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She’s just finishing up cleaning the kitchen after everyone’s had their breakfast when she hears hesitant footsteps attempt to quietly make their way onto the linoleum floor. The smile doesn’t show in her voice when she calls out his name, “Will, honey? Your turn for the snack run again?”
Behind her, a small eep, “Uh, yes, Mrs. Wheeler.”
She turns to look at him, drying another dish to pile up alongside the others, waiting on the counter to be put up. He looks nervous, probably thinking to himself that old adage about mothers having eyes in the backs of their heads and wants to laugh.
Really, it’s just that Will’s the quietest of the four of them.
Mike would have already been yelling, halfway up the basement stairs, for her to prepare them something, stomping loudly, demanding without a single lick of the manners she’s definitely raised him with.
Lucas is fairly quieter than Mike, but he’s got the same amount of energy, footsteps up the stairs and down the hall frenetic and excited, impeccable Sinclair manners like a sudden press of brakes on a car, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Wheeler, is it okay if I get some snacks for everyone?”
Dustin’s footfalls are in between the two of them, heavy but like he’s trying to keep quiet, friendly and overfamiliar but in a way that makes Karen want to squeeze a cheek unlike Ted who has nothing but a raise of his eyebrows to say in response to, “Mrs. W! Where did Mike hide the Razzles?”
She nods over to the other side of the kitchen. “If you look inside the fridge, I set aside a few pops for you all. Please remind Mike that he can only have one, he’s already had too many today.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wheeler.” Despite his obedient manners, she’s sure if Mike harassed Will enough, he’d let him have his. She shakes her head fondly.
“I’m sure Mike asked for the Cool Ranch Doritos— those are in the cupboard where the cereal is. You know where.”
Will creeps forwards, still such a nervous little boy despite knowing Karen and the Wheelers for years now. “Oh, um, thank you, Mrs. Wheeler.” She finishes drying the last of the plates as Will putters around the kitchen collecting their snacks on feet as quiet as a Borrowers'. It makes her feel less lonely as she does her chores, Holly down for a nap, Ted at work, Nancy holed up in her room and constantly on the phone.
She thinks he’s going to leave, but instead footsteps stutter and return, bright against the linoleum floor as he turns back, pop cans clattering as he sets them down on the counter. “Mrs. Wheeler, do you need some help putting the dishes away?”
Karen just about melts, turning to dry her hands with the dishtowel as she smiles at Will who's not looking at her, down at his hands where his fingers interlock and squeeze, fidgeting. “Aren’t you just the sweetest? I wish Mike was as good as you.”
Will flushes, round cheeks bright, as he attempts to defend his friend. “No, he’s great! I think he just— I mean I’m not making excuses but—” As his mother, she just sighs, patting him on the shoulder.
“It’s okay, Will. You should go play.” Karen knows they’re in the middle of one of the tournaments or however it’s called and they can sometimes last for hours. She doesn’t know how they get so absorbed in telling stories but she was a kid once— remembers wanting to be just as tiny as The Borrowers, a new world so exciting and big and reimagined.
She’s just grateful they aren’t out there getting hurt or causing trouble.
“I’ll help you, it’s okay.” Will says, looking straight at her, tone still soft but with an undercurrent of something that she can see he’ll grow into. Just like his brother, Jonathan, and his mother, Joyce, there’s a solid core of independence in them all— but where his brother’s seems to keep him from others, Joyce’s directed solely for the care of her sons, Will’s seems slightly ambivalent right now.
Karen knows what they say about little Will Byers. Has heard it one too many times from Ted’s muttered, under the breath comments. The other parents whenever they get together, hissing barely disguised insults with a gaze sharpened on a small figure. She knows everyone thinks the soft-spoken sensitivity only indicates that he’s queer and doomed for the same illness that panicked sounding newscasters keep talking about. It just about breaks her heart that they don’t know how sweet he is— just a little boy and one who's gone through far too much already; Mike crying to her about Lonnie Byers.
She shakes her head, glad that man is long gone now.
Whether it’s true or not that Will is like that, she hopes that strength within him never develops at the cost of just how sweet he is— doesn’t turn him away from friends she can see he loves or run him ragged to the bone like his mother. She doesn’t want to see that fade away, something within him reminding her of her Holly, another bright spot in her life that she is determined to keep glowing. She doesn’t want to see the world break that into pieces.
“Thank you, Will. You know where everything goes, right?”
He nods, reaching for a stack of plates.
It cuts her workload in half, having this little helper, and even leaves her with a little time to enjoy a cup of tea as Will finishes up. It’s just in time— Mike’s telltale stomps coming up the stairs to slam the door open, “Will! Where the heck are you?”
She sighs into her tea, “Language, Michael.”
He skids to a stop, shoes squeaking against the clean floor, a new smudge to clean up. “What?” His dark eyes are wide as he blinks at them, Will gathering up the snacks in his arms again, “Were you making him do your chores again, mom?!”
She sends him a strict look over the top of Will’s head and he pouts, chastised.
“Mike.” Will frowns at him, his attention snagged with his gentler tone, voice firmer, that core of independence he’d been raised on, “I asked to help her. It’s fine.”
Her son vehemently disagrees, throwing his hands up in the air. She wonders where he gets all this from because it’s not from her and it’s certainly not from Ted. It’s probably Nancy, then.
“No, it’s not fine! C’mon! I’m gonna lose my dee-em mojo— you took forever!” Mike bullies his way over to Will, “Here,” he says, softer now, “I’ll help.” He takes two of the pop cans from him and the bag of chips and tries reaching for a third can.
“I got it, Mike, jeez.” Will says softly. He turns to Karen, “Thank you for the snacks, Mrs. Wheeler.”
She can barely say her own thanks for his help as Mike herds him back to the basement, hearing him say ow, likely an elbow to his side, before he’s shouting his own thanks as the door slams shut, Mike’s footsteps loud as they descend, Will’s completely muffled by them.
Karen finishes her tea and breathes out as she gets up, knees a little achey. The smudge on the floor laughs at her and she sighs. It’s a Sunday and she needs to get everything ready for the week, start the roast and make sure there’s a beer in the fridge for Ted when he gets off of work in an hour.
It’s November the sixth and she doesn’t know it, but it’s the last time she’ll see little Will Byers.