now and then

VII. Lovesong, Part Two

now

The pieces all come to make sense to Richie suddenly and all at once, early the next morning after the wedding. In the groggy place between sleeping and waking, the revelation feels like the gates of heaven opening wide, and this monstrous fucking weight being lifted off his shoulders.

Because the solution to all of it, in that moment, just smacks him across the face with how painfully fucking simple it is.

What follows would, if he had the time to slow down and think about it, remind him of the ending of a romantic comedy—grabbing his wallet and keys and racing out his front door without so much as running a comb through his hair or changing out of the monkey suit he crashed in. All while his heart's beating at about a thousand beats per minute and his life starts to feel like one of those CSNY love ballads that somehow seems to have all the answers.

It's around 5am when he slides behind the driver's seat of his car and within minutes, he's burning rubber down the freeway, yelling at Siri to "Fucking call Bev, woman!".

"Calling Benjamin Hanscom: Work."

"No, Bev! Beverly! Beverly Marsh! Call Beverly Marsh! Beverly fucking—you know what, whatever. Never mind. It's fine."

When Ben answers the phone, he sounds completely wrecked and disoriented and like he's only got half a voice left.

"Richie?" there's a yawn. "What—what time is it?"

"Time for you to wake up and smell the coffee, sunshine. Listen, did Eddie ever happen to mention to you which hotel he was shacked up in?"

"Uh—um, I don't think so, why—"

"Okay, whatever, you're no help at all—listen, just give the phone to your wife, alright."

"Uh, she's—she's still sleeping, Richie, what—"

"Well then, wake her the fuck up! This is life or death here, Haystack!"

"Wh—is Eddie okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine, probably—just do it, would you?"

"Come on, Richie, it's five in the fucking morning after our wedding—"

"Hey, asshole, remember that time I had my bags packed and ready to leave Derry, and you were all, 'no, Richie, please stay, you're so strong and brave and we'll all surely be murdered without you', and then I did?"

"Except you didn't!"

"Okay, well, but in the end I did! Anyway, what fucking counts is that I listened to you then when you said it was a fucking life or death emergency, and I'd really fucking appreciate it if you returned the favor."

Ben sighs. "Fine. Give me a minute, okay? I gotta do it gentle, else she'll bite my head off."

"That's cute. That's what black widow spiders do after they mate. It's called sexual cannibalism."

When Bev finally gets on, she sounds just as awful—and decidedly even grumpier—than Ben.

"Richard..." it's a (somewhat) gentle warning.

"Bevvie, honey, I swear, it's important. I need to know the address of the hotel Eddie's in. Then you can go back to sleeping, or having sex with your Ken doll."

Bevvie's tone shifts then. Richie hears the change, and the soft, delighted alarm in:

"Richie, are you...?"