Beverly wants to call out after him, but although she's hardly in a very present state of mind, she's just aware enough to stop herself from doing so. Instead, after looking worriedly over at Jamie, she follows along instead, keeping Eddie within her sight but hanging back a little. She doesn't know what to do or say or sign when absolutely nothing will make this better; she doesn't know what comfort he might want or need when, in the past, that's tended to look a certain, frightening way to her. That's not Eddie, of course, not by a fucking long shot, but as much as she hates herself for it, she can't help thinking about the only other person close to her to die and everything that happened after. It doesn't exactly provide a good template for how to handle something like this.

Because of that, it's hard not to feel like she's done something wrong, though she wasn't there and couldn't have known what would happen. Keeping a distance, she wraps her arms around herself, absently — and quietly — scuffing the toe of her boot against the ground until she leans over to pick up a rock near her feet.