quite a few stares, but it isn't until Hopper is checking out his three six-packs that I realize more people are staring at me than him. I whip out my compact, checking if I have ketchup all over my face or something, but there is nothing out of place on my face. Well, that's rather odd, but before I can dwell on it too much I have to help Hopper in the car.
And then he directs me to his place, and I can barely believe this isn't a dream. Are these ideal circumstances? No way. But it's become clear that he doesn't hate me, which is a relief. And I've learned my lesson not to come on to him no matter how much I want to.
We keep driving farther from Hawkins until we're on a dirt road without another house in view. I pull up to a trailer home parked right on a lake. The sun is just peeking above the horizon, casting a beautiful twilight around the area.
"This place is beautiful," I tell him while he's grabbing his beers.
"Thanks. I'll see you round," he says without a backward glance.
"Hopper," I say, hurrying out of the car. "Let me help you in." I'm realizing I probably should have put a cap on how much beer he was buying. He could easily drink himself dead with all this and the state he's already in. Amazingly, he doesn't object.
I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter! Reviews help keep me motivated and are always appreciated!
