As much as anything can be right now, it's a relief when they both agree. At least it's some sort of plan. Whatever is out there — and that really isn't a thought she wants to think too much of that — at least they'll be able to do something for him, even if it's too little, too late. An actual funeral might be out of the question, but they can come up with some sort of marker, maybe. Just thinking about it and the odd finality of it makes Beverly have to hold back a fresh burst of tears, but then Eddie is talking about feeling sick, and she tries to keep it as under control as she can. She turns towards him instead, resting her hand against his back like he'd done to her a moment ago, a little tentative and unsure of herself in a way that she hasn't been with physical affection around Eddie in a long time.

She can't tell him it's okay, because it fucking isn't. Their being in this place, Richie being gone, none of it is the least bit alright. Nothing she can do or say can change that. She knows that too well. Being here for him probably won't do anything, either, but it's all she's got. Helpless, she glances up at Jamie, as if doing so might give her some idea what to say, but she's still at a loss.

"We'll ask him later," she says softly, trying to keep her voice from wavering too noticeably. It doesn't really work. She's afraid, she realizes, in a way that has nothing to do with the monsters outside, only she isn't sure why. Old instincts, maybe. Regardless, it's not something she really wants to examine. Now, when she needs to be here for her friends, isn't the time. "And try to find something that we can use to... I don't know, put his name on, or something."