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"I Can See Clearly Now"

I can see clearly now the rain is gone

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

- Nash

It was a relief to get home and change out of the too-fancy funeral clothes, to feel normal again. To feel like Will's mom, and not like whatever unnatural creature had attended that funeral.

Joyce felt enough better that she was able to lie down and think about taking a nap, letting herself pretend everything was normal long enough to drift away.

But she was awakened all too soon by a banging from the living room. Wandering in there still half asleep, she found Lonnie, still in his dress shirt from the funeral, nailing boards over the hole in the wall. Well, apparently he felt right at home, then. This was new, Joyce thought. If he had spent more time at home fixing things up years ago, none of them might be in this situation now.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"What does it look like I'm doing? You want to freeze to death all winter?"

She didn't have anything to say to that. Not that she had entirely wanted to freeze, and she would have fixed the wall eventually, but his attitude seemed completely unnecessary.

Something else seemed off about the room. She looked around vaguely for a second before she realized: He had taken down all the lights. They lay neatly coiled in piles.

"I told you not to take these down!"

"They were in the way, babe. How long are you going to keep those up? I mean, really."

Joyce just glared at him and started putting the lights back up. She may not know exactly what had happened to Will, or where he had gone when she told him to run, or how it was that they had buried a body that looked exactly like him, but she knew that as long as there was any chance at all that her boy might need her again, those lights were staying right where they were.

She had forgotten what it was like to have someone else around who thought they were in charge … and she didn't entirely like it. This had been her house too long for her to want someone else to come in and start messing with her things.

They worked for a moment in silence before Lonnie remarked, "You know, it's a shame what they've done to this family."

"What?"

"The Sattler Company. I went to the quarry on the way over here. I just wanted to look around, you know? Couldn't believe it. Just couldn't believe it." He positioned another nail in the board and started hammering. "No warning signs, no fence, no nothing. Ought to be held accountable, if you ask me."

Since she had never believed that body in the quarry was Will's, Joyce had never given that much thought. She supposed he was right, if some child had fallen in, it might have been better if there were signs.

"So, what, you want to talk to them, get them to put up signs and a fence, keep this from happening to some other kid?"

Lonnie glanced at her, placing another board. "Something like that, yeah."

"Huh." Joyce kept hanging the lights, glad Lonnie hadn't pulled out all the nails. That sounded surprisingly nice of him. She'd never known him to worry about other people. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, strange as that sounded. But … if Will really was—gone, then maybe that had shaken Lonnie up, made him think about what was really important. Stranger things had happened.

Lonnie finished boarding up the hole, stepping back to look at what he had done. "If I say it myself, I do nice work."

"Yeah, that's great. Thanks."

He looked at her, watching her standing on top of the coffee table to attach the lights to the ceiling. "It's a start." Clearing his throat, he said, "I think I'll go take a shower."

"Sounds good. You need towels?"

"I know where they are."

Joyce rolled her eyes. Maybe he did know where the towels were, but he didn't have to make it sound so … intimate. What did he think was going on here? Did he think she'd be so grateful for his help that she'd fall right back into old habits, bad habits? Maybe she would have, once, but not now. Not anymore.

Waiting until she heard the splashing of the water that indicated he had stepped into the shower, she took his bag, which he had left out on the chair, and opened it, digging around. There was always something with Lonnie. It was never straightforward. It was always something he wanted, she reminded herself.

And then, in his wallet, she found it. A folded up paper—an ad for lawyers. "Accidental injury or death," it said. "Let us fight for you."

How could she have been so stupid as to think he was really here for Will? God, would she never be done falling for Lonnie's crap? Of course he was here to see what he could get out of this. It sickened her. His own son. Her boy. And all Lonnie could think about was money.

It took all she could do not to storm in there and pull him out of the shower—but she didn't want either one of them to be naked for this conversation.

She waited until he came out, all satisfied with himself. He'd put on cologne, for God's sake. He really did think he could just walk right in here and everything would fall into his lap, didn't he?

Wordlessly, she held out the paper.

"I can explain."

"Can you? Can you explain why you had a lawyer's ad in your wallet? Is that why you came?"

"I came for you! I came for Will."

"You didn't come for us!" He could make her mad so fast. She wanted to punch his lights out. "You were here for the money!" She shoved the paper at his chest.

"No!"

"Just the money! Admit it," Joyce demanded. "You weren't here 'cause of Will, you never cared about him! You never did!" How could she have believed he would suddenly care now, when he never had before?

"Jesus, Joyce, it was his funeral today. Do we have to do this right now?"

"I can't believe I fell for this."

"I'm here to help, Joyce."

"To help?"

"We could use that money for good."

"Oh, like, you mean, to pay off your debts?" She knew he had some. He always had some.

"To pay for Jonathan to go to school."

"Oh!" How dare he. How dare he come in here and pretend to be a concerned father wanting to provide for his family. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Lie to me!"

"I'm not lying to you!"

"Yeah? Well, where does he want to go? Huh?" Let him answer that one, if he was such a caring father.

"What?"

"Where does Jonathan want to go to college?"

"We get that money, anywhere he damn well pleases!"

"NYU, Lonnie!" she screamed at him. "He's wanted to go to NYU since he was six years old!"

"So then he goes to NYU!" he screamed back.

He had never known. Not that, or anything else about the boys that mattered, because what his kids wanted, or needed, had never mattered to him. Joyce swore she would never fall for this again, not for so much as a second. "Get out. Get out!"

Lonnie changed tactics, suddenly calm and charming with that little cocky smile that worked for him so often. "You need me here, Joyce."

"Oh, brother, I have not needed you for a long time." She shoved him back away from her.

"Oh, no? Look what happened." This time, his smile was the one that said he held the winning card. She hated this smile, and what he was implying. Like she was the bad parent, when he had run off and left them entirely.

"Don't you dare. At least I was here!"

"Come on, Joyce! Just look around this place. All your Christmas lights. What the hell am I supposed to think, you're such a great mom? You're a mess."

"Maybe I am a mess," she told him. "Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm out of my mind. But God help me, I will keep these lights up until the day I die if I think there's a chance that Will's still out there." She picked up his bag and shoved it at him. "Now, get out! Get out of my house!"

"You won't get a penny of that money."

"Yeah, well, I hope you don't get it, either. Because that wasn't Will."

"You're a nutcase," he told her as she pushed him out the door.

"I'd rather be a nutcase than abandon my children."

He scoffed at that one, but he went, getting into his car and driving away. Joyce stood there watching him, shaking, until she was sure he was gone, then she went back inside to finish hanging the lights.

In the ruins of his trailer, Hopper wrestled with belief. That Hawkins Lab had covered up whatever had really happened to Will he could buy. But if that was true, then … what Joyce was saying was true, too, or it could be. Will was in the lights, or the wall. How? Hopper didn't know. This required—faith. Understanding. Imagination. And he had buried all of those with Sara. He didn't know how to get them back, not even now when another child's life hung in the balance.

Lost, scared, not sure if he could do the job that lay ahead of him, he did what he always did when he didn't know what else to do. He reconnected the phone and dialed a familiar number, listening to the ring.

It surprised him when Diane picked up, her clear, crisp voice coming to him through the phone lines. "Hey," he said.

Her voice changed, softening, but also becoming wary. "Jim?"

"Yeah."

Diane sighed in exasperation. "Why are you calling me here? I told you not to call me."

"Yeah, I know, I know. I just wanted to—just wanted to hear your voice." Once upon a time, talking to her at the end of every night had grounded him, made him a better cop, reminded him that everyone he dealt with all day wanted just this—to go home to their family. He had forgotten that recently. He continued, haltingly, not sure just how to say what he wanted to say, "And, uh, I just wanted to say that, um, even after everything that happened, I don't—I don't regret any of it. And those seven years, they were … everything to me."

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, in the tone of a woman who had heard it all, too many times before.

"No," he told her. "No."

In the background, he heard a baby crying. Diane's baby. That had never stopped hurting, that she had been able to move on and start over. He heard her shushing the baby, softly, in the same loving tones she had used with Sara. For once, he wasn't angry with her, or bitter. Just … envious. Just thinking that maybe it might be nice to move on, if only he knew how.

"You know what, actually I have been drinking," he said at last, as the baby kept crying and Diane kept soothing it. It was easier this way. "I'm sorry."

"Jim. I can't …"

"Just take care of yourself. Okay? Say hi to Bill for me." As he put the receiver down, he heard her ask, "Are you sure?"

And for once, he was. That life was gone. It was over and done with. He had a new life now, and it needed him to be on top of his game.