It wasn't good enough and the look on Seamus's face—half incredulous and half disappointed—made that clear. He knew Ernie couldn't really promise him, but Seamus would much prefer false hope over equivocations right now.
"Yeah, all right," he said, looking away, eyes skating over the recovered form of his mother before settling on his shoes. It wasn't all right, the hard edge to his voice making that clear, but what could he do? "What do I do now?" he asked no one in particular. He'd never had to deal with the particulars of a death before, had never even thought about it.