"Yeah," Beverly agrees, the word coming out as little more than an exhale. Limited as their options may be here, she still thinks there ought to be something, little difference though it will actually make. Richie is still gone. They're still stuck in this place, impossibly far away from the lives they had before. She still has to try with every bit of strength she has not to think about the last time she was party to a conversation like this. Though she was too young to do any actual planning and suspects that she wouldn't have been listened to even if that weren't the case, she remembers what it was like in a way that's somehow both hazy and vivid, and it's the last fucking thing she wants on her mind right now. Things are bad enough as it is.

She hates that she's so worried and uncertain even around two of her closest friends, but once the feeling, familiar as it is, has taken hold, it can't be so easily shaken off. There's nothing she can do and nothing she can say to make this any better. That would've been the case for anyone, she knows, but it's hard to deal with all the same.

At a loss, she does the only other thing left to her: She tells the truth. "I don't know what else to do."