A/N Thank you all so much! I hope you're taking good care of yourselves and each other and that you have everything you need.
As for Daryl and Beth, they made it to the garage now let's go in the house and have a look around :)
00
He holds the door for her as they enter into his kitchen. It isn't especially big but it's big enough, and it's nice. The house is old and the room is simple but everything is in good condition, appliances, cabinets and countertops.
The walls are painted pale yellow like the trim on the exterior of the house, and the trim is painted the pale green color. It looks cheerful and peaceful at the same time.
What really catches her eye, and what she likes best is the built-in kitchen table and benches. They sit in a nook in front of the window and the window looks out to a pleasant back porch and pretty little yard. She imagines how nice it would be to sit at his kitchen table and have a meal while enjoying the view.
The other thing she's noticing is the cute tablecloth. He doesn't seem like a man who would have a cute vintage tablecloth that matches the kitchen colors. She wonders then, does he have a girlfriend? A wife? Someone who just happens to not be home this weekend?
His thoughts are on something else entirely. He doesn't want to hurt her feelings but the truth is the truth and he figures she probably knows anyway, "Listen girl, ya need a shower real bad. Lemme show ya where the bathroom is."
He can tell she's embarrassed but she also seems relieved. She doesn't quite look at him when she says, "That would be wonderful. I mean, if you're sure?"
She thinks she probably shouldn't. He's a stranger. Is she just going to get naked in some strange man's house and jump in the shower like it's no big deal? It's stupid and risky. But the urge to wash off the layers of nasty dirt wins out over her common sense.
He, on the other hand, has almost fully resigned himself to the fact that he's completely lost his mind, "Yeah, sure. No problem."
They walk through the living room and while she thinks it's certainly a perfectly nice room, it's just a bit plain. A leather sofa, two matching leather chairs, a couple of tables, a great big wall mounted TV, and a bookcase.
It's like he went to the furniture store, picked out one of those room settings of furniture, brought it home and placed it just like they had it displayed in the store. Except for what's sitting on the center of the coffee table.
It's a floral arrangement, and not the kind you buy from a florist. These flowers look handpicked from the yard, and they're arranged in a big mason jar with a gingham ribbon tied in a bow. Definitely not something she thinks this man would do. More like something a woman would do.
Then she gets angry with herself. How dare she. It's none of her business if he wants to have flowers in the living room and a tablecloth in the kitchen.
Now she feels ashamed.
It's not a new feeling.
She follows him down the hall and he stops in front of a door, pushing it open for her. "This is the extra bathroom. It's clean. I never use it. I can get my shampoo and some soap for ya, and there's towels hangin' there." He frowns when he adds, "Shit, I'm not sure if I got an extra toothbrush."
"I have one. I just don't have toothpaste." She does her best to smile, "You're being very nice to me. I don't know why; but thank you." On the inside, she's starting to feel more anxiety. Is he really as nice as he seems to be, or is it an act? And why is she being so trusting of him? And is there a woman?
Maybe she's being stupid, but for some reason she doesn't think she has to worry. Not really. This man seems so genuine.
She's waiting in the doorway when he comes back with a bottle of shampoo, a half-used tube of toothpaste and a fresh bar of soap. She sees a shyness in him as he hands them to her, shrugs his shoulders and says, "I hope this'll do. It's all I got."
She nods, "Of course, yes, this is great, thank you."
The words that come out of his mouth next are unexpected even by him, and they shake him right down to his socks, "We can pick ya up some more stuff when we go ta the store tomorrow."
She doesn't respond, she doesn't know what to say, and he quickly tries to fix it, "I been workin' alotta O.T., ain't been ta the store in a couple a weeks." Did he really have to explain all that to her? No, dammit. He's got to quit treating her like they're friends. Still he asks, "Anyway, I's gonna order pizza for dinner. Does that sound okay?"
She's stunned he would even bother to ask her. Her words tell him, "You should have whatever you like. I'll be grateful for anything you share."
That's what she says, but the look on her face tells him pizza is one of the last things she wants to eat. Then he remembers she got sick to her stomach outside D&Ls. Yeah, no wonder she looks like she hates the idea. He'll think of something.
She starts to close the bathroom door, then pauses and says, "You're a good person. I appreciate everything you've done for me." She starts to close it again then pauses once more, "I don't even know your name."
"Daryl. Yours?"
"Beth."
He's an idiot. For crissake, he's doing her a big fucking favor, why is he worrying about getting her a dinner she'll like? Food she'll be able to keep down? Shit. It's his dinner, she ought to be happy with anything he gives her.
Then he kind of hates himself because that's just it. She will be happy with anything. It's him. He's the one who's worrying. It's only because…well dammit, she needs to eat something.
He's been ordering pizza from the same place for over three years, but this is the first time he actually reads the menu on his phone app. He gives it a quick once over, then starts tapping items and adding them to his cart.
For himself it's always the same thing, an extra large pizza with everything on it and an order of breadsticks with marinara dip. Simple. The difference between him and her is he's healthy with a cast iron stomach and damn, she seems kind of delicate.
He orders his usual but for her he chooses some kind of pasta dish, alfredo. It says it has white sauce and it has chicken. That ought to be easy on the stomach. Still, just in case it won't do he picks a salad. Some Mediterranean deal. He no sooner has that added than he thinks maybe she'd rather just have a sandwich, and they have subs. He orders turkey. Turkey's easy to digest, right?
Hell, one of those things has to appeal to her and leftovers are no problem. Eventually he'll eat whatever might be left of any of it. He places the order.
Going through all that bullshit just to get himself a pizza was more stressful than work. He grabs a beer, flips the TV on to the early news and settles in on the sofa to watch.
He never does hear any news.
He can't hear anything over his own loud thoughts. He wonders who she is. Beyond being a pretty woman whose found herself in dire straits, who is Beth? The little he's gotten to see of her the more convinced he is she hasn't been on the street long. She doesn't seem hardened enough. And how did she wind up living that way to begin with?
Maybe he'll ask her, maybe she'll volunteer something and he won't have to ask. Whatever, he won't do it tonight. For the time being he's convinced she's a good person. Sweet and soft-spoken, a little shy and plenty scared, and something else. He's worried she isn't well.
Maybe it's lack of proper food and not getting enough to eat, or maybe it's more. That's another thing he supposes he'll ask soon.
Finally he asks himself the biggest question of all, "What the fuck is the matter with you Dixon? Are ya outta your fuckin' mind? Who the fuck brings home some street person and treats her like company?"
So, no, he heard no news.
It feels so good to be in a clean bathroom and finally have some privacy. She likes the fact that although everything looks clean and freshly painted, he hasn't changed the fixtures in the old bathroom. If she wasn't so filthy she'd opt for soaking in the big tub rather than taking a shower.
But she is filthy. Never in a million years could she have imagined she would wind up in such a terrible situation. But here she is, and for now all she wants to do is take advantage of an opportunity to wash away the outside evidence of how she's been living. The grime and worse, the odor.
She's never felt so disgusting. So hopeless. So helpless.
The first thing she does is brush her teeth and she feels a little better already. She'd love a little mouthwash and she almost opens his medicine cabinet to look, but stops herself just in time. She shouldn't be snooping. She promises herself she'll respect his privacy as she begins peeling off her clothes. She's been wearing them for days and they're so gross she almost throws up again. She begins to move more quickly, anxious to get in the shower.
As soon as the water is warm she steps in and stands right under the shower head, adjusting the temperature until it's as hot as she can take it.
She'd love to stand there all day and just let the hot water pour over her, but she also wants to wash. She begins with her hair, scrubbing her scalp relentlessly as she washes and rinses it over and over. When she finally feels like she's gotten it clean, she takes the fresh bar of soap and the washcloth and scrubs her body again and again. Like she's trying to scrub her skin off.
The whole time she's scrubbing she cries. She cries about how stupid she is to have gotten herself in this awful situation. She cries because she's lonely and afraid, and she's felt that way for a while now. Mostly she cries because she has no idea what might happen to her next, and it's so scary.
Who is Daryl she wonders? Part of the answer is obvious. He's a working man, a professional tradesman of some sort. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out he likes the outdoors, and he definitely likes big boy toys. The big pickup truck, the fishing boat, the shiny motorcycle, all those things are obvious.
His good looks have an earthy, manly kind of appeal. It's like he's naturally good looking and doesn't even realize he is.
Stop it she tells herself. Those are not the things she should notice or care about. She has much bigger things to concern herself with. Yet she can't help noticing certain things.
Like the fact that he's built. It's not the kind of body guys get from working out at the gym. His is the kind of body a man who works hard all day has. Besides, those broad shoulders are something you don't get in a gym. You have to be blessed with those. So yes, whatever kind of work he does it must be very physical.
What she knows about him more than anything else is that he's been kind to her. He paid for her food that morning, he gave her his leftovers that afternoon, and now he's brought her to his home and made her feel like a guest rather than a beggar.
He may not look the part of an angel but that's just what he's been for her. Her own rough and rugged guardian angel.
She walks in the living room and he damn near does a double take. She looks the same and yet she looks completely different.
She looks beautiful.
The hair that not long before was so dirty and matted now looks bright, blonde and shiny. He likes how she has it up in a ponytail. She wears leggings and a t-shirt that are a bit wrinkled, but they're clean and only a little too big. Man, her skin. The dirt on her skin has been replaced by pale pink tones. It looks soft and warm; it almost seems to glow.
The biggest difference though is her smile. It's the first time he's seen her with a big, bright and genuinely happy smile.
He finds himself smiling back at her as he stands from his seat like some kind of gentleman. He asks, "Ya feel better now?"
She's still smiling when she answers, "Oh my gosh, you have no idea how much better. Thank you so much Daryl." Then her look changes to one of concern. She bites her lip as her forehead creases and she starts to ask, "Um, this is the last of the clothes I have that aren't dirty and smelly…"
He knows right away what she wants to ask, "Yeah, we'll throw em in the wash." He wouldn't mind getting rid of the street smells once and for all himself.
She still has the canvas bag and the backpack with her and he doesn't offer to carry them. He goes about it another way. He simply holds his hand out in offer. Unlike at the truck this time she silently agrees, handing him the canvas bag.
She follows him back to the kitchen and he opens a door that enters into a laundry room. Although it isn't large, it's big enough to hold the washer, dryer and a small utility sink.
Above the appliances are shelves with laundry detergent, fabric softener and bleach, as well as household cleaning products and a stack of clean rags. In the corner there's a broom and a bucket with a mop in it.
It's all so tidy and just like the tablecloth in the kitchen and the flowers in the living room, it makes her wonder. Is there a woman? A girlfriend? She can't very well ask that, so she asks in another way, "Do you do your own housework Daryl?"
He shrugs, "I think I keep it up pretty good, but I got a lady who comes every other Thursday. She does it the right way." Then he kind of laughs when he adds, "I think she's tryin' ta civilize me. Putting cloths on the table and flowers here and there."
Why should the news he doesn't have a girlfriend make her feel so happy? She tells herself, quit Beth. Quit. She apologizes, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business to even ask, it's just that everything looks so clean and tidy, and gosh, it's nice you have help."
He shrugs again and tells her, "Yeah well, I'm happy not ta hafta do it and she's happy gettin' paid ta do it." Then he smiles and admits, "I got far more interest in keeping the garage just the way I want it."
He lifts the lid on the washer and reaches for the laundry soap while she opens the zipper of the canvas bag. She begins to pull the clothes out when something else nearly falls out.
He quickly backs away in case the son of a bitch goes off. Shit, she doesn't look like the type to carry a pistol.
She talks fast, "I'm sorry. I'm sure it's not even loaded. I just had it and I thought if anyone bothered me maybe I could use it to scare them away."
He's not sure if he's more pissed off or more concerned. He's a lot of both. He thinks he probably sounds like a mean old bastard when he scolds, "Or maybe they'd see the pistol, shoot ya first and ask questions later. Whaddya say ya lemme have a look at that?"
She nods as he sets the laundry soap down and carefully picks up the weapon. Sure enough the safety isn't engaged and there's a bullet in the chamber. He pops it out, puts the safety on, puts the bullet in his shirt pocket and the pistol on the shelf.
He's all keyed up now, "You're lucky ya didn't accidentally kill yourself or someone else. How bout I give it back to ya after we have a lesson in gun safety?" He sounds so mad she should be scared to death, but his eyes look so worried when he asks, "Do ya even know how ta shoot the damn thing?"
First she tells him, "I've shot a BB gun," then she hangs her head and admits, "No. I don't know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Sorry don't do no good." He stops, forces himself to take a breath and calm down. Then he tells her, "Listen, we'll figure it out, but I'm keepin' the damn thing til we do." She doesn't argue.
He needs a minute to think, to breathe, to decide what to do. He makes a stab at changing the subject, "Let's get this wash goin', pizza'll be here in a minute."
But he finds he can't quite let it go that easy. He has a serious question that just won't wait. He lays his hand on her arm and looks hard in her eyes when he questions, "You in trouble with the law Beth?"
"What?"
"The cops. You on the run?"
"No. I promise. Nothing like that."
For now he doesn't push it, but there seems to be a whole lot more questions than answers when it comes to sweet Beth.
They've just gotten the washer going, including throwing the canvas bag in, when one more question comes to his mind, "Ya got any other weapons stashed? Another pistol? A knife?"
"No, I promise Daryl. That's all."
"Yeah, well, that's enough."
Thank God the doorbell rings.
She stays back, waiting timidly while he goes to the door. She hears the driver getting nosey, "Ya got plenty of food here, ya havin' a party?"
Daryl goes along, "Yep, big party. It's Friday night in Smithton."
He'd normally sit on the sofa with the pizza box on the coffee table, along with a beer and a roll of paper towels. This night he goes fancy. He puts two plates on the kitchen table along with two forks and a stack of paper napkins, then tells her, "Go on an sit now."
She watches him with a mix of curiosity and a strange feeling of admiration. He seems to be walking through life like everything is no big deal at all, like it all just comes so easily. She wonders if that's how it really is for him.
She's also thinking that there's so much about him she'd like to know. Then she reminds herself that's never going to happen. He let her clean up, he's going to give her a meal and then he'll get her out of here. She's darn lucky she got what she got.
She snaps back to the moment when he says, "Go on an sit like I said. I know your stomach ain't right. I got ya some stuff I thought might be a little easier on ya than pizza." As he speaks he sets the pasta, the salad and the sandwich at the center of the table.
He's gone way beyond anything he ever had to do, shoot, he didn't have to do anything at all. She looks up at him like she can't believe he's even real, "You didn't have to. I don't have any right to be picky."
"I know I didn't have to. Now eat. Ya need food." He's about to sit when he thinks of one more thing, "I'ma have a beer, ya think you can hold one down? The only other choice I got right now is water."
"I think I should stick with water." She's feeling kind of overwhelmed by all these kindnesses. She's almost afraid she'll start crying if she tries to express to him just how much everything he's done means to her. She settles for simply saying, "Thank you Daryl."
He sets the water down in front of her, says, "Yeah sure, I's gonna eat anyway and it ain't often I have company." He takes a swallow of the beer and watches her as she scoops up a small forkful of the pasta, then cautions, "Just go real easy. I know you're hungry but try'n take it slow. Your stomach probably ain't much bigger than a walnut right now."
She's trying to take it slow as she watches him consume nearly half a slice of pizza in one bite. Before he can shovel in another she questions, "So, if you don't mind me asking, what kind of work do you do Daryl?"
He rubs a napkin across his face, swallows the pizza, gulps down a little beer and answers, "I'm a lineman for Georgia Power."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
He seems so offhand when he answers, "I guess. There's all kinds a shit that could go wrong. A person could fall, get electrocuted, get burned. It's a lot and guys get hurt and worse. All you can do is be real cautious, use safety equipment and keep your mind on what you're doin'." He takes another swallow of beer and raps his knuckles on the table when he says, "Knock on wood, I been at it nine years and so far I been lucky."
"Do you like it, that kind of work?"
"Yeah. It's outside, I work with a pretty good bunch, and all the overtime I just made is gonna pay off my fishin' boat."
She takes another little bite of the pasta and admits, "That's great, but I'd be so afraid to climb up that high." She kind of giggles and he thinks it sounds real cute, then she looks at him with that sweet smile on her face and says, "I'm pretty sure I'd never even be able to climb the darn pole in the first place."
She started it. She's asking questions and he's been answering every one of them. Now he wants to ask her questions, but then in another way he doesn't. There are plenty of things he wants to know but he's afraid it would all get too heavy. The last three weeks have been tough and today was a long day.
Then he gets honest with himself about what's really stopping him. He doesn't think he's ready to hear about any bad stuff happening to her. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.
All he really wants to do for now is watch her while she eats and hope to God she doesn't get sick again. Then get his shower, get a good night's sleep and spend the better part of tomorrow on the lake. Hopefully not thinking or worrying.
So he doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't offer any information.
He's eaten all but a couple of slices of the pizza, most of the breadsticks and she's gotten through maybe a quarter of the pasta and a few small bites of salad. She doesn't appear to be interested in eating any more at the moment so he stands and says, "I'ma just clear this up. If ya get hungry again after while you could try'n eat a little more. A'ight?"
"Yes, thanks. I can help pick up. Let me help, please."
"Sure if ya want. Ain't got much ta do, that's the best part about takeout."
He smiles the smallest of smiles and this time she sees the truth in his eyes. He isn't just some carefree guy skipping through life with no problems. She's sure there's a big story behind those deep blue eyes.
00
A/N I hope you enjoyed it and that you'll leave a comment. If you'd like to check it out, there's a chapter photo on my tumblr blogs, gneebee and bethylmethbrick, besides Bethyl, you'll see the bathroom and that kitchen table too :) I'll be back next Friday with Chapter Three of Love on The Line, and I hope to see you here. Please take good care of yourselves, let's be kind to one another and get through this together. Until next week remember, I love ya large! xo gneebee