Work Text:
Janice Copeland heard them before she saw them, their laughter echoing from the gravel parking lot. Teenagers, she thought grimly, bracing herself.
It was a little early for the younger crowd, just past seven. Nan’s Luncheonette usually wouldn’t be swarmed until the high school let out in the afternoon. Until then, the diner was the purview of pensioners and the odd long-haul trucker.
So far, the only customer had been Wilt Gauthier, who currently sat at the counter, nursing a cup of black coffee. Once he was done with the sports section of the Boston Globe, he’d ask for another, along with a slice of toast, no butter, and two fried eggs, yolks extra runny—same as he’d done nearly every morning since Janice started waitressing here almost fifteen years ago. Same as he’d continue to do until he shuffled off this mortal coil, his battered flat cap pulled low over his thinning hair and the paper folded carefully under one arm, the other raised in a wordless farewell.
Some things in life, believed Janice, you could count on.
The voices were louder now, getting closer. Janice could even make out words in the muffled din. “Foul!” someone called out.
“Fuck yeah, Eds! Get ‘em!” another shouted.
More laughter. Then, there were heavy, pounding footsteps on the stairs. The bell over the door swung wildly as it flew open.
Both Janice and Wilt jumped as two men—two grown men—burst into the diner. The one who was slightly ahead skidded to a stop in front of the hostess stand, slapping it with one hand. “I win!”
“You w-win,” the other stuttered, breath coming in short puffs. It was like he had to force the words out. “You c-c-cheater.”
“It’s not my fault you tripped,” the winner, who bore a striking resemblance to the actor in that Hitchcock flick—the one who stabs that poor girl in the shower—said.
Both were a mess. Even from behind the counter, Janice could tell that their clothes were damp, hanging oddly in places and sticking uncomfortably in others. As the man who’d won the race bounced from foot to foot, Janice could hear the wet squelch of his sneakers. And… was that blood? He had a patch of medical gauze taped to one of his cheeks. The mud—or blood—had soaked through it and dried to a rusty brown.
Unfazed, Wilt grumbled under his breath and readjusted his newspaper.
Before Janice could say anything, the bell over the door tinkled again. Several more people crowded into the diner’s vestibule—three men and a woman. All of them looked like they’d been doused in something unspeakable, then hastily hosed off, clothes and all.
“Who won?” one of them, a tall man with glasses, asked eagerly. The lenses of his glasses were cracked, giving his eyes a bizarre kaleidoscope effect. Janice wondered if he could still see through them.
“Eh-Eh-Eddie,” the loser said. He was bent at the waist, hands on his knees, still panting.
“You okay there, Big Bill? Still hungry after eating your words?”
Big Bill, apparently, still had the energy to lift his middle finger. Glasses cackled.
“That’s enough, boys.” The woman, a stunning red-head wearing a button-down shirt several sizes too big, pushed her way to the front of the group. “Good morning!” She gave Janice a sunny smile. “Table for six, please.”
“Get a booth, Bev!” cried Glasses. “Booth! Booth! Booth!” he chanted, until Eddie elbowed him hard in the side.
Bev sighed. “Could we get a booth?”
“If you don’t mind, Janice,” a familiar voice piped up.
Janice blinked. “Mr. Hanlon?” For a moment there, she hadn’t recognized him. For one thing, he was smiling. Janice didn’t think she’d ever seen the town librarian smile, especially not as wide as the one he wore now. It brightened up his whole face, making him appear younger—years younger—than he was. But it was more than that. He stood straighter, more at ease, like a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders.
“I know, it’s been a while,” he said, a touch bashful. “And I’ve told you before, it’s just ‘Mike.’”
In the past few months, Janice had only seen Michael Hanlon a few times. The last was the most memorable.
It had been a slow, rainy night. Janice was five minutes from closing up when Mr. Hanlon—just Mike—came in. He’d looked awful, bags under his eyes, his hands stained with what looked like ink. He hadn’t said more than a few words, just ordered a cup of coffee (lukewarm, as Janice had switched off the hot plate a while ago), which he drank with grim determination, staring blankly ahead. As Janice refilled the ketchup bottles, she noticed his leg was shaking. When it came time to lock up, Mike insisted on waiting out in the rain, only getting into his car once Janice was safely in hers.
In the weeks since, she’d thought about the painfully earnest way he’d told her to “take care of herself,” as though those might be his last words to her. Janice was glad they weren’t.
“It’s good to see you, Mike,” she said. It was also good to see that he had… friends? Derry was a small town, so Janice should have recognized them if they were locals. She was sure she’d never seen these people before. Friends visiting from out of town?
As she gathered some menus, she looked them over more closely. They all seemed to be about Mike’s age, so younger than Janice by more than she’d like to admit. Still, older than the teenagers Janice had first thought they were. She could see how she’d made that mistake, though. The whole group was buzzing with boisterous, childlike energy you rarely saw in people out of their twenties. It was odd. Not the oddest thing she’d seen living in Derry, but still odd.
Besides Bill, Eddie, Bev and Glasses, there was another man hanging back by the door. He was the dirtiest of them all, but smiled pleasantly when Janice accidentally met his eye. He was wearing cowboy boots, which were caked in mud so dark it was nearly black. In the diner’s overhead fluorescent lights, it had an odd shine to it, like an oil slick.
“What happened?” Janice asked Mike with a dread she struggled to place. “Are you okay? You’re all—”
“Oh, yeah, we’re fine,” he said quickly. “We just went for an early morning swim in the quarry.”
“And you forgot your bathing suits?”
“It was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”
Janice wasn’t sure she believed that. “Reliving your youth?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mike chuckled. “Something like that.”
“We’re mostly d-d-dry now,” Bill said. He’d gotten his breath back, but the stutter persisted.
“I told you we should have gone back to the hotel first,” said Eddie.
“Don’t worry,” said Janice. “The booths are covered with plastic. Besides, they’ve seen worse.”
They really had. The diner had been a popular haunt since Janice’s grandparents were teenagers. It had certainly seen its share of spills, along with the usual wear and tear from customers with work boots, tracking in mud and manure. Derry was still a rural town, after all. The light fixtures that hummed overhead were covered with a fine layer of dust. The linoleum floor, which must have once been white, was now a sickly yellow. Its tiles were peeling up in places. Most of the booths had been repaired with duct tape with various levels of success. A little quarry water (if that’s what it really was) wouldn’t hurt.
She led the group towards a booth a respectful distance from old Wilt, who was eyeing them warily over the top of his newspaper.
Glasses dove onto one of the benches, dragging Eddie along with him. Mike took the seat on the end. The other three filed into the opposite bench, Bev in the middle. It was a tight squeeze—Janice almost suggested a different table—but they all seemed pleased with the arrangement and she wasn’t one to make trouble where there wasn’t any.
“What can I get you folks to drink?” she asked, as she passed out the menus.
“C-Coffee,” said Bill.
“Water,” said Bev.
“Waters for the table, please,” said Cowboy Boots.
“Coffee for me too, thanks,” said Mike.
“What’s your finest champagne?” asked Glasses, scanning the menu.
“Richie!” Eddie hissed.
“We’re celebrating!” declared Glasses—Richie, apparently. To Janice, he said, in a surprisingly good British accent, “I’d also be open to a sparkling wine, depending on the vintage.”
“We don’t have sparkling wine,” said Janice, fighting back a smile.
“Vodka?”
“We don’t serve alcohol here.”
“Bummer,” said Richie, dropping the voice. “Then I’ll have a strawberry milkshake, extra whipped cream.”
“For breakfast?”
“Breakfast is a construct, Eddie, my love.”
“We’ve still managed to do six impossible things before it,” said Mike.
“Lucky Six,” Cowboy Boots intoned, like it meant something.
There was a beat, then Bill laughed—a bit hysterically, in Janice’s opinion. The rest of the table joined him. It was like the floodgates had opened. The odd feeling around the group intensified. Janice felt goosebumps prickle on the skin of her arms. They all laughed in that same way, ragged and sharp. Instead of tapering off, it only got louder. And it didn’t look like they’d be stopping anytime soon.
“I’ll let you look over the menu,” Janice said, leaving them to it.
From his seat at the counter, Wilt was now openly staring. He caught Janice’s eye as she passed. “Drugs?” he mouthed. Janice shrugged before sticking her head into the pass-through window.
“Big order coming up,” she called out to the 20-something line cook, Todd, who had propped that back door of the kitchen open, his vape pen dangling from one hand. He nodded before leaning his head out the open door, a cloud of smoke billowing from his nose and mouth.
Guess that’s technically ‘outside.’ Though, if the new manager, Greg, were on duty, she knew he’d disagree. Greg had a stick up his ass, though he couldn’t be bothered to put in an appearance until after nine.
As she fetched the drinks, Janice could hear the laughter from the booth start to die down, trickling off into the occasional fit of giggles. Nan’s wasn’t a large diner and there weren’t any other tables to drown out their conversation. Not that the Hanlon party wasn’t making an effort to keep their voices down.
“Is it still breakfast if we never went to sleep?” Bev asked.
“Of course it’s still breakfast! It’s the morning!” said Eddie. “You eat breakfast in the morning!”
“But what if it’s a non-breakfast food?”
“I think it c-counts,” said Bill. “We’re still ‘breaking our f-f-f-fast.’”
“We really are,” Mike said. “Now that I think about it, in all the excitement, we skipped dinner.”
Bev groaned. “I’m starving.”
“Ritualistic murder really works up an appetite,” Richie said.
“Beep, beep.”
“What’s good he-ere, Mikey?”
Mike considered this question carefully. “The pancakes,” he said.
“I could destroy a stack of pancakes,” said Bev. “Chocolate chip, drowning in butter and syrup.”
“Don’t tease me, Bevvie.”
“Get your own, Tozier.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m ordering one of everything and I’m not sharing. Because I deserve it.”
“For what? Getting c-caught in the D-D-D—?”
“Oh, fuck you, Bill! That was intentional! Someone had to save your sorry ass.”
“And Eddie had to save both of you,” said Bev. “That’s why he can have one of my pancakes.”
“Hey!”
“Thanks.”
“Just one, though. I’m really, really hungry.”
Janice took that as her cue, returning back to the booth. “What will it be?” she asked, sliding her order pad from the pocket of her apron.
Richie didn’t order one of everything, but did order enough sides to feed a small army. True to her word, Bev asked for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Ben, an egg white omelet with spinach and mushrooms.
“Really, Ben? Bold choice,” said Richie, once he’d placed his order. “I thought you had enough scrambled eggs this morning.”
The others groaned. “Beep, beep, man,” said Mike.
Bill took his rolled up straw wrapper and threw it at him. Richie just snickered, looking pleased with himself.
Janice went to put in the order. As Todd fired up the grill and got to work, she lingered nearby, absently wiping down one of the pockmarked tabletops she’d cleaned before opening. Really, she was eavesdropping. An ugly habit, her mother would have said, but at least she wasn’t alone. Behind his paper, she could tell Wilt was doing the same.
“Thank you, guys,” said Mike. “Twenty-seven years ago, we made a promise. And all of you kept it. You didn’t have to, but you did. And that means a lot.”
“To the Losers,” said Ben, raising his glass.
“Here! Here!” said Richie, doing the same with his milkshake.
Bill lifted his mug. “To Stan,” he said solemnly. “The b-best of us.”
“To Stan,” the rest of the table echoed. They toasted.
The “Losers” were more subdued after that. Now, with the added sounds from the kitchen, it wasn’t as easy to overhear what was being said. What pieces she did catch were confusing, words like turtle and sewers and… clown? No, that couldn’t be right. She needed to get closer. But when Janice came over with the coffee pot, all conversation abruptly stopped.
“Thanks,” said Mike with a tight smile, pushing his mug towards her.
Janice couldn’t help herself. “Class reunion?” she asked as she poured.
”It’s more of a club.”
“Oh?”
Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzzzzt! Someone’s phone buzzed. Eddie shifted in his seat, reaching into his pocket for his phone. When he caught sight of the screen, he frowned and, after a moment’s hesitation, declined the call.
“Who was that?” asked Richie. “Mommy Dearest?”
“My wife,” he said, stiffly.
Apparently, Richie didn’t have anything to say to that.
Janice offered Bill more coffee, but he declined with a shake of his head.
“I think I lost my phone,” said Bev.
“You can borrow mine,” said Ben. “If it still works.”
“Thanks. It’s probably for the best. I would’ve had to change my number, anyway. Just thought it would be after I served Tom the divorce papers.”
Bill winced. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
“Don’t be. I should have done it years ago. After he hit me the first time.”
The silence was loud. Suddenly, Janice felt like she was intruding. “I’ll just… go check on your food,” she said before retreating to the kitchen.
The exhaust fan was whirring, the grill sizzling—comforting, familiar sounds. Todd was definitely high, but Janice had to admit, it didn’t seem to affect his work. “Almost done,” he said over his shoulder. He moved through the kitchen with an unhurried ease, cracking eggs and pouring batter.
That poor girl, thought Janice, gnawing at her thumbnail as Todd began to plate the first stack of pancakes.
Her sister had had a bad boyfriend when they were teenagers. She’d broken things off with him after a particularly nasty fight. He’d left her on the side of the road that led to their parents’ house before speeding off in his pick-up truck. She was in tears, a ring of fresh bruises circling her wrist, but otherwise uninjured. Janice had been convinced the asshole would come crawling back at some point, demanding her sister forgive him, that he didn’t mean it, but after that night, he’d disappeared. Good riddance. Janice knew a lot of girls—girls like Bev—weren’t so lucky. She hoped she’d go through with that divorce.
There was so much food, Janice needed Todd’s help to carry it out. Their arrival was met with cheers from the table. Bev’s eyes, Janice noticed, were a little red, but she seemed to be in good spirits, smiling winningly when Janice placed the stack of pancakes before her.
“Let me know if you folks need anything else.”
“Thanks, Janice,” said Mike, digging in.
They descended upon their meals like starving wolves. For a while, there was just the sound of knives and forks on chipped plates from that corner of the diner.
“Hungry, Wilt?” asked Janice as she headed back behind the counter.
“Just more coffee, darling,” he said. He wasn’t making his way through the paper at his usual brisk pace.
Probably harder to read with one eye elsewhere, she thought, freshening up his cup.
Mike Hanlon and his friends, however, ate at record speed. In less than 10 minutes, they managed to demolish everything on the table, she noted with amazement when she came around with the coffee pot to top them off.
Janice didn’t collect their plates. Now that they’d eaten, the group seemed content to just sit. Eddie, Janice noticed, had commandeered Richie’s milkshake. Richie didn’t seem to mind. He watched Eddie angle the glass to get at the last of it, a dreamy expression on his face.
“Now what?” asked Ben, when there was a lull in the conversation.
“Well, I’m going back to the Town House,” Bill said. “G-Gonna sleep for about suh-hixteen hours. Then, I g-g-guess, I’ll see if I still have a ja-ob.”
“What are you going to tell Audra?” asked Mike. “We still have time to come up with something plausible.”
Bill scrubbed roughly at his face. “I’m not s-sure,” he said. “Either I tell her the t-t-truth and she thinks I’m c-c-crazy or I-I-I-I—”
“Lie,” said Richie, cutting him off. “Don’t over complicate it. Just tell her you had a good ol’ Menty B.”
“A w-what?”
“A mental breakdown! That’s what I’m going to tell my manager. Though, I have a track record, so it’s more believable. I could help you sell it, if you want—leave you stranded somewhere along I-95 without shoes. How do you feel about bath salts?”
The whole table laughed, except Bill. “Thanks, Rich.”
“What are friends for? And, hey! If you actually lose your job and your objectively hot wife does leave you—” (At this, Bill dropped his head into his hands. Bev patted his shoulder sympathetically.) “—we can take this show on the road! Remember when we tried to start a band? We could start a band! I can play bass.”
As he rambled, Richie slid one of the loose paper napkins on the table towards him. He absently folded it this way, then that. While the rest of his friends seemed drained, Richie was thrumming with nervous energy.
“Aren’t you already on tour?” asked Bev.
“Oh, that’s canceled,” said Richie breezily. “Done-zo! The last 48 hours have made me realize I can’t perform that set ever again. Not in good conscience.”
“Because you didn’t write it?” asked Ben.
“Because it’s shit?” offered Eddie.
“Because your near-death experience has forced you to reexamine your life and your priorities?” said Mike.
“Yes! To all of the above. But also because it’s painfully straight. And I’m, uh, not.” He cleared his throat. “I’m gay.”
“Are you joking?” asked Bill, head still in his hands. “I can never tell if you’re joking.”
“No, for once, I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “I’m gay.” Richie’s voice seemed pleasant enough, but he kept his eyes down, focused on the napkin, which he had started to tear to shreds.
“Oh,” said Eddie, blinking. “Wow.”
Janice was similarly surprised. She never would have guessed. Though, she never had the sense for these things. When her cousin, Maureen, had come out during one memorable Thanksgiving a few years back, Janice had been the only one who had no clue that “roommate” was a euphemism for “long-term, live-in girlfriend.” Even Grandma Cheryl had had her suspicions.
Unlike Janice, it didn’t take Richie’s friends until after dessert to process this new information. Bev was the first one to move, reaching across the table to still Richie’s fidgeting hands. “We love you,” she said, simply.
Then, everyone was reaching out, making as much contact with Richie as they could while still being crammed into the booth. “Thank you for telling us,” Ben said.
“We’re proud of you, man,” said Mike.
Bill, who had seemed a bit stunned, had recovered and was smiling warmly. “You know this doesn’t ch-ch-change anything, r-r-right?”
Richie nodded. Janice could see his eyes were suspiciously shiny. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s not like I thought you guys wouldn’t be cool. I knew you would be. It’s just— That’s what it tormented me with. The idea of people knowing I was—that way. As a kid, it really fucked me up. Still fucks me up.”
“I thought it was a w-ware-werewolf?”
They all stared at Bill. Even Wilt, who had taken this stranger’s coming out with his typical unflappable demeanor, folded down the top of his paper to look quizzically over at the Loser’s table.
Both he and Janice watched as Richie’s face cycled through several expressions before settling on disbelief. “Holy shit, Bill!” he cried. “It was a metaphor! Aren’t you supposed to be the writer? No wonder your endings suck.”
The tension broke in a wave of laughter and Richie, it seemed, was eager to ride it out. “Damn,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I could use a smoke. Got any cigarettes, pretty lady?”
“All out,” said Bev. “I think I’m going to try to quit again.”
“Good for you!” Richie said. “Anyone else? Any other Post-Clown resolutions?”
“I want to stop drinking,” said Ben.
“Temperance! A valid lifestyle choice, just don’t shove it in my face. Mike, I assume, is getting the hell out of dodge.”
“I have over two months of unused PTO,” said Mike. “You know, I’ve never left the state?”
“Jesus, that’s depressing. What about you, Eds?” said Richie, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s.
“What about me?” Since Richie’s announcement, Eddie had been quiet, staring intently at this phone. Now, he put it on the table, facedown.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I guess that depends,” he said. “Once we leave, do you think we’ll forget again?”
Everyone at the table turned to Mike. “Don’t know why you’re all looking at me,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee.
“You’re the c-c-close-est thing we’ve got to an eh-expert,” said Bill. “What do you think?”
Mike heaved out a sigh. “I can’t say for certain, mostly because I don’t know what made you all forget in the first place. Whether it was it or something else.”
“Like the Turtle?” asked Ben.
“Possibly,” he said. “They’re both gone now, if we can believe what Bill saw. I don’t know what that means for us. Really, there’s no way of knowing until one of us leaves. Even then, it happens slowly. I’ve been able to go a week or two outside the town limits before things start to get hazy, though I was always afraid to push it. But…” He hesitated.
“W-What is it, Mikey?”
“Would that be so bad? Forgetting, I mean.”
“Of course it would,” snapped Eddie. “How can you say that?”
“E-Easy, Eh-Eddie, M-M-M—”
“Obviously, I don’t want to forget all of you,” said Mike. “But it might not be up to us.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” said Ben gently.
“Fuck that,” said Eddie. “Like, I know it must have sucked to stay here, Mike, and relive this shit every day—I get that, I really do—but it also sucked to forget, like, everything. Because it wasn’t just the bad stuff, it was the good stuff too.
“Once I left, I didn’t know how to be brave because I didn’t know I ever had been! The Eddie who remembered would never have let his mother start drugging him again. The Eddie who remembered would have been gone as soon as he turned 18.
“You know, I tried to leave three times before she died. But then she’d call and I’d pick up and she wouldn’t stop crying and I would stop by to check on her and—”
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! The phone on the table vibrated again.
“Fuck!”
“You don’t have to answer it,” said Bev.
“No, I do,” he said, miserably. “If I don’t, she won’t stop.” He grabbed his phone. “Excuse me.” Mike got up, allowing Eddie to scoot out of the booth. “Sorry, Mike.”
“It’s okay,” said Mike.
“This will probably take a while,” Eddie told the table. They watched him go, trading significant looks, but saying nothing until he was outside.
“I didn’t want to say anything before,” said Bev, “but she sounds just like—”
“His mother,” finished Richie.
“He’s right, though,” said Ben. “Forgetting was hard. I know we didn’t really have time to get into it before. I mean, I was trying to come across as successful and put together—”
“Is that what the cowboy boots were supposed to communicate?” asked Richie, drily. “That you’re put together?”
“Beep, beep,” said Bev.
“What I’m trying to say,” continued Ben, “is that my life looks good from the outside, but I don’t know if I’m… happy?”
“Oh, New Kid,” said Bev, laying her hand on Ben’s arm. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Really, I think the last time I was happy was when we were all together.”
“I know what y-y-you mean,” said Bill. “It was like p-part of me was m-m-missing.”
“Tell me about it,” said Richie, softly.
“It was awl-ways at the t-t-tip of my tongue. Like, I buh-bought tickets to one of your sh-shows, R-Rich. I c-c-couldn’t even go. But I felt c-c-c-compelled.”
“You paid to hear Richie speak?” said Ben. “Spooky.”
Mike, Bill and Bev laughed at that. Richie didn’t. He didn’t rise to take the obvious bait, either. Instead he was craning his neck, trying to get a look at something—or someone, guessed Janice—in the parking lot.
From where she was standing, back by the counter, Janice actually had a clear view of the man. He was pacing back and forth, phone to his ear. Janice could tell it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Eddie wore the unique expression of a man being chewed out by his wife. It reminded her of her second husband.
“I’m sure you’ll discover similar near-misses, when you start to look back,” said Mike.
“It’s the weirdest thing,” said Bev, shaking her head. “When you called, Mike, I snapped out of this fog. Like the years in between had been this strange dream and I was finally awake. And all I wanted to do was find you guys. I know time has passed, but it also feels like it hasn’t, you know?”
“We all still love each other,” Ben said. “You know how unlikely that is?”
“A muh-illion to one.”
Mike smiled. “We’ve beaten worse odds.”
“But if this is a second chance,” said Bev, “then we shouldn’t waste it. Live the lives we want to live. That we should have been living. Right, Richie?”
“What?” asked Richie, absently.
“Are you even listening?”
“No,” he admitted. “Someone should go check on Eddie. I’m just gonna…” But Mike was already on his feet, allowing Richie space to clamber out of the booth. “Thanks.”
“Go get ‘em, man,” said Mike, clapping him on the shoulder.
Richie turned red so fast it was alarming. “I’m just gonna see if he’s okay.”
“Of course you are,” said Bev with a knowing smirk.
“You’ve got this,” said Ben. “You’re braver than you think.”
“Oh, fuck off,” said Richie. “Don’t use my own words against me, but in a new, layered context. You’re better than that, Haystack.”
Ben just smiled.
With a huff, Richie marched toward the diner’s exit. When he passed Janice, she could see he was still blushing. “I’m warning you,” he threw over his shoulder, “if this goes badly, I’m going to crawl back into the nearest storm drain and you’ll never see me again!” With one last accusatory look at his friends, he took a deep breath, steeled himself and pushed open the door.
The bell hadn’t finished tinkling before Bev and Mike were moving, Mike jumping out of his seat and Bev crawling over Ben’s lap, not giving him a chance to get up first. “Bev, don’t,” Ben said, grunting as Bev kneed him in the stomach. But he made no move to stop her.
“But I want to see!” she whined. Once free from the bench, she dropped to a crouch, keeping low as she made her way to the window overlooking the parking lot.
“You’ll make him nervous!”
“He’s already nervous,” said Mike. He stood to the side of the window, peering through the blinds. “I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t puke in the bushes.”
Peeking over the window sill, Bev said, “Ten bucks says he does.”
“You’re on.”
“He doesn’t need the added pressure,” said Ben, taking a resigned sip of his water. “We should give them some privacy.”
“But it’s finally happening!”
“I’m s-s-sorry,” said Bill. “What’s h-h-happening?”
Ben froze, glass half-raised to his lips. Mike let his hand drop from the blinds. Bev whipped her head around, red hair flying. “Bill,” she said, “please say ‘psych.’”
“W-What?”
“Jesus Christ, Bill!”
“W-W-W-Wh—?”
“Richie likes Eddie,” said Ben.
“Eddie likes Richie,” said Mike.
“Like as in…?”
“Like-like,” said Bev.
“But Eh-Eddie’s married?”
“So are you,” said Bev. “So am I! That didn’t stop you earlier.”
Bill sputtered, his face draining of color. “Th-th-tha-a-a-at wa-wa-was ju-just—”
“Shhh! I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”
Janice could see that Eddie was now off the phone, but he hadn’t stopped pacing. He was saying something—shouting it, actually. Richie hovered nearby. Mike was right. He looked like he was going to be sick.
At least, if it’s out there, I won’t have to mop it up.
“The window’s double-pane glass,” said Ben. “We won’t be able to hear anything unless they’re really yelling.”
“Well, this is Richie and Eddie,” said Mike. “Give them a minute.” They gave him a minute. While, at points, Eddie’s voice rose enough to be heard from inside—Janice could make out a few choice expletives—the conversation quickly dropped in volume. The exact words were impossible to distinguish. “Can anyone here read lips?”
“I can,” said Bev. “Now, Richie’s saying—“ She pitched her voice lower in a bad impression. “‘—Remember how I always used to joke about fucking your mom? Well, that’s because I wanted to fuck you, but I couldn’t say that, like a normal person so I… projected?’”
“Sublimated,” said Mike. “He sublimated.”
“Huh.”
“So you aw-all knew about this?” asked Bill. He seemed hurt.
“Yep,” said Bev.
“F-F-For how long?”
“Since forever, Bill!”
“High school, at least,” said Ben, diplomatically.
“Why d-didn’t anyone t-t-tell me?”
“No one told anyone, dumbass. We saw. We observed.” Bev paused, then added: “Also, when we were 16, I kissed Richie and he said, word for word, ‘Oh, no thank you.’”
Mike groaned. “He didn’t.”
“He did! He was very polite about it—didn’t use a Voice or anything. I’m so happy I can remember it again. He made me pinky promise not to tell anyone, but I think the statute of limitations on that one is up.”
“You kissed Richie?” said Ben. He didn’t sound jealous, just… genuinely baffled.
“I was bored!” cried Bev. “We were drunk and he was the only one of you Losers who had the balls to take me to Homecoming. I thought it would be fun! I just didn’t realize how serious he was when he said he only asked me because Eddie was on house arrest.”
Bill had taken each of these subsequent revelations like a blow to the head. Janice thought he looked a little dazed. “Okay,” he said, “so R-Richie’s… he’s….”
“You can say, ‘gay,’ Bill.”
“Not without difficulty,” muttered Mike.
Bill frowned. “But is Eh-Eddie even…?”
“Have you met Eddie?” asked Bev with a scoff. “Did you not see his Gucci loafers?”
“I d-don’t know sh-shoes!”
“Well, I do. I’m a professional. That man is gay. Repressed as hell, but definitely gay.”
“To be fair,” Ben said, “we don’t know how he identifies. We should wait until he tells us himself.”
“You’re adorable,” said Bev before turning back to the window. “Any movement, Mike?”
“Richie’s still talking.”
“W-What else is new?” asked Bill. With a sigh, he got up from his seat and went to stand next to Mike, who leaned back, making room for Bill to look through the blinds. “Okay,” said he, after a moment of careful study. “I think see what y-you mean.”
“Took you long enough. Welcome, Bill,” said Bev. “Thank you for joining us.”
“In Bill’s defense,” said Mike, “he moved the summer before junior year. It was more obvious later. Especially after that thing at the movie theater.”
“That thing!” said Ben, like he had only just remembered it.
“Wha-what thing?”
“I’ll tell you later, man.”
“That’s no excuse!” said Bev. “I knew after, like, a week of hanging out with you guys.”
“I had more puh-pressing things on my mind,” grumbled Bill.
Janice made to grab the coffee pot, yet again, but decided against it. She left it sitting on the hot plate and headed over to the booth, empty-handed. “How are we doing over here?” she asked. “Can I get you anything else?”
Mike, Bill and Bev all jumped, startled to find her standing there. They all looked a little guilty, like children who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“Just the check,” said Ben.
“All right. You can pay at the register when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
Janice hesitated, eyes flicking to the scene unfolding outside. “How long have those boys known each other?” she asked.
Ben gave her a sharp, penetrating look. Like before, Janice felt something not unlike static electricity briefly crackle around him—and the others huddled by the window. Janice felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It seemed, whatever Ben was looking for, he found it. His smile widened, the strange aura dissipating as quickly as it had come. “Since they were five,” he said. “But they haven’t seen each other in almost 30 years.”
“Oh, how romantic,” said Janice, clutching her hands to her chest. Her declaration was met with a snort from Bill, shrill giggles from Bev and a low chuckle from Mike.
“It’s like that scene from The Notebook,” Ben said, finally giving in and sliding out of the booth. He went to crouch beside Bev. “Except it’s not raining and we spent the morning marinating in gray water.”
“And they’re in a parking lot,” said Bev, her nose pressed to the glass.
“That too.”
Janice, all too aware her knees could no longer bend like that, stayed standing near the table, careful to remain out of sight if the two men in the parking lot chose to look up. But they only had eyes for each other.
Richie seemed to be in the middle of a spectacular, if slightly unhinged, speech. He was gesticulating wildly. Eddie watched him in a ‘deer in the headlights’ way. As Richie continued, though, a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. It was sweet.
Still, they couldn’t hear above more than grabbled radio static. It was sort of like watching a soap opera on mute in the doctor’s waiting room.
Mike sighed. “For once, I wish we could hear what he was saying.”
“‘Eddie, I love you,’” said Bev, pitching her voice low once again. “‘Now, let’s kiss with tongue.’”
Janice put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Maybe he shouldn’t open with that,” Ben suggested. “Maybe,” and, here, he also pitched his voice lower, “‘Eddie, I’ve had feelings for you and they haven’t faded, despite everything. If you feel the same, then we can explore—”
“He w-wouldn’t sah-say that,” said Bill.
“He wouldn’t,” agreed Mike. “Not vulgar enough.”
“Not a single reference to his mother,” said Bev with a tsk.
“We should have more faith in him,” Ben said. “I think Richie’s a closet romantic.”
Bev snorted. “Closet,” she echoed.
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“Guys!” Mike said.
Whatever he was saying, it seemed that Richie had said it. Now, he was waiting. So were his friends. So was Janice. And so was Old Wilt. From the corner of her eye, Janice could see he’d turned his stool around to get a better look. His newspaper lay abandoned on the counter.
Wonders never cease, thought Janice, wryly.
Outside, Eddie started to say something, but Richie cut him off.
“Beep, beep,” whispered Ben.
Eddie, clearly frustrated, pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he was getting a headache. When he managed to get a word in edgewise, whatever he said made Richie freeze. Eddie took a step forward, reaching up to cup Richie’s cheek. Bev gasped, digging her nails into Ben’s forearm. Ben winced.
Richie jerked away and took a step back, bewildered. He said something—“What are you doing?” Janice thought it could be, though she was no lip-reader.
Eddie scowled and replied—his response inaudible to those eagerly watching from inside the diner—before roughly grabbing Richie’s face in his hands and pulling him into a kiss.
“Yes!” screamed Bev, throwing both arms into the air in triumph. She rocked back on her heels, almost losing her balance, but Ben reached out an arm to steady her, beaming.
Mike began to clap. Janice joined him.
“Holy sh-shit,” said Bill with a laugh.
For a second, Richie’s arms flailed before his hands settled delicately on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie took the opportunity to throw his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling him further down and deepening the kiss.
“That was definitely tongue,” said Bev, like this was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
“Yeah,” Ben said, “Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“They’re looking this way!” warned Mike, pulling Bill back from the window. Bev yelped, dropping to the floor she was avoiding a trained sniper. On the way down, she elbowed Ben, who fell back on his rear with an Oof.
“Do you think they saw us?” whispered Bev.
Then, came Eddie’s voice, muffled, but surprisingly clear: “We saw you, you nosy fuckers!”
“Shit.”
It was a mad scramble. Bill was the first one back in his seat. “Act na-na-na-na—”
“Natural!” finished Mike, sliding in next to him. Ben and Bev tumbled into the bench opposite them.
Janice, feeling oddly like she was in trouble too, hightailed it back behind the counter. Wilt had turned his stool back around, his newspaper once again up covering his face. It was upside down.
Janice was considering ducking down behind the counter—act natural—when the door to the diner flew open. It was Richie. He was out of breath, hair in disarray. He looked absolutely delighted, eyes sparkling behind the cracked lenses of his glasses.
“Voyeurism!” he crowed. “You kinky bastards! If you wanted to watch, you could have just asked! Or is that what gets you off?”
“Gross,” said Bill.
“Don’t be homophobic, Big Bill,” said Richie, still grinning madly as he jogged over to them.
“Yeah, Bill!” said Bev, gleefully.
“I can’t believe Bill Denbrough is homophobic,” said Ben.
“He is,” said Mike. “He told me.”
Bill groaned, sinking down into his seat. “I d-d-don’t know why I missed you ah-assholes.”
“Where’s Eddie?” asked Bev, waggling her eyebrows.
“Waiting outside,” said Richie, retrieving the jacket he’d left abandoned at his seat. “Honestly, it’s for your protection. You’re welcome. Listen, I have to show him something—”
“Your dick,” coughed Bev.
“Gesundheit,” he said. “It’s at the Kissing Bridge. Got to hurry, before he comes to his senses and realizes he’s way out of my league.”
He dug into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a wad of damp bills. He tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a dull thwap in front of Bill. Bill wrinkled his nose, pushing it away from him.
When Richie spoke again, his voice had changed. “You’ve been a lovely audience,” he said in an eerily accurate Rodney Dangerfield impression. “I hate to dine and dash, but what can you do? I’ve got egg on my face. You could say breakfast is on me.”
The whole table laughed, even Bill. “Keep the change! Tip your waitresses! Thank you! Goodnight!”
Richie gave a little bow before turning on his heel and heading back toward the exit.
“See!” shouted Ben after him. “You’re braver than you think!”
“Beep, beep, Benny Boy!” And, with one last cackle, he was gone.
By unspoken agreement, the remaining Losers made the motions to leave. Bev stood and stretched, something in her shoulder giving an audible pop. Ben, Janice noticed, was carefully stacking their empty plates.
Mike unfurled the wad of bills, counting them out. “This is all hundreds,” he said in awe. “He was just walking around with this? What was he planning to do? Bribe the ancient evil into submission?”
“He’s such a douchebag,” said Bev, fondly.
“You heading buh-ack with us, M-Mikey?” asked Bill.
“No. I should really stop by the library and—” Mike froze. “Oh, no.”
“What? What’s wrong now?” asked Ben, the dread in his voice plain.
“We forgot something,” said Mike. “In the library.”
Bill closed his eyes. “Fuck.”
“What do you—?” Now, it was Bev’s turn to freeze. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah, time to go,” said Mike. He looked down at the money in his hand, hesitated, then dropped it. “That should cover it.”
Mike, Bill and Bev were already halfway to the exit before Ben got to his feet. He looked torn, glancing between his friends and the crumpled bills scattered on the table. “Did you calculate at least a 20% tip?”
“Ben!” cried Bev. “Hurry up!”
Ben hurried up, dirty cowboy boots clacking on the linoleum. “Thanks,” he said, as he passed Janice. “Everything was wonderful.”
“Later, Janice!” said Mike, as he pushed his friends out the door.
“Later, Mike,” said Janice, feeling like she had missed something.
The bell tinkled once more as they filed out. As soon as they had cleared the vestibule, all four broke into a dead sprint, gravel flying in their wake.
“What in the world?” Janice whispered.
Wilt just shook his head. “Kids these days,” he said gruffly, newspaper rustling as he turned it right side up. “I’ll take those eggs now, Janice.”
“Coming right up.”
It had been a strange morning. At least there were some things in life, Janice was relieved to find, you could count on.