"So as a result, we were on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again for four years of college and most of the summer." Mason is telling Kristi his life history which really must be duller than dull. "This old girlfriend of yours, Lisa?" "Yes?" Mason prompts. "I hate her," Kristi says. "Really?" Mason asks, intrigued. "She's made you question your own value. She's indecisive. I say either in or out, I'm a fan of bold action," Kristi says. "Bold action," Mason murmurs, looking at her and thinking "in and out." "Yes, you take a chance, if it works, great, if not, at least you know," Kristi says. Mason gives in to her "bold action" speech: He grabs her and kisses her.
Weird slow-motion of Lewis walking around his room studying, and then falling asleep on a pile of books until Sarah wakes him up. "Honey, honey," she sniffs, "Your aunt Ruby just called, we have to go over to the house, we need to go right now."
Sarah and Lewis arrive at the house to find it surrounded by police cars, an ambulance and that yellow police tape. Lewis and Sarah duck under the tape and approach the house. Audra comes running up to Lewis, crying, "It was Riggs, he knew Tyrrell was going to give him up. He came to see him and they got into a fight." She points over at the porch where a still form lies, crumpled. Lewis walks up the steps and sees his cousin lying in a pool of blood with his eyes wide open. He's dead. Police cameras flash as an officer gently tries to pull Lewis away. Relatives sob in the background. Lewis walks down the porch steps and blindly reaches out for his Aunt Rose, who cries, "My baby, my baby!"
All of the housemates attend the funeral. Aunt Rose turns to Sarah: "He'll be a good father," she says as they observe Lewis picking up younger relatives, "You raised him well," Sarah tells her. "Honey, I like you," Aunt Rose tells her. "I like you too," Sarah says, smiling gently. "I know you love him, just promise me you'll never break his heart," Aunt Rose says. "I promise," Sarah says and looks affectionately over at Lewis.
At the wake, Finley follows Lewis outside to the porch. "I loike your family," she tells him. "Thanks," Lewis says. Finley pulls something out of her purse. "Did I ever show you this photo? It's from when Mason and I were nine." Lewis says, "That's you?" Finley laughs gently, "I was six inches taller than Mason, it explains a lot about our relationship." "That's your father, and that's your mother," Lewis says, pointing at the people in the faded photograph. "Who's that?" "Our brother, Joey, he was five years older," Finley explains. "He's no longe r--" Lewis starts to say. "He died the summer that was taken," Finley tells him. "I'm sorry," Lewis tells her. Finley continues, "My grandfather had this house on a lake in upstate New York. Nothing fancy but it was Eden when you're nine. There was a tire swing on the lake and we weren't supposed to play on it, but Joey always did. He was wild and fourteen and if my parents said he couldn't do something, well that meant he had to do it." "He drowned?" Lewis asks. "The worst part was this moment just afterwards when I realized he wasn't coming up. I couldn't decide whether to swim out and get him or whether to go and tell my parents. I was frozen there with this thought in my head: They're going to blame me for this. For the next three or four years, I could never really grieve for him because that part of me was so filled up with guilt. Not love, not sadness -- just guilt, which is the most useless emotion. My point, the reason why I brought up this whole horrible thing -- which was clumsy and I'm sorry -- don't try to not feel this, don't pretend that it's all okay, because it's not. If you don't feel these bad things then you won't feel the good things and then you're not alive, not really." Finley touches Lewis's face and goes inside.