It was a few moments before Beru realized that there was someone hovering near the door.
It was three years later that Beru realized she'd had someone important next to her in the garage.
She was standing quietly, clearly at a loss as to what to do with herself.
More importantly, that she had been someone beloved.
"It's Padmé?"
The holoscreen at Tosche Station was old, and the image cracked, but the sight of hundreds of people gathered to mourn the life of one was powerful, and the broadcaster's voice rang out clear.
"Padmé Amidala. Can I help?"
Her list of accomplishments was formidable, and the normally-unflappable Beru stood rooted to the ground, her errand forgotten, as they were listed.
"That would be wonderful, but I'm afraid I've all but given up. It's the third time this month the shifter's broken."
Girl-queen, hero of the Battle for Theed. Senator, loyalist, warrior. Naboo's darling.
She pushed her hood back, a look of determination passing over her face. "Let's see what we can do with it."
She was radiant, even in death.
Beru smiled at the outlander girl, so elegantly dressed, so out of her element here in the desert, as she put her hand on the shifter and paused.
The tell-tale bulge was evident, and Beru couldn't fathom why there was no announcement of the fate of the child, no mention of a husband or a lover.
It was clear that Padmé really had no idea what she was doing.
Whatever happened to him, Shmi's son? Beru could not see his face in the crowd, tears streaming down his face like the rest, mourning the passage of his beloved.
But Beru understood. She needed to keep her mind off of Anakin, the danger he had rushed off into. She didn't need to ask to understand how deeply she cared for him.
But that was all so long in the past. Perhaps they had both moved on.
"We'll have Owen take a look at it when he gets back. Come upstairs, I'll make us some ahrisa."
Beru turned away.