For the first time since he's been gone, Liz feels less than utterly useless. There's nothing she can do about Klaus- pressing charges against a thousand year old Original hybrid would be an exercise in futility. She hates how powerless humans are in this game, even with vervain in their veins and wooden bullets in their guns. It had been years since she'd held Caroline and smoothed her hair as she sobbed, murmuring reassurances.
The words are meaningless. They both know that. But they're what mothers are supposed to say.
And it's been two weeks of hearing her cry into her pillow at night, of watching her fling herself into projects and hold herself together in public by sheer force of will. So she keeps saying, "it'll turn out okay"; picking up the post-its and labels she orders, and stocking the house with new boxes of tissue and her favorite treats. Nothing helps the heartbreak or the dread. But she hopes the useless gestures make it a little easier for her to keep going.
Liz knocks and pokes her head into her room, and Caroline looks up from the label maker.
"Hi. How was work?"
"Good- no signs of Katherine, Silas or zombies." She smiles when Caroline looks exasperated but manages a half smile.
"And- I have something for you."
Caroline tilts her head and looks at her wanly. "Thanks Mom, but I really just- I need to work through this, okay? I can make their house a museum the town can be proud of, and we can rent it out for events to help with the maintenance costs. They had the most amazing antiques and Mrs. Lockwood kept them in perfect condition so... now all of us can enjoy them. Plus the Miss Mystic things have to be moved to-"
"It isn't another cupcake. Here."
She hands her an envelope, and feels her own eyes sting when Caroline recognizes the handwriting and her eyes fill. She explains as Caroline rips it open, hands shaking.
"A truck driver came into the station looking for me. Said this young guy had given him a hundred dollars to deliver this once he got here. Thought I'd be younger," she added drolly.
In it is a note, and a SIM card.
I'll text this number once a month. So you'll know one way or the other. Until we find a way.
Caroline traces the handwriting, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He remembers how worried Elena was."
Liz nods and hugs her against her side, stroking her hair. "Thoughtful."
Caroline closes her hand around the chip. It's just a way to let her know he's not dead yet. But where there's the tiniest connection, there's hope.
And even though the tears keep welling up, she smiles.