Daryl never thought he'd set foot in this town again. He left a few years ago with no intention of returning.
The main drag through the center of town boasted a drug store, a grocery store, and a handful of other little shops. A coffee shop. A couple of churches tucked down the side roads, their steeples poking through the tree-lined streets. A truck stop that now posed as a brewery was further out of town, closer to the highway.
When he was growing up it was a one-horse town catering to farmers, ranchers, and alcoholics. Now it appeared tidier. No trash blowing on the breeze to speak of. The road was no longer more pothole than pavement. Blacktop stretched smoothly on for miles. Parking angled along the shops. The storefronts were stylish and clean showing the wares inside each particular store. Fancy clothes. Used books. Kitchenware. Even the coffee shop got a facelift. It boasted a new sign above its window - Greene's Coffee & Bakery was written in cursive against a white backdrop framed in hunter green. Fancy schmancy.
Time passes, life changes, he knew this much. Now that Merle was in prison, he needed to get away from his life in Atlanta. He cut ties and took off on his bike. No more dealing, smuggling, or doing, afraid he'd end up locked up alongside his brother. He dodged a bullet there and wasn't going to put himself in the line of fire again.
He roamed the Gulf for a while, down to the Panhandle. Went north along the east coast, spent some time with cousins in the Ozarks. Then found himself tired and worn out with nowhere to go and cash was running low. He could only think of one place to go.
Home.
That was a hard word. He wasn't sure what home meant to him anymore if he ever did. Technically, this was the place he grew up. This is where his home was, where he had practically burst at the seams wanting out of. When he saw an opportunity to split, he took it.
As he drove down Mainstreet, people meandered about, strolling along on the sidewalks, stopping to talk with one another or to look through one of the display windows of the shops. Children laughed and played in the playground. He could smell coffee wafting through the air. The whole town reeked of quaintness and wholesomeness and all things he thought he detested.
Shifting with his left foot into high gear, he revved the engine with his right hand, the mufflerless V-twin engine reverberating off the buildings lining either side of the road as he sped through the rest of town. Having seen enough, he didn't slow until he came to Rural Route 2, Dixon Lane as they called it because they were the only ones who lived down it
"Damn motorcycles," Dale grumbled, startled and splashing his coffee, black, no cream or sugar, out of his mug. "Sorry 'bout that Ms. Beth."
"Don't you worry about it," Beth said, wiping up the liquid with a white rag.
Dale had been coming to the coffee shop since they served black coffee and stale donuts. Hershel Greene had opened it to supplement the farm that had been in the family for generations that always seemed to be seeping money. In the past few years, it had surpassed what they ever thought it would and had become the family's main source of income.
As the town changed to a more tourist-driven family-friendly area, as time and money allowed they upgraded their equipment as well as their menu. It was now a place to get your coffee, from black to specialty frappuccino with skim milk and a double shot of espresso and everything in between. They also served muffins, donuts, pastries, cookies, and cakes made on the premises. It was a family run establishment, one they kept working to improve even after Hershel's death years ago.
"I swear those motorcycles get louder by the day," Dale complained.
"Oh, now Dale, you can't tell me you didn't cause up a stir when you were younger." She sent him a sweet smile. He tried to hide his grin with his cup of coffee but wasn't successful.
"How's that sweet little girl of yours?" Dale asked, changing the subject.
"She is wonderful," Beth boasted, a genuine smile brightening her face. "Wild as ever."
She really was wonderful and wild and Beth couldn't wait to get home to her. As much as she loved working at the coffee shop, the moment she left her she wanted to run back home. Beth worked from six am until two, four days a week. She did a bit of everything from baking to working on the books, scheduling, to making coffee, keeping contact with the customers, regulars and strangers alike.
She liked to think she and her little girl had a special bond, though she knew enough to know it was probably that way for most mothers and daughters. She hoped this to be true. Everyone should feel the love she feels for her daughter.
The house he grew up in was miles out of town down a dead-end dirt lane. Both his parents were gone, leaving him the property. It was the only thing he owned other than his bike. As he pulled down the lane and the house came into view, Daryl was surprised to see the house, a small shack with a tin roof was still standing. The dead grass was only ankle high. Luckily the heat had fried it, keeping it to a bearable height. The porch was falling off. He spent many an evening sitting on that small porch because it was too hot to stay inside. Smoking and thinking too much. Two windows on the opposite side of the front door were still intact. They stared at him like dark soulless eyes. Parking his bike he sat quietly for a moment having a staredown with those eyes, wondering if this was what he really wanted.
He was tired of wandering. Tired of the endless disconnect. Tired of always looking over his shoulder wondering if that was the last deal he'd ever make. Tired of worrying about pissing off the wrong tweaker.
This was it, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. He dismounted the bike, ignoring the nigglings of doubt traipsing through his mind.
The afternoon sun waned on falling lower on the horizon as he repaired what he could. There was a shed with limited tools and materials. He fixed a hole in the roof with extra tin he found in the shed. He boarded up the small bathroom window that had given out over the years. Hacked down the ivy that had grown up almost completely covering the west wall of the house. He swept out all the dust and cobwebs from the inside. With what he found in the closet of the tiny bathroom, he made up the bed in the main bedroom with dusty smelling sheets.
At some point, he'd have to make a supply run to the home improvement store as well as the grocery store. He had called ahead and had the power turned back on and the fridge was cold enough when he put a two-liter of coke away that he had carried in the saddlebag of his motorcycle. Other than that and a few candy bars, a bag of trail mix, and a half eaten bag of Doritos he had no food.
Junk food was basically what he'd lived on for the last two years anyway, the grocery run could wait a bit. Beth always tried to scrounge up a decent meal. Daryl, being totally honest with himself, wasn't a great provider. If he was going with the whole honesty thing, he wasn't a great boyfriend either. Sometimes they'd have plenty of funds and plenty of the things those funds bought. Other times they'd be near destitute and more times than not they were destitute. Beth brought in what she could, working odd jobs here and there. It was never enough.
The problem was Merle. Separating what Daryl had from Merle was near impossible. Merle would lay a guilt trip on him or he'd just take what Daryl had saved saying how there was always more drugs to sell, more money to be made. Merle always somehow or another ended up spending every dime they made.
Daryl fell back onto the sofa, dust plumed into the air. He shut his eyes trying to block out any more thoughts of Beth or the disaster that he and Merle made of their lives. But his mind stayed on Beth and where she might be.
That's the trouble with going back to places you once left, it brought up too many damn memories. He forced himself up off the couch. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep and inevitably dream about Beth. The only way to avoid that, he'd learned over the last few years, was to fall into such a deep sleep he didn't remember a thing in the morning. Usually, a downer of some kind did the trick. Since he'd unofficially quit doing any drug he could get his hands on, he had to find other ways to cope.
He went to the tiny bedroom he and Merle had shared and in the closet, just as he suspected, his old crossbow teddered precariously on a single nail hammered into the wood. He'd left it behind when he took off not having room to carry it with him on his bike, doubting he would be needing it. He was right, he hadn't needed it. They lived in one dump after another usually smack dab in the city. There was no place to hunt in any of those places.
After spending the rest of the evening by the dimming light of the sky, the bow shot almost as good as new and after a few practice shots, dusting the rust out of his system, he was shooting pretty well, thinking maybe he wouldn't starve after all. It wasn't hunting season just yet but hunting without a license wasn't the worst thing he'd done in his life.