AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"You don't have to stay," Carol offered for probably the sixth time.
"So you been tellin' me," Daryl commented.
"I've still got to sweep and take out the garbage," Carol said.
Daryl didn't verbally respond in any way, but he got up from the stool he'd been holding down since Carol had seen the last biker out the door—Teeter already sent home safely in Andrea's care, along with Sophia whom Andrea would put to bed—and had started wiping down tables. Daryl hadn't said much in response to her since the first time that he'd answered her to say that she'd need a way back to Andrea's and he wasn't leaving her at the bar alone. She felt bad, though, about anyone having to wait around for her. As soon as her car was fixed and she could afford to put some insurance on it, she was sure she could convince everyone that she was fine taking care of herself and she had no reason to be an inconvenience to any of them.
Daryl finally left the barroom, though, and Carol thought that maybe he'd finally listened to her. Her stomach churned at the thought. She didn't want to be an inconvenience to anyone, but she honestly didn't know how she would get back to Andrea's house. She had no means of transportation and she wasn't even sure she remembered exactly where it was that Andrea lived.
Daryl returned a few minutes later, though, and relieved Carol's concerns about how she was going to get back to her daughter.
"Trash is out," he said.
"I didn't mean for you to do that," Carol said.
"Wish you'd let me do more," Daryl said. "Insistin' I sit here like a damn bump on a log has me feelin' like I got ants crawlin' around inside my skin. Years I been stayin' late to close with Teeter and he ain't once just suggested I sit on my ass."
Carol laughed to herself. As Daryl closed the gap between them, Carol wrung out a rag from her bucket and tossed it in his direction. He laughed when he caught it.
"If it's going to keep you from sitting there feeling sorry for yourself," Carol said, "then you can wipe down the bar and those tables over there. I'll get started on the floor."
"I can push dirt around with a broom pretty good too," Daryl pointed out, taking his rag to go and do just what Carol had suggested he might.
"And how would your brother feel knowing that he's paying me to do the work and you're the one doing it?" Carol asked.
"Merle ain't gonna give a shit that I pushed some damn dirt around the floor," Daryl said. "Besides—he's really payin' you more to serve tables and shit. You hustled pretty good today. Done good. Place was a good bit livelier'n I seen it in years."
Carol smiled to herself.
"How hard can it be?" Carol asked. "Serve the food. Serve the drinks. Smile for the customers."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Well—whatever it is, you seem to have got the right combination of it," Daryl said.
"I just hope the tip jar reflects it," Carol said. "Andrea counted the register for me to do whatever she does for Merle, but she said the jar was mine."
"You oughta count it," Daryl said. "Hell—I dropped a couple damn bills in there. At least you know you cleared four or five dollars."
Daryl was teasing her. Just a glance at the jar told Carol that it was at least three-fourths of the way full. Even if all the folding money in the jar consisted of dollar bills, Carol had probably made at least fifty dollars. It wasn't too bad, she thought, for a first night when she still didn't know half her clientele's names.
Carol pushed the broom around the barroom floor in long motions, moving all the dirt, ashes, and dropped cigarette butts toward the door where she intended to push it all outside.
"Alice left kind of early tonight," Carol said.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Alice," Carol said. "That is her name, right? The doctor? The woman who's—who's part of the club?"
"Alice," Daryl echoed. "Yeah. Al. That's her. What about her?"
"She left kind of early," Carol said. "Big day tomorrow?"
"I don't know," Daryl said. "Every day's an early day for Al. I swear it seems like she don't never take a day off."
He laughed to himself and tossed the rag he'd been using back in the bucket that Carol would clean out before she left. He perched on his stool again and lit a cigarette, hovering it over one of the ashtrays that Carol had already wiped out. She thought of scolding him for threatening to make a mess again, but she thought better of it since he practically owned the bar.
"Hell," Daryl said. "Don't too damn many of us get days off. You know? Seems there's always some shit that comes up. You gonna find that out. You want days off—you just gotta tell Merle you ain't comin' in. He'll understand, but he ain't gonna just up and think about it on his own."
"Doesn't Teeter take days off?" Carol asked.
Daryl chuckled.
"Teeter ain't had a day on in like a decade," Daryl mused. "But—he's here ever'day if that's what you mean. Been that way since he started workin' here. Really it was Merle that gave him the job here to keep him from gettin' hurt. Teeter used to be a welder. Made decent money that way. Travelled around a good bit. Prob'ly seen the better part of this country doin' jobs with this company he got in with a long time back. He retired back when I was prob'ly no bigger'n your lil' girl. But Teeter couldn't hold still none. Had to keep workin'. That's when he started workin' down at Mac's. Down at the shop. Started doin' some—well, just some freelance work. When he started havin' spells, though, that's when Merle was sayin' it was prob'ly better he didn't do that. You know. Brought him up here to work like he had less a chance of burnin' himself up with a grill than he did with a welder."
"But he hasn't," Carol said.
"Well not yet, he ain't," Daryl responded. "We take what we call Teeter-Turns. Everybody's got a couple. Run by and make sure he's OK and there ain't nothin' burning. That room in the back, though—more times than not he's asleep in there or asleep watchin' that old T.V. back there. He forgets to cook more'n he remembers."
"But now I'm here," Carol said. "And I can keep an eye on him."
"Don't think that didn't have at least a little to do with Merle's askin' you to do the job," Daryl said.
"I thought it might," Carol said.
"That bother you?" Daryl asked. "That part of your job might be havin' to be a glorified babysitter to an old man that only knows who the hell he is a couple minutes a day?"
"I've been asked to do worse things," Carol said.
"I bet you have," Daryl mused. "Hey—you gonna tell me where you come from?"
"I'm from Liberty," Carol said. "Or at least I am now."
"You still playin' that game, huh?" Daryl asked.
Carol smiled to herself.
"I don't want to look behind me," Carol said. "There's not a lot back there that I want to remember. When Sophia was born—but even that has its dark spots. I like the view in front of me a whole lot better."
"I gotta say, it worries me about where you come from if you're thinkin' that Liberty is some kinda great place," Daryl said.
"Angleeville," Carol said.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Angleeville," Carol said. "You want to know where I'm from. I was born in Angleeville, North Carolina."
"You drove that junker all the way here from North Carolina?" Daryl asked.
"I was born in Angleeville," Carol said. "We left there when I was eleven. We moved to South Carolina for two years and when I was fourteen, we moved to Georgia."
"So where in Georgia was it you run from?" Daryl asked.
"Your turn," Carol said.
"Fuck—I got jack shit to offer you. I was borned here. I'ma live my whole life here and then they gonna bury me in a cardboard box in the cemetery out there on East Creek Road that's run by the county. At least that's probably how the hell it'll happen."
Carol laughed to herself.
"The club," Carol said. "Did Merle start it? Is that why he's president?"
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Do you have some kind of hearing problem that I should be aware of?" Carol asked.
"Probably half deaf," Daryl said. "But I just mean what the hell you mean?"
"Is Merle the president of the club because he started the club?" Carol asked, drawing her words out.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Bitch," he muttered. Carol smiled to herself. She wasn't sure that she'd ever felt that word, particularly when it was growled at her, to be a sign of affection, but it felt that way. "Merle's the president 'cause he was voted into the office. Same as me being the vice president. There's been Judges around since the fifties. Teeter was among the originals. That's all the hell I know."
"How long have you been in it?" Carol asked.
"Where in Georgia did you run from?" Daryl asked.
"Pass," Carol said. "How long have you been in the club?"
"Since I was sixteen," Daryl said. "Started as a Prospect then. I was around the club before that, though, 'cause of Merle. Did odd jobs for 'em. Got myself known by everyone. What'd you say your husband's name was?"
"I'm not sure I did," Carol said. "I don't think it matters. He's my soon-to-be ex-husband as soon as your sister-in-law has anything to do with it."
"My what?" Daryl asked with a laugh.
"Sister-in-law," Carol said. "Andrea?"
"No, I know who the hell you talkin' about," Daryl said. "But she and Merle ain't married. He ain't gathered up the courage to make no honest woman out of her."
"Scared of commitment?" Carol asked.
Daryl sucked his teeth, considering the question, and lit another cigarette. He held the pack out in Carol's direction. Even though she wasn't exactly craving a cigarette, she decided to join him for the social act of smoking. She leaned the broom against the wall closest to where she was and crossed the bar. Daryl lit her cigarette for her and she sat down on the stool next to her. As soon as she was seated, Daryl propped his foot back on the rung of her stool where he'd had it resting before he moved it for her to sit.
"Ain't that," Daryl said. "At least—it ain't exactly that. Merle likes the idea of commitment. There's some whole El Dorado shit that he likes to spew about the quest for the perfect pussy or whatever. For as long as he's been with Andrea, I'm guessin' he thinks hers is damn near dipped in twenty-four carat gold." Daryl rolled his eyes toward Carol and then dropped them again, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."
Carol laughed to herself.
"It's fine," she assured him. "I've heard a lot worse. And I don't just mean tonight."
"Anyway—he don't got a problem with forever or whatever. His problem is more with the marriage part of it all."
"Why's that?" Carol asked.
Daryl looked at her and held her eyes. A smile barely turned the corner of his mouth upward and Carol felt a strange flutter in her stomach that made her heartbeat kick up a little faster. She couldn't explain it, but the feeling that ran through her wasn't entirely unpleasant.
Daryl had a nice smile.
If it weren't so late, she almost felt like she could sit on that bar stool and talk to him for hours just to see how often she could get that smile from him.
"You ain't the only one's got stories you ain't told," Daryl said. "And you don't get all my stories—or all of Merle's—for somethin' as sorry as tellin' me you was born in a town that you ain't lived in since you was haired over."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Fair enough," she said. "What about you? Are you scared of commitment or marriage or whatever?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"Maybe," he said.
"For the same reason as Merle?" Carol asked.
"If I am, I'd guess that's why," Daryl said. "You a shrink now?"
"Is that why you're not married to Alice?" Carol asked.
Daryl stared at her. He laughed to himself and shook his head like he was negating something a voice that only he could hear might have said. In the same way he'd responded to her several times that night—something that had made Carol worry about his hearing but now just made her think he'd adopted it as a sort of defense mechanism to buy himself more time to think—Daryl cleared his throat and asked her the question that she'd come to expect from him before any answer could actually be given to her inquiries.
"What?"