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There’s a postcard on the bedside table when she wakes up. Propped up against the lamp, ‘welcome to Derry’ and a glossy, pristine image of her hometown stares back at her. She reaches forward to grab it, flipping it over as she rolls onto her back to read it.
‘Your hair is winter fire,
January embers,
My heart burns there too.
I love you.’
There’s no signature this time, just those three words that no longer sound hollow or like a threat, a lie that means something entirely different than what’s being said. Warmth blooms in her chest, a sweet and comforting feeling that she wishes she’d been able to hold onto after leaving Derry the first time.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice still a little hoarse with sleep, and looks over at the bedroom door where Ben is standing, watching, waiting. She holds the postcard to her chest - the way she used to with the original, during sacred moments in the sanctity of the bathroom - and smiles.
Ben’s smiling too, eyes soft, looking so relaxed and content as he strides back over to the bed, laying back down beside her. “You’re welcome. I know it’s not the original, but, next best thing?”
“It’s perfect.” She scoots closer, lips brushing lightly against his. There’s an intimacy between them that she can’t remember experiencing before - one without walls up, with just a few barriers kept in place. One without fear. It’s liberating in a way that she thought she’d already experienced, when she got out of Derry, got away from her father.
But the majority of the men that came after fell into the same pattern - they wanted to possess her, control her, make her whatever and whoever they wanted her to be. Just because it wasn’t Daddy’s little girl didn’t mean it was good or healthy or someone who she wanted to be.
Maybe she’d been afraid of getting close to someone she didn’t fear a little. Maybe she had been afraid of finding someone who loved her for her, who she might love, too, as more than simply stability or security.
Afraid of what would happen when It came back. When Pennywise came knocking, calling them back home, came after them and all they loved.
None of that matters now though. Pennywise is dead, and Derry is behind them. A memory that doesn’t exist as a blank space that hovers over like a hex. And Tom? Tom is history. A gold band prison she’s free from, whether he signs the divorce papers or not.
All that matters is her, and Ben, and this glorious, easy, comfortable feeling between them. Good dreams and good sleep, without the ghosts of all their worst fates. A big, fluffy dog, and the gentle rocking of the sailboat. A fresh start, like a new postcard with an old message written on the back. A second chance. Beverly isn’t going to let fear run her life anymore. Not ever again.
“I love you, Ben Hanscom.”
His smile brightens, one hand moving to cup her face - warm and gentle on her cheek. “I love you too, Beverly Marsh.”