Chapter Text
Healy was getting physically nervous, and that was never a good sign. For as long as Holly has known the man, he always managed to keep most feelings inside. Sadness, fear, even anger to some degree was always made with stoic eyes and a mild frown. Now, though, his eyebrows had a slight furrow to them as he watched the clock on the microwave tick by. Holly watched it, too, her hands picking gently at her jeans as if to count the seconds. 6:40, 6:41, 6:42, she counted the minutes like clockwork, hoping her father would burst through the door with a smile and an apology, complain about traffic or how a client continued to be up his ass about a case.
Holly was certain her father wouldn’t have blown off dinner, not anymore. Not since he made the final decision to try his hand at being sober, not since genuinely succeeding for the last 6 months. She and Healy both knew relapses were common in this timeframe, but to completely blow off the celebration? No, even a drunk March would’ve waited until the next day to do so.
Then again, problems like his were always unpredictable. Maybe he had a horrible day and driving by the bar made up for some nasty habits. Maybe he thought, just one drink, and then ended up not stopping. Holly hoped not, but with his track record, she couldn’t throw that possibility completely out of the race yet.
Holly looked over at Healy, who had since stopped his pacing to look at the door. Still no movement. He let out a gruff sigh, grabbing his keys off of the counter.
“Where’re you going, Mr. Healy?”
“To the bar, to see if your father is there,” Healy mumbles out. Holly swallows, hopping off the chair and following him to the door.
“Can I come with you?”
“Jeez, kid, I don’t know, you wanna see him in a potentially relapsed state?”
“I’ve seen him in much worse, trust me.”
Healy paused, looking down at the girl. She made a painfully fair point, so he sighs and relents, jerking his head to the door.
“Alright, fine.”
Healy opened the passenger seat for the younger girl before getting in himself and turning on the engine. Six more days in the rental, Healy thought, as he drove out of their driveway and onto the street. Healy had secretly hated the roundabout driveway for the long months that he’s known the Marches. Thank goodness they were finally moving out once the renovations were finished.
Holly keeps her eyes trained out on the buildings as they pass them, her hands still picking at the lining of her jeans. Healy can almost see the disappointment wrapping up in her face, a look she would surely give her father if they find him at the bar. ‘If’ is the word Healy desperately clings to in his head. He’s given March the chance to finally get sober, and he has proven, so far, he’s willing and able to. He just hopes that is enough to keep him on the right track.
Healy soon parks across the street from the bar in a small lot, making sure that Holly stays close to him as they enter. The bar is in full swing with patrons, given the late hours. It’s crowded and loud and everything that Healy was used to. Holly keeps one hand on his sleeve, her vice grip wrinkling the fabric that Healy won’t care to iron out later. They do a quick scan of the room, and then head up to the bartender. He’s younger than Healy by a couple years, which is nice. The younger they are, the better memory they can have.
“Evening sir, what can I getcha?”
“Nothing. Listen, we’re looking for a man, Holland March,” Healy pulls out his wallet and shows the bartender a picture that he keeps. It’s not just March, no, it’s both him and Holly. Healy took that picture when they went to the beach about a month ago to celebrate the girl’s birthday, and he’s kept it secretly in his wallet. Well, until now.
The bartender leans in to get a look at the picture, furrowing his brows, then shaking his head.
“Nah, I haven’t seen anyone that looks like him, sorry.”
Healy made a slight noise in frustration, almost holding the photo even closer to the man.
“Are you positive? I’m not going on a wild goose chase just for him to be here right under your nose.”
“I assure you, I haven’t seen anyone who looked like that. Feel free to ask around, though, I got other people to serve,” The bartender said, and made his way to a customer sitting next to him. Healy sighs, not sure if he’s relieved or even more worried as he looks down at Holly. He gently places a hand on her head, giving her hair a little rub, something he’s been doing a lot recently. Holly never really tensed away from it, so he continued to do it.
“I ain’t sure if this is good news or bad news yet, kid. Can you think of anywhere else your father might be?”
Holly scrunches her eyebrows and thinks for a moment. Her first thought was the house, but it was strictly under construction and Holland still gets queasy at the site. He probably will always be worried, even when they move back in. Maybe he went to the old duck pond he and her mother would take her when she was really little, but Holland hasn’t even mentioned that place since her death. Holly doubts he still remembers it. Maybe he’s still at the client's house.
“He went to check on Mr. Murphy in your case today, didn’t he? Wasn’t he a person of interest? Maybe they got caught up in talking?”
Healy couldn’t help but have the slightest twitch in his lips. Smart girl, she was. Much smarter than either him or Holland at times. The hand on her head gently ruffles her hair and leads her out of the crowded bar and back into the car. Holly reaches into the back seat to pull out some of the files they keep, flipping through and calling out the address to Mr. Murphey. Healy nods, and turns back out into the street. He prays to God Holland really did just lose track of time questioning, because then he’d have something plausible to lecture him about.
If not, he would hate to have to report the man missing. Or have to fight someone.