"Before - oh. Oh, Richie, I'm - " The cigarette dangled limply in Beverly's grip, smoke drifting toward the sky, grey streamers unfurling. "He doesn't know he died?" It wasn't much of a question, since she had a feeling she already the answer.
If Eddie didn't know, then she wouldn't tell him. Or not the details, anyway - mostly she just wanted to make sure he was fine, that he was whole and in one piece and there was life in his eyes and a distinct lack of a claw wound in his chest.
Her lower lip wibbled and she tried not to cry, but it wasn't working too well. Beverly sniffled, wiping at her lashes with her opposite hand, tears hot and burning on her pink, windburned cheeks (she'd always had sensitive skin, literally. Figuratively, she was tough as nails - but sometimes, sometimes she didn't want to be).
Like right now.
"I wanted to tell you that I'm so sorry. I wish I had known - but the Deadlights, it doesn't work like that." As soon as they all reunited in Derry, they changed the future - it veered off course from what she had seen, and because of that she felt like she failed Eddie and Richie too, along with Stan.