Beth knew that her brother wanted to get her alone, which was why she ensured that for as long as possible, she was accompanied by as many of her other family members as possible. Even when the funeral ended and she watched with a painful twist in her heart as Alex scurry out the door without a goodbye, she asked her second cousin Annabel to come with her to the bathroom. She'd seemed disturbed by the idea, but unwilling to say no.

When in the car to the burial, she'd hitched a ride with her father's brother, a surprisingly kind man who could talk for hours about Elvis without skipping a beat.

After her father's body was lowered into the ground, she solidified herself at her mother's side, ignoring snide comments shot her way from the woman over her head with grief. Beth could understand the emotions, where they came from, why they found themselves directed at her. Couldn't pull blame out of herself.

Still, she avoided Colin like the plague until he was all but cornering her outside Danny's Diner a few hours later, where the Harrison family was to gather for post-burial late lunch.

"Sit with me?"

He shifted his weight from foot to foot from where he hovered in front of her, before nudging his chin towards an empty table that would sit just two.

A mixture of relief and irritation gathered within her, evident with the harsh breath she took. Being with Colin was preferable to sitting at the large table her mother had gathered the majority of the family to, but the questions she knew would come with their solitude might not be worth it.

The wound that was Alex remained fresh, the stitches just ripped open by his short presence at the funeral. Speaking about it would further split the skin open, when Beth didn't know if she could survive further bleeding.

A moment passed, eyes fixated on where her mother sat, conversing with her father's brother.

Then, "Alright."

Colin wasted no time, pulling out the chair for Beth to sit in, a gentlemanly gesture that felt like something he'd stolen rather than grown into, before taking his own seat across from her.

He leaned in against the table, elbows digging into the wood from how he positioned his arms.

But when he spoke, it had nothing to do with Alex. "I'm worried about Mom."

Her brows bent. "Worried about Mom?"

"I think she's...depressed." His eyes flickered in the direction of where she was sat, then back at Beth. "You know how she gets. When she's sad, she's...well, sad. You know."

She did know. She remembered it clearly, the days Erica Harrison spent in bed, the hollow, almost dead looks when she did drag herself out of the sheets. Days, weeks, sometimes months, where she'd seemingly been living in a daze, like someone had hit her over the head with something heavy and knocked her conscious out of her. She was living, yes, but didn't act alive.

Beth remembered thee shouting from Neil when it grew to be too much for him to stand. Calling her lazy, worthless. That she didn't care enough to raise her children (never his), or bothered to help around the house while he worked his ass off.

That wasn't true. She sometimes held down a job. Never for long, but it counted for something.

Beth hated her father — but even so, she could find sympathy in herself for his frustration towards their mother.

Only that.

"She still does that?"

Colin nodded. "More since you left."

She winced. "You never said anything."

"When would I have had the opportunity? You scarcely kept in contact with me as it was." It wasn't meant to make her feel guilty, she could tell by the casual tone he'd taken. Matter-of-fact, not emotionally charged. Still, she felt like curling in on herself at each word spoken. "Besides, it wouldn't have made much difference. Would you have come back if I'd said she wasn't doing well?"

Biting down on her lip, she didn't bother with an answer. They both knew it.

"I figured she'd have gotten better with me out of her hair."

A light, airy laugh puffed out from him. "You were never the problem child."

She didn't argue that point. Not a problem child, sure. But adulthood was a different story.

The waitress came by a moment later, taking their orders — an ice water for Beth, and a lemonade for Colin, who seemingly hadn't had enough of it at the funeral. About ten years older than the two she was serving, her eyes lingered on Beth for a beat longer, but didn't say what Beth was certain she was thinking.

"Listen," Colin went on as the waitress retreated, Beth making a mental note not to drink anything she gave her. Not with that dirty look flashed as she rounded the corner. "I think it'd be good for Mom if you stayed here a bit longer. Just until the worst of the grief has passed."

"A bit longer?" She nearly laughed, before realizing this wasn't a joke. "I have a job, Colin."

He gave her a look through his blue eyes, the same shade as her own. "That's been your excuse for the past six years — then school for the four years before that. Can't come down for a single holiday because of work. When was the last time you took a day off?"

"I take plenty of days off," she lied, mind drifting to that unread email in her inbox. Susan had said the same thing, in the last conversation they'd had. Something about Beth lacking in work-life balance, which she knew she couldn't ignore facing the completion of that talk for forever.

Another long, hard stare, thick with disbelief. "I'm not stupid. And I think your boss will be fine if you take a week off."

She nearly fell off her chair.

"I can't take a week off," she said through a tightening of her throat and watering eyes, the wave of panic so sudden she felt herself physically shrinking in her seat from the weight of it. The closest she'd gotten to crying — not the funeral, not even seeing Alex.

Work, and the prospect of not returning at the set date. They were there for reasons, she worked hours for reasons. She had a schedule firmly set in place for reasons.

They were meant to be respected. She'd get fired if she did, and then couldn't afford her apartment, and she'd have to come back here.

That was unacceptable.

"I have a job," she said again when Colin was silent, drumming his fingers on the table. "I have a job that I'm committed to—"

"And your dad just died. I think your boss would understand if you stayed here a little while."

She would — probably. Susan was strict, but she wasn't a monster.

But that wasn't the point.

"And for what?" She argued. "To babysit mom?"

"Beth," Colin sighed, lifting his hands and rubbing his temples on either side of his head. "She's your mom."

"She hates me." It was a very simple statement, with a very simple counter from her brother.

"No, she doesn't."

"Tell that to the ten year silence. She hasn't even wished me a happy birthday since I turned twenty."

His brows formed two perfect arches. "Was that silence not of your doing? You shut her out — you shut us all out."

"Would I have been welcomed back if I tried?" She shot back, no longer able to mask her growing aggression. "Colin, I have shit to do back home. I can't sit around and babysit Mom because she refuses to be an adult."

"She's depressed," he emphasized. "And she has been for a long time. You know that. With what happened to Dad..." A sharp inhale rushed through him. "I just worry about her. I always have. But at least he was there to keep an eye on her. Now he's gone, and she's..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Then you take care of her, if you're so worried."

She knew she was coming off as selfish, spoiled. Didn't really care.

"I have a job too, Beth. And not corporate — an independent business. I was only able to take the past week off because Angie agreed to pick up the extra weight — which I can't ask of her to do more of."

Her jaw shifted, but the argument being made was solid.

"I'm not asking for much," Colin went on, lowering his voice from the pitch it had taken. "And I know it's hard for you, okay? I know that. But I don't know what else to do. It's not like Mom has many friends who stop by. You don't have to be with her all day. Just...check in on her. Keep her company. You know."

"I..." She trailed off, closing her eyes. When they parted open again, the waitress had returned with their drinks, which Beth didn't touch as Colin stuck the straw into his.

"I don't know."

"Maybe if you stay a bit, you could spend time with Alex."

Oh, this fucking asshole.

If they weren't in public, Beth would call him such. Curse her older brother out until he regretted so much as speaking that boy's name.

"I saw you two at the funeral," Colin pressed, a teasing edge to his tone now. Like he wasn't treading on sacred ground.

"It was nothing."

A lie, and they both knew it. How could it be anything but?

"I think the fact that he showed up at all suggests it's more than nothing."

"How would you know?" She bit back, searching Colin for a reaction to her harsh way of speaking.

He gave none. Still wearing a slight smile — one that had no business following a funeral — he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. "Because I know him — and you. I know he wouldn't show up to a funeral for an asshole he didn't like, and I how you two are around each other. It was only a matter of time before you reconnected."

"We haven't reconnected," she corrected through a glare. "It's nothing like that. We're not magically friends again. We spoke once, for like, five minutes. That's not...it's not reconnecting. That's being polite when seeing an old friend."

"Maybe," Colin agreed with a hum. "But he's not just an old friend."

She didn't know what to do with her face, aside from rolling her eyes by means of a dismissal she knew didn't land in the way she wanted.

He was right. Alex wasn't an old friend.

He was her everything, and had gone from such to a distant figure in her memory within a moment in time.

"I'm just saying," Colin went on, a slight wave of his hand pushing his words along. "If you're here with Mom, it might be nice to get to know him again."

It might be nice, Beth agreed, in the same way it would be nice to be able to fly, or to win the lottery, or to die quick and painlessly. Nice, yes, but an inch away from impossible.

Nothing worth dwelling on.

"I'm not here for Alex. And I highly doubt he wants anything to do with me. Showing up to the funeral was just him being kind, showing support to the community, that's all." She cleared her throat, before taking a sip of the water she'd told herself she wouldn't drink. Just to find a way to keep her lips occupied as she further ruminated on what to say, how to push the subject away from what felt like walking on a bed of nails. "And I need to work."

"Can you at least ask? Just for a week. I really need to get back to the shop and get everything in order. Then I can help out with Mom, and you don't ever have to come back to this town if you don't want to. I'll never ask you to come back again if you don't want to."

There wasn't wiggle room in this conversation, she was certain of it. And the offer was enticing — never being bothered to return to Stoughton.

"For me?" Colin urged at her silence, clearly sensing the leeway he was making.

She bit down on her lip. "I'll need to email Susan. And see if I can extend my stay at the hotel I'm at."

"Your room is still the same as it was back at home, if you'd rather not waste a grand."

"Not happening."

This, Colin should've known.

"Beth..."

He was cut off by the waitress returning to take their meal orders, the menu having gone entirely unexamined by Beth, who hadn't managed to work up an appetite since the bagel she'd forced down her throat that morning.

Ordering a burger she knew she wouldn't eat, she took another sip of her water as Colin asked for a salad, smiling at the woman as she scribbled down their requested meals on a pen pad.

She looked at Beth again, long and hard, enough so that she resisted the need to squirm under the unrelenting stare. At the funeral, she could at least pretend the looks of judgment cast on her were instead pity for her loss, but she'd lost plausible deniability the moment she'd exited the church.

Then, with a sharp inhale, the waitress was turning and walking away.

"I didn't like that," Colin mused, gaze following her until she vanished through the kitchen's swinging doors. "The way she looked at you. That was rude."

"Why do you think I avoid coming here?" Threading her fingers through her red locks, she was about to make a joke about her avoidance of Stoughton, when a figure emerged in front of their table, drawing both Beth and Colin's attention.

She swallowed as her vision took hold of the pastor that had spoken at the funeral — donned in a black tailored suit not too different from the one Alex had worn, dark hair slicked back and a few days worth of facial hair dusted across his chin. He wasn't old — younger than Caleb Faulker, the previous pastor, had been when he'd died. Early forties was her best guess, with a silver wedding band on his ring finger, and an abstract tattoo stretching from the back of his hand up to beneath his sleeve.

Quite the contrast from the man who had once run Bethel, who had once scolded a girl in Beth's youth group for a nose piercing.

"Pastor Santos." Colin managed a smile, though this time, Beth could easily tell it apart from the typical warmth he procured.

"Jorge, please," Pastor Santos — or Jorge, as he insisted, bowed his head, gaze shifting between the two. "I just wanted to offer my private condolences."

Beth's posture had gone so stiff, she thought any further movement might send her spine cracking. Her lungs ached from the breath she held.

"Thank you," Colin said. "Your service was beautiful. And thank you for coming to the..." He glanced around. "Well, the meal. If my mother hasn't already offered, I'd love to pick up your bill."

"That's very kind of you." Jorge smiled, revealing shiny white teeth. "But there's no need."

"I insist."

Shaking Colin until he got some sense knocked into him was tempting, second only to fleeing the restaurant, hopping into her rental car and driving as fast as she could to the airport.

At least Jorge quickly gave him, much to Beth's relief. When he nodded, she was finally able to release the breath she'd taken hold to, inhaling again at a frantic pace that had both men turning to her.

"You must be Elizabeth," Jorge greeted. "I've heard so much about you."

Yeah, she thought with an almost sardonic tone taken to her inner monologue. I'm sure you have.

She managed a smile of her own, though much like Colin's, she knew it lacked the desired affect.

"Pastor Santos," she greeted, extending her hand out to shake his. He accepted with a firm grip, skin warm against hers. "You did a lovely service."

It wasn't a lie, either. The service had been more than kind. Better than anything Neil Harrison had ever been worth, that was for sure.

"Thank you." He dipped his head in a show of gratitude. When he looked back up, his dark eyes didn't waver for a moment as they bore into hers, and she couldn't muster up the courage to look away. "I just wanted to let you know, Elizabeth, that my doors are always open. If you need to talk, I'm always there. There needn't be any religious elements, if you don't feel comfortable with it. If you need to speak — about anything at all, please don't hesitate."

Beth blinked, lips opening and closing like a fish. Only when Colin kicked her from beneath the table did she muster a thanks.

"What a kind man," Colin commented as Jorge took a seat at a table with a few of Neil's fishing buddies — no one close enough to actually consider friends, but enough to show up at the funeral and pay respects.

"Yeah," she repeated, a little dizzy. "Very kind."

Very kind, and yet, all too wrong. All too undeserving.

When Beth got back to her hotel that night, she ignored the email sitting in her inbox, rather starting a new chain to her boss with a request for a week's time off. Colin had been right — she'd been stocking up on vacation days since she'd gotten her job. It was time to put them to use.

It wasn't out of hope to help her mother through what was sure to be another bout of whatever she'd been dealing with since she was old enough to notice her mother's sadness.

It wasn't out of desire to help Colin, though perhaps it should've been.

No, it was the final thing her brother had dangled before her like a carrot to a horse — Alex Earley, and the ever present ache his absence had left in her.

And as she tossed and turned beneath her too-hot blanket, she thought not of amends, but of penance.

Looking her sin in the eye and lashing herself for their existence. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋆ i didn't think i'd have a chapter out this fast, but i hope you guys enjoyed it :] we'll get more alex in the next few chapters, promise! for now enjoy beth and her very flawed perspective on the world. 

i might aim for an update schedule, but also i always say that and never stick to it so don't hold that against me. but hopefully i can have a chapter up every sunday, maybe? 

please let me know your thoughts! love you and thanks as always for reading!