A week later, Cleo had gone apartment hunting in New York, where she and Peter were going to move, and Peter decided to check on Elizabeth.
"Who is it?" he heard her voice from inside when he knocked. Her British lilt was devoid of its normal cheery tone. He immediately regretted not coming sooner.
"It's Peter. Can I come in?"
"Sure."
He opened the door and stepped inside her apartment. The kitchen counter was covered with bouquets of colorful flowers, untouched plates of food, and sympathy cards. Elizabeth was curled up on the couch in gray sweatpants and a white tank top, her chestnut curls pulled back into a bushy ponytail and a vacant look in her green eyes.
"Hey," he said, sitting down next to her. She turned her body away from him, not able to stand the sympathetic look on his face.
"Elizabeth," he said, touching her cheek, "look at me."
"No," she said, her voice tense. "I've gotten this from everybody. All of this 'I'm sorry' crap. I've gotten it from everybody at the ER and I'm fed up with it and I certainly don't need it from you!"
He took his hand away and set it in his lap. After a moment, she began crying softly.
"Oh, Elizabeth," he said, tentatively putting his arm around her.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, desperately trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."
She hiccupped, trying to hold back her sobs.
"It's ok," he pulled her into his lap and she cried harder.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, still valiantly trying to turn away from him. "I'm such a wreck. You really don't have to do this. I don't want you to see me like this. Please, Peter-"
"Shhh," he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
She looked up into his eyes.
"Elizabeth. It's okay to let go."
She shook her head, her eyes welling up with a fresh batch of tears.
"I know you think you always have to keep everything inside of you," he continued, "but it's okay to let it out. You are so, so strong, Elizabeth. One of the strongest people I know. Just for right now, let go."
And in that moment, she did. She let go all of the grief she had been holding back since Mark's death. Her body shook with sobs and Peter just held her close, stroking her hair until she had finally cried all of her tears.
"It's alright, Elizabeth," he whispered. "It's alright."
"It's not, though," she croaked, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'm never going to be alright again. Not without him."
"You will be. You may not think so right now, but you will be, I promise," he kissed her forehead. "It will be hard at first, but it will get better."
"Do you really think so?"
"I know, Elizabeth. I'm not saying that you're going to forget him. He will always be with you in your heart."
"I hope you're right," she murmured.
He held her for a moment longer and then gently released her and walked over to the kitchen. He put the platters of food people had left her in tupperwares and put them in the refrigerator, and put the flowers in vases and filled them with water.
He sat back down next to her.
"Thank you, Peter," she smiled slightly. "You really didn't have to do that."
