A/N: Hey my lovely Richonners! Sorry for the delay! Thank you all for your thought-provoking reviews, follows, and favorites! I know there is concern about the time period and how deep I will go into depicting racial turmoil. I've wrestled with this, and while I want to remain true to the time period, I don't want the story to be too heavy. So much was going on post-civil rights era, that I can't really do it justice in this story. So, I'm asking you to suspend disbelief, just a little, and focus on Richonne's story. Also, I know in reality, Black people would NOT leave Atlanta for a small, rural town, but I had to get the characters in the same place, lol. I apologize that this chapter is not very Richonne heavy, but it's necessary to establish key elements of the story. We will get plenty of Richonne in subsequent chapters, I promise! Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy! By the way, it's my birthday tomorrow. Send me a gift by reviewing! Be safe, friends!


Chapter 3: Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

August, 1969…

Mike walked up and down the aisles of the convenience store, picking up various items for his romantic evening. His mother requested to see her grandson, and he was more than happy to accommodate, eager to get some much-needed alone time with his wife. It was near closing and the store was almost empty, with only a few customers making last minute purchases.

Mike quickly located the items he needed to put together a nice charcuterie board, including some delicious meats, cheeses, olives, and bread. He then made his way over to the cooler and scanned the wine selections, finally settling on a crisp pinot grigio. He smiled to himself and hummed along with the music playing on the overhead speakers, as he picked up his final item, a chocolate mousse cake, topped with fresh strawberries, Michonne's favorite. Taking his items up to the cashier, he nodded a greeting to the store clerk, a young white woman, he knew as Lydia.

"Hi Mr. Hawthorne," she smiled, as she began ringing up his selections. "You got a date night planned?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that" Mike grinned. "My wife and I are going to spend some quality time together."

"That's nice," Lydia smiled, continuing to ring up his items.

The door at the entrance of the store swung open and they briefly looked up, as a Negro man entered, then disappeared down one of the aisles.

"Okay, you're all set," Lydia announced, as she finished bagging the groceries.

"Thanks, Lydia," Mike said, paying the bill and walking out of the store.

The Tracks of My Tears escaped through the open window of the Ford Mustang, and Mike smiled as he watched Michonne sing along…

So take a good look at my face
You'll see my smile looks out of place

Mike joined in as he sat in the driver's seat…

If you look closer, it's easy to trace
The tracks of my tears

Michonne smiled, loving the smooth tone of his melodic voice. He leaned over and gently kissed her, "Hey you," he whispered.

"Hey baby, did you get everything?" She grinned, flirtatiously batting her long eyelashes at him. She loved the fact that even after seven years of marriage, they still managed to be just as enamored with one another as the day they met.

"Of course. I got snacks, wine, and most importantly…dessert," he beamed, smooching her once more.

"Did you get my ice cream?" she asked. "The cake isn't the same without it?"

Mike closed his eyes and rested his head against the headrest. "Shoot, I forgot to grab it. Can't you eat the cake this one time without it? I'll go out and pick up some tomorrow," he promised, smiling sweetly at her.

"Baby, please…it won't take long," she pleaded, before gifting him with a sensual kiss and running her fingers over his handsome face. "Besides, we have all night. What's a few more minutes?"

"You're good, you know that?" Mike smirked. "All right…anything for my princess. I'll be right back."

Mike opened the car door, ready to make his exit but was stopped by Michonne gently grabbing his hand. He looked over to her smiling face, adoration evident in her eyes.

"I love you," she said softly.

Caressing the side of her soft cheek, he returned the sentiment, "I love you, too."

Mike got out of the car and reentered the store, intent on quickly grabbing Michonne's double fudge ice cream and getting home to enjoy their night. He swiftly walked down the aisle leading to the freezer section, nearly colliding with the man he'd seen earlier.

"Excuse me," Mike commented. The man remained silent, avoiding making eye contact as he briskly traipsed to the front of the store.

Mike shrugged at his odd behavior. He opened the freezer and examined the different flavors of ice cream, finally landing his eyes on Michonne's favorite. He retrieved it and strolled toward the front counter. As he got closer, he heard a slight commotion.

"Hurry up! Don't make me hurt you. I just want the money," the man gruffly stated.

"You don't have to do this," Lydia nervously replied.

"I said hurry up!" the man repeated.

Mike rounded the corner to see the man he'd bumped into, pointing a pistol at Lydia. The young woman was clearly frightened, her naturally olive skin turning pale, as she stood trembling. Mike froze, not wanting to startle the man and make him do anything rash. Lydia made eye contact with him, slowly nodding her head as if asking him not to make a move.

"Okay," she stated, moving slowly toward the register. "We don't have much cash on hand…"

"I don't give a fuck how much you have, give me what you got!" the man yelled, keeping the weapon trained on her.

Mike knew from a previous conversation with Lydia that the store had an emergency panic button located behind the front counter. Ironically, the young woman had divulged the information when he inquired about her safety working alone at night. He instantly decided if he could distract the man, it would give Lydia an opportunity to reach the button and alert the police.

"Hey brother, just calm down," Mike encouraged.

The man quickly turned to face Mike, pointing the gun in his direction. Mike dropped the ice cream and held up his hands. He saw Lydia quietly move to push the panic button, so he continued his attempt to talk the man down.

"Mind your fucking business…I'm not trying to hurt anyone, but I will if I have to…I just want the money," the man stated to Mike. "You stay where you are!"

"I'm staying right here…but you should probably go ahead and leave before you do something you'll regret," Mike responded.

The man seemed to be contemplating Mike's words. His deep brown eyes danced between Mike and Lydia as he began to shake his head. He lowered the gun to his side and Mike breathed a sigh of relief. He frantically wanted to get outside to Michonne before the police arrived.

After a few moments, the man raised the gun, pointing it at Lydia once again. "Nah, I can't do that…I need that money, now put it in a bag and hand it over. If you make me say it again, I will hurt you."

Lydia glanced at Mike, tears streaming down her face. He nodded for her to do as the man instructed. She opened the cash register, grabbed an empty shopping bag, and began filling it with money.

Outside, Michonne sat in the car, wondering what was keeping Mike. She figured he'd struck up a conversation with the clerk or another customer. People were drawn to him, and he never seemed to meet a stranger. She chuckled to herself, thinking about her husband's ability to make friends wherever he went.

The sound of sirens broke through her thoughts and overpowered the music coming from the radio. She sat up straight, stunned by two squad cars rapidly pulling into the store parking lot. She watched as two white officers quickly departed one of the vehicles with their guns drawn.

"Mike," she whispered to herself. Panic set in as she got out of the car. "Mike!" she yelled, causing the other two officers to walk toward her, holding their hands out to block her as she tried to reach the entrance of the store.

"Miss, get back in your vehicle," one of the officers commanded.

"Sir, what's going on? My husband is in there," She responded shakily, trying to maneuver her way past the two men.

Suddenly, they were jolted by two loud gunshots ringing through the air.

"Mike!" Michonne screamed, pushing through the officers, and entering the store. The two men urgently followed behind her.

"Stop right there!" a red-headed officer ordered her as she came through the door, his weapon drawn on her.

Michonne froze as her eyes focused on Mike. He was lying on the floor. His white shirt was now a deep shade of crimson as blood oozed from a wound in his chest. His brown eyes appeared glossed over, as she watched the life draining from them. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as disbelief, anger, and fear gripped her.

"What have you done?!" she screamed at the officers. "What have you done to him?!" She ignored the officers' commands to stay put and rushed over to Mike, nearly slipping on the blood that was now pooling on the floor. She collapsed by his side and wailed.

"Mike…Mike…baby…no, please don't leave me," she begged, frantically placing her hands on his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Call an ambulance…please…help him!" she shouted to anyone who was listening.

"They're on the way," Lydia replied, coming from behind the front counter and kneeling next to Michonne. "I'm sorry…he was trying to protect me," the young woman cried.

"What happened?" Michonne sobbed, trying to make sense of it all.

"They thought it was him," Lydia whispered. "They made a mistake…the man…he got away out the back door before they came…and they made a mistake…" her voice drifted off as she was overcome with shock and grief.

Michonne tuned out the woman's voice, as well as the voices of the officers. She gathered her lifeless husband into her arms and held him. As the tears streamed down her face, she rocked him and closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, this nightmare would be over.


Present Day…

Michonne sat on the lawn chair, watching numerous residents of her quaint neighborhood enjoy the festivities at the annual fall kick-off block party. The food and drinks were plentiful, kids were playing games, including hopscotch, bean bag toss, and a few were currently taking their best shot at a large donkey piñata. Several of the adults danced to The Isley Brothers' It's Your Thing as it blared through the street.

Everyone was smiling and having a great time…everyone except Michonne. She couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Rick a couple of days ago. The man was persistent in his efforts to get her to open up. His interest in her troubles was a little strange, but she believed Daryl when he said Rick liked to help people. She surmised that he was a savior type, but she wasn't interested in being saved.

Still, when he cornered her at the diner, something about him holding her hand as they sat alone, made her feel safe, even if only for a moment. She knew it wasn't right. After all, Rick was a white cop, just like the man who had taken her husband from her. The thought of interacting with him, made her feel guilty, even if she knew the generalization wasn't logical. Nevertheless, she found herself relaying to him the entire story of how and why Mike died, causing the memories to resurface and haunt her. She replayed the images in her mind of Mike lying covered in his own blood and it made her angry and sad at the same time. She wished Rick hadn't pushed her but maybe she needed to talk to someone about it…someone other than her mother and Sasha.

She looked over to the group of kids playing nearby. Andre stood with a honey-complexioned little girl with her long, sandy brown hair in two thick French braids. They were laughing and blowing bubbles through a large wand. She smiled to herself, happy to see her little boy enjoying himself despite everything he'd been through over the past couple of months.

"Why are you so quiet over there?" Sasha asked, pulling her cousin from her reflections.

Michonne glanced over to the caramel-skinned beauty. "No reason, just lost in my thoughts I guess," she shrugged.

"Everything all right, honey?" Anna asked, lightly tapping Michonne's lap as she sat next to her.

"I'm fine, mama. Just tired is all," Michonne replied, offering her mother a weak smile.

"You been working a lot lately. Is Dale treating you okay? I swear that old man can be such a pain sometimes," Anna intimated.

"He's better now that I'm getting the hang of things. One of the other waitresses, Carol, has been helping me out. She's the only one who can keep him in check," Michonne chuckled.

"Ah yes, Carol. She's a tough cookie," Sasha laughed. "You know she lives not too far from here, moved here with her husband Ed a few years ago. We were surprised to see them on 'this side of the tracks'," Sasha noted with air quotes. "But she's cool…not your typical white damsel in distress. Ed was a real piece of work. He used to beat her…it was awful. Eventually she got tired of it and left him. He moved out west with his family and she's been surviving ever since. I actually admire the woman."

"Who are you all gossiping about now?" a lighter-skinned woman with a full head of dark, curly hair interrupted, taking a seat next to Sasha.

"No one is gossiping, Nora," Sasha curtly replied. "And if we were, you'd be the first to join in."

Nora cut her eyes at Sasha, "Now you know that is not true. I mind my own business and expect others to do the same."

"I'm sure," Sasha smirked. "Wouldn't want any deep, dark secrets coming to light."

Michonne and Anna glanced between the two women, sensing the tension. Michonne cleared her throat, suddenly interested in the loose thread hanging from her high-waisted capri pants.

"Where are my manners? I'm Nora Johnson," the curly-haired woman stated, extending her dainty hand to Michonne.

"Hi, I'm Sasha's cousin, Michonne. It's nice to meet you, Nora."

"Likewise," the pretty woman smiled. "It's good to see you, Ms. Jameson," she said to Anna.

"You too, honey. I hope you been keeping out of trouble," Anna replied.

"I sure have ma'am," Nora assured her.

"Anyway, we were just talking about my cousin working over there on the southside at Dale's Diner. I can imagine them white folks' faces when they see you bringing out their food…then again, they're used to us waiting on them hand and foot…so pathetic," Sasha remarked, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me? What exactly is pathetic about me doing whatever I can to get back on my feet?" Michonne questioned, growing irritated with her outspoken cousin.

"Nothin'…I'm just saying I'm getting tired of seeing us bend to their will all the time. We don't owe them a damn thing…and you're too good to be working that job. You're smart, Michonne. You should be pursuing your dream of becoming a nurse, not slaving away for some grumpy, old white man."

"Sasha…girl, that's enough! Michonne has been through hell and back. She's doing the best she can. Besides, you wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for your mother setting aside her pride and slaving away for some old white man every day to make sure you kept a roof over your head and food in your belly after your father up and left. You do what you can to survive. You be careful what you say," Anna scolded.

"I meant no disrespect, auntie. I just been listening to the Panthers and what they're doing and saying makes a lot of sense. I know you saw the changes in Atlanta. They're giving kids free breakfast, providing medical clinics, and building up our communities. That's what we should be doing here in King County. Not letting men like Pete Anderson and Jack Shepard keep us in the past," Sasha responded.

"I couldn't agree more," Bob stated, pulling up a chair and settling next to Sasha.

"Hey, I'm glad you made it," the young woman smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

"Ms. Jameson, Michonne…it's nice to see you again," Bob greeted them.

"Same to you, Mr. Stookey," Michonne replied.

"Mr. Stookey was my father…please call me Bob," he reminded Michonne.

"Bob, this is Nora. She lives in the neighborhood," Sasha stated, pointing to the woman sitting next to her.

Bob and Nora exchanged a friendly smile, before Michonne continued with the conversation.

"Sasha, I don't disagree with what you're saying. I know all too well how dangerous it is for Negroes to be complacent with the way things have been, but I don't have the energy right now to worry about anything other than taking care of my son. He just lost his father…I lost my husband. I have nothing to give to this 'movement' you're so hell bent on being involved in."

"Michie, I get it…but I'm not going to roll over and be treated like a second-class citizen any longer. It's time we take what we deserve," Sasha shot back.

"And what's that, Sasha?" Nora chimed in.

"Reparations for starters. This country owes us for what they've put us through," Sasha retorted.

"Oh, girl. You're talking foolish. Negroes are making progress, right now. Just be happy with that," Nora sighed. "All this militant mess is dangerous."

"You keep being lost, sista…keep believing that passive approach will get you somewhere. That don't work for me."

"Sash is right," Bob stated. "The government has stepped in to change laws, but we all know that ain't really changing nothing. Things won't change until white people change how they think, and I don't see that happening anytime soon. When I was over in Nam, the white soldiers still treated me like I was nothin' but a nigga…oh, I apologize ma'am," he stated to Anna.

"It's all right, Bob. You ain't saying nothing I haven't heard before. I understand your frustration. The irony of going to another country to fight for democracy when you barely have equal rights at home. It's really something…and I know Sasha is upset about her brother, Tyreese being over there right now. I pray for his safety every day…I pray for you girls and my grandbaby, too. I understand the urge to want to do something…but you also have to be smart," Anna warned, looking directly at her niece. "Keep a level head, young lady. I promised my sister on her death bed that I would look after you. Don't make a liar out of me. You better not get mixed up in something that could get you into trouble."

"I appreciate your concern, auntie. I won't get into any trouble. I'll be safe, but I'm not going to stop fighting for what's right. We need to see real change and white folks need to know they can't keep getting away with doing us harm. The cop that murdered Mike wasn't even held accountable. They can just kill an innocent man, and nothing happens," Sasha declared.

Michonne exhaled sharply, "You have no idea how angry I am. What happened to Mike never should have happened, but I have to move on for Andre's sake!"

"And what are you teaching Dre by not making sure that pig gets what he deserves?!" Sasha harshly replied.

"You have no right…" Michonne began.

"Let's all just calm down," Nora interjected. "Michonne, I am so sorry for your loss…I can't imagine the pain you and your son are feeling…but Sasha, not all white folks are bad," she stated, looking over to Daryl, who had joined the party.

Daryl noticed them and made his way over to the group. "How y'all doin'? Ms. Jameson…Michonne, it's good to see y'all. Hey Sash…Nora," he said, nodding toward the women.

Bob gave Daryl a questionable look, clearly wondering how he knew the women.

Sasha noticed and chuckled to herself. "Hey, Daryl. This is my friend Bob. He recently moved here from Atlanta. Bob, Daryl lives in the neighborhood."

"Aye, man…good to meet cha'," Daryl remarked, wiping his hand on his stained jeans and holding it out to Bob.

Bob hesitated for a moment before accepting the man's handshake. "Yeah…you, too."

"It's good to see you, suga," Anna stated to Daryl. "And thanks for fixing my daughter's car. It was a big help."

"Ah, it's nothin'. I 'preciate the business," Daryl shrugged. "Aye, uh…I hope you ain't still mad about Rick payin' for it?" he asked Michonne.

He watched as Michonne's eyes widened and he immediately regretted letting the information slip.

"Say what?" Sasha asked in a shocked tone. "Deputy Rick Grimes paid for your car to get fixed. Now why would he do a thing like that? White folks…no offense Daryl…they usually don't do things for one of us without expecting something in return."

Nora exhaled a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable with Sasha's need to keep focusing on the subject of race.

"Rick ain't like that," Daryl responded.

"He's right, Sash. I spoke to Rick about it, and he was just trying to help me out. He was there when I brought the car in and heard me tell Daryl I would have a hard time paying for expensive repairs. We agreed I would pay him back every penny. It's no big deal," Michonne stated, hoping Sasha would let it go.

"He doesn't know you, Michonne. Why would he want to help you with anything?" Sasha continued, despite the frown on her cousin's face.

"Actually, Rick and Michie were acquainted when they were kids. Once upon a time, his parents, Richard Sr. and Eleanore were good friends to me and your Uncle Lawrence. We met Eleanore when we were teenagers. The three of us were part of a young Christians' youth group. Things were complicated back then, but we managed to get along. Eventually, after Ellie met Richard, we became friends with him, too. Sometimes we would eat dinner together after church, even went camping a few times…out on the edges of town where no one would bother us," Anna announced.

She smiled, as she recalled the memories the families shared, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Really?" Sasha asked, surprisingly. "You and Uncle Lawrence were friends with the Grimes'? I don't remember that."

"Oh, we didn't interact much after moving to Atlanta. We'd see each other here and there whenever we came back into town, but things had changed so much. It was hard to keep the friendship going…given the state of things," Anna replied. "Anyway, Rick and Michonne used to play together. They loved doing artwork, reading, and running around in the yard."

Michonne laughed, trying to recall everything her mother was saying. In her mind, her and Rick seemed like an unlikely pair of friends, but then again, she didn't really know him. She sensed there was more to her mother's story but decided to speak with her about it later. She was curious to know everything about her parents' history with Richard and Eleanore Grimes.

"Ain't that somethin'," Daryl snorted. "Rick and his mama are good people, Sasha. You ain't gotta worry about his motives towards your cousin."

"I certainly hope you're right," the feisty young woman replied.


Rick drove through the entrance of the cemetery and down the dirt road leading to the Grimes family burial plot. His mother, Eleanore sat in the passenger seat, reading the latest volume of Time Magazine, focusing on revolutions in the United States and across the world.

Rick sighed heavily, causing his mother to remove her reading glasses and look over at him.

"Something wrong, honey?" she inquired.

"No, it's nothin'," he responded, parking his black Buick Skylark. In reality, he couldn't get his mind off of what Michonne had shared with him about her husband's death. He couldn't help but feel sad for the woman and her young son.

"Are you sure? You've been awfully quiet on the ride over here," Eleanore pressed.

"Actually, mama…I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about Anna Jameson and her family?"

Eleanore closed her magazine and placed it on her lap. "What do you want to know?"

Rick ran his hands through his wavy, brown hair. "I guess, when did you meet them? How well do you know them?"

"Well, I met Anna and her late husband, Lawrence, when we were teenagers…at a church youth group. Our church was hosting an outreach program and some of the Negro churches got involved. Anna was sweet as pie, and I liked her immediately. After I met your father, he became friends with them as well. We stayed friends until the Jameson's moved away…then your father and I rarely saw them," she said solemnly.

Rick nodded, eager to learn more but deciding to leave the conversation to another time. He exited the car, with Eleanore right behind him. They walked up the slight hill and stopped in front of a marble headstone. Rick gently took his mother's hand as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Hi, daddy," he said softly, looking down at his father's resting place.


Lori and Carl walked up the long walkway to her parents' home, ringing the bell once they arrived at the door. A few moments later, Dorothea's warm smile greeted them.

"Miss Lori…Carl, it's so good to see you. Come on in," the woman instructed them.

The smell of cinnamon and apples invaded their senses as soon as they stepped inside the bright home.

"Something smells yummy!" Carl beamed.

Dorothea grinned at the chestnut-haired little boy with bright blue eyes. "I'm making your favorite, apple pie. You wanna help me?"

"Yes, that'd be great!" Carl answered, hurriedly making his way to the large country kitchen.

Lori and Dorothea followed behind him, smiling at his enthusiasm to help with dessert.

"It does smell delicious, Dottie. I always did love your apple pie," Lori smiled, swiping an apple slice out of the large glass bowl sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Well, I'll be sure to make you one special. It will be ready when you come back for Carl on Sunday."

"Thank you. That's very sweet of you," the thin brunette replied with gratitude. "Is mama upstairs?"

"Mm-hmm," Dorothea nodded, handing Carl the wooden rolling pin to flatten the pie crust.

Lori smiled once more at her son and the woman, before heading up the staircase leading to the second floor. Her parents' bedroom was located at the end of the hall. Lori entered the large room to find her mother sitting at her vanity, applying makeup.

"Hi, mommy," she greeted her mother, sitting on the king-sized bed.

"Hi, darling. I didn't realize you had arrived. I'm so happy you agreed to let Carl stay for the weekend. We're gonna have so much fun!" Darlene stated excitedly.

"Well, he was eager to come. He can't wait to take a swim in that heated pool," Lori chuckled. "He couldn't stop talking about it."

"He's welcome anytime…you know that. You should bring him more often," Darlene said pointedly.

"Mom, we've been over this. I don't want Carl growing up spoiled…and besides, I don't like some of the things daddy says around him."

Darlene sighed. "I know, honey. Your father means no harm…it's just the way he was raised."

"Mommy, you've been telling me that all my life and now that I'm a grown woman with a child of my own, I can't keep accepting it. It's not right."

Darlene remained silent, knowing there was nothing she could say to dispute Lori's sentiments. Her husband's beliefs certainly didn't match her own, but she understood him. She was aware of his complicated history, and she wasn't going to challenge him. Still, part of her was happy that her daughter had found her own voice and was sticking to her principles.

Lori smoothed the fabric of her mint green dress, content with dropping the subject. She looked on the bed and noticed an open photo album. "You taking a walk down memory lane, Mama?"

Darlene halted brushing her long, salt-and-pepper hair and looked back at the photo album on the bed. "Oh, yes. I do that every once in a while," she smiled. "How are things with you and Rick, honey?"

Lori sighed. "They haven't gotten any better. I'm hoping to have some time to talk with him this weekend, while Carl is here. I don't suspect things will get ugly between us but just in case, I'm glad Carl won't be around. Rick and Eleanore are over at the cemetery. I'm heading straight there after I leave here."

"Oh, dear. I was hoping things had improved. What are you going to speak to Rick about? Have you given up on your marriage, Lori?" Darlene asked, concern lacing her voice.

Before Lori could respond, Dorothea interrupted, calling Darlene to the kitchen.

"Go ahead, I'll be down in a minute," Lori told her mother.

She watched Darlene exit the room and exhaled, as her mother's question lingered in the air. She was frustrated and angry at the place she and Rick found themselves in, but most of all, she was tired…tired of pretending that everything was okay when that was furthest from the truth.

Glancing down at the open photo album, she noticed a small black and white picture sticking out of the top right corner. She removed the photo and examined it. In the photo, was a much younger Jack and Darlene, accompanied by Rick's mother, Eleanore…but what really caught her attention was the Negro man and woman standing with her parents and mother-in-law. The woman was younger, but she could tell it was Anna Jameson. However, she didn't recognize the light-skinned man holding Anna's hand. He was strikingly handsome, with wavy hair and a strong build. Without thinking, she placed the photo in the pocket of her dress and headed downstairs.

"Mama, we just put the pies in the oven. I'm gonna have mine with vanilla ice cream!" Carl informed his mother.

"Sounds scrumptious. You just make sure you eat all your supper first," Lori grinned, ruffling her son's soft hair.

"He'll be fine. Don't you worry about him. Try to enjoy your weekend," Darlene stated to her daughter, kissing her cheek. She discreetly continued, whispering in Lori's ear, "You do what you need to do for you."

Lori nodded in understanding and squeezed her mother's hand. "I will, mommy."

"I'm going to finish getting ready for lunch. Carl, papa is out on the sunporch if you want to join him. He may have some of those butterscotch candies you like," Darlene enticed him.

"Okay! See you later, mama," Carl announced, following Darlene out of the kitchen.

Dorothea resumed tidying up the kitchen. She sensed something was on Lori's mind. "You all right, Miss Lori?"

Lori walked over to the counter where Dorothea stood, scrubbing flour off the surface. She pulled the photo out of her pocket and handed it to the woman. Dorothea took it, immediately trying to mask the look of shock on her face.

"Dottie, do you know who this man and woman are?" Lori asked, pointing to the Negro couple. "The young lady looks just like the woman I met not long ago, Anna Jameson, but who is the young man?"

Dorothea remained silent. She handed the photo back to Lori, her hands slightly shaking. "Miss Lori…sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie."

Lori stared at the old woman, confused by her reaction to the photo and refusal to answer her question.

Just outside the kitchen, Darlene stood, propping herself against the wall as the color drained from her face.


After leaving her parents' house, Lori made the short drive to the cemetery. She retrieved the colorful bouquet of stargazer lilies and the plush, pink teddy bear off the passenger seat of her car. She exited the vehicle and slowly walked up the lush, green hill leading to the Grimes family plot. Eleanore and Rick stood quietly, paying their respects to Richard. They both offered her a smile as she reached them.

"Lori, how are you dear?" Eleanore inquired.

"I'm fine, Ellie. Thanks for asking," Lori sweetly replied, greeting her mother-in-law with a hug.

"I'll give you two time alone," Eleanore stated, rubbing Rick's back before making her way back down the hill.

"The flowers are beautiful," Rick remarked, not quite looking his wife in the eyes.

"I picked them from mama's garden," Lori replied.

Finally, Rick looked at her. "How are Darlene and Jack? I'm sure they were happy to see Carl."

"They're good…and yes, they're happy to spend some time with their grandson," she nodded. "They don't see him enough."

They stared at one another for a spell, both wanting to say more about the reason for the distance between them and Lori's family but both knowing it wasn't the time or place. They had a much more important matter to tend to at the moment.

"Are you ready?" Rick asked pensively.

"Yes," Lori nodded, gripping the teddy bear and flowers close to her chest.

They walked a short distance along the grass, stopping at a small, granite headstone. They both stared down at the inscription:

Judith Marie Grimes

Beloved daughter, sister, and granddaughter

Born~ October 10, 1967

Died~ October 12, 1967

Lori kneeled and gently laid down the flowers and bear. "Hi, my sweet girl. I hope you're resting well," she whispered, patting the gravestone.

She stood and wiped a few stray tears from her pale cheeks. Rick tenderly patted her back as they stood quietly, trying to find the right words to say to one another.

"Lori…"

"Rick…"

They spoke at the same time, smirking nervously as they tripped over their words.

"You go first," Rick said, running his hands through his hair, something he often did when he was anxious.

Lori took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her thin frame, as if providing herself comfort and protection from her woes.

"Rick…we're not okay…are we?" she asked, looking directly into his crystal blue eyes.

He knew the question was coming, even before it left her mouth, and still, it stung like a thousand wasp had punctured his body. It was the question they had been avoiding but both knew the answer to.

"No…we're not okay," he confirmed with a nod. "But it's not your fault…it's not mine either," he added, somberly.

Lori could feel more tears running down her face, but this time, she didn't bother to wipe them away. She needed to feel this pain and have Rick see how their troubles were affecting her. It was the most transparent she'd been in a long time.

"I thought having another child might fix us," she said quietly.

"No…that's not the answer," he replied, squeezing her shoulders. "There's no guarantee things won't go wrong again, and I won't put you in danger."

He pulled her into his arms, as she began to sob harder, and he wished there was something he could do to make things better between them, but in his heart, he knew…their daughter's death had broken them beyond repair.

"Shhh…I'm sorry. It's my job to fix things and I don't know how to fix this…I don't think I can," he whispered into her hair.

Lori sobbed against his chest, gripping her fingers around his beige, linen button down. After a moment, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Can we try…this weekend…can we just try?"

Rick pulled away from her, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lori…"

"Rick, we've been together since high school…we have a son…we owe it to him to try, we owe it to each other," she pleaded.

He looked at her, placing his hands on his hips. "I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have. You're a good person, and I do love you…but I just don't think I can do this anymore."

"Please, Rick. Carl's away until Sunday…let's just take this time and talk things through. At the end of this weekend, if we both agree to end our marriage, we'll take the necessary steps."

Rick inhaled sharply. "Yeah…yeah, okay. We'll take the weekend."


Later that evening, Rick and Lori decided to go to Dale's for supper, neither having the energy to prepare a meal after their emotional day. As soon as they walked through the door, Rick's eyes landed on Michonne. She noticed him and smiled shyly, causing his heart to flutter.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Rick. I'm craving the fried chicken and biscuits," Lori commented, oblivious to the way her husband was staring at the waitress near the front counter.

"Huh? Oh, yeah…of course," Rick nodded, turning his attention back to Lori. "Let's find a table."

"Rick…Lori…over here," a boisterous voice called out.

Rick groaned as he looked over to see Negan and Sherry waving them over from a nearby booth.

"Come on, let's join them." Lori nudged him, before making her way to the booth.

Rick reluctantly followed behind her, taking a moment to briefly glance back at Michonne, who was busy helping another customer.

He and Lori greeted Negan and Sherry as they sat down.

"Fancy meeting you two here," Negan joked. "Out for a date night?"

Lori and Rick ignored his comment, feeling awkward from the discussion they'd had earlier in the day.

"Sherry, it's good to see you. What have you been up to?" Lori asked the petite brunette.

"Oh, nothing much. Just taking care of my husband and our home," she smiled, gripping Negan's large bicep. He flinched at her touch; it was subtle but still noticeable by everyone at the table.

Rick sighed and ran his hand over his face, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. He looked back up to the front counter and noticed Michonne talking to a middle-aged white waitress, he knew as Carol Peletier. She glanced over to him but quickly averted her eyes.

He watched for a moment longer as Michonne and Carol continued their conversation…

"Carol, will you please take table five?" Michonne begged the older woman, trying to convince her to serve Rick's table, not really keen about waiting on his partner again.

"I'm sorry hun, I really need to take a break. My feet are killing me," the woman replied, running her fingers through her short, gray pixie cut. "Don't worry, you can handle it," she assured Michonne.

Michonne sighed, before proceeding to fill four glasses with water, place them on a tray and carry them over to the table with Rick, Lori, Negan, and Sherry. She could feel both Negan and Rick's eyes on her as she approached the booth.

"How y'all doing tonight?" she greeted them, setting the waters down in front of each of them.

"We're doing just fine…Michelle, right?" Lori responded.

"It's Michonne," Rick announced, harsher than intended.

Everyone at the table remained quiet as they diverted their eyes to him. He could feel his face flush under their stare.

"It's nice to see you Mrs. Grimes," Michonne chimed in.

"Oh, please…call me Lori," the lanky brunette responded with a smile. "How's your mother?" Lori asked, recalling the picture she'd seen earlier.

Michonne looked surprised by the question. "She's fine, thanks for asking."

"Michonne," Negan repeated. "Such a pretty name. Thanks for not spilling a drink on me this time, Michonne," he grinned, peering at her through dark, menacing eyes.

Michonne felt her face grow warm under his gaze. "I'm sorry about that," she replied sheepishly.

"Again, no apology necessary, darlin'. We all make mistakes," he smiled, perusing her body with his gaze.

Sherry shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched her husband ogle Michonne, but she didn't dare say anything.

Rick also noticed Negan's behavior and clenched his jaw, quickly growing irritated.

"Are y'all ready to order?" Michonne asked, desperately wanting to depart from the awkward situation.

"Why, I believe we are," Negan answered. "I'll have the T-bone steak, medium rare…a baked potato, and side of creamed corn."

Michonne wrote down his order then glanced over to Sherry. "And you ma'am?"

"Um, I'll just have the chicken Caesar salad with light dressing," she replied softly, peeking over at Negan who nodded his head in approval.

"I'll have the fried chicken with honey butter biscuits, candied yams and green beans," Lori stated.

Michonne looked expectantly at Rick, "And what will you have, Deputy Grimes?"

Rick chuckled at her use of his professional name. "I'll have the same," he smiled.

She did her best to hide her smile and finished writing down the orders. "Can I get you all anything to drink besides water.

"Four colas all around," Negan replied, holding up four fingers.

"It'll be out shortly," Michonne responded before taking off toward the kitchen.

Once again, Negan admired how the fitted pink uniform accentuated her supple rear end. He licked his lips and smirked at Rick as they locked eyes. Rick glared at him as if he wanted to burn a hole through his forehead. Negan chuckled, as it was obvious, he was getting under his partner's skin with his admiration of Michonne.

"Are you still working on Philip Blake's campaign, Lori" Sherry asked, breaking the tension between the two men.

"Yes, of course. It's been a great experience," Lori replied.

"I can't believe you aren't backing Pete Anderson. He seems real smart," Sherry stated.

"I would never back a man like Anderson, you know me better than that. Besides, Philip wants to do great things for King County. He's dedicated a lot to this town and it's time he had his shot," Lori stated emphatically.

"Yeah, but I'm not so sure enforcing integration is a good thing. If I had kids, I might worry about them growing up around Negroes," Sherry replied.

"Well, we ain't gotta worry about that 'cause your tree can't bear any fruit," Negan rudely interrupted.

Sherry's face turned beet red as she instantly felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.

Lori and Rick unnervingly glanced at one another, feeling sorry for the young woman and a bit perturbed with Negan's insensitivity to their own situation.

Negan paid them no mind, continuing with his comments, "Hell, Blake might not be all that bad. I met Pete Anderson last week and the guy is a Grade A asshole," he chuckled. "Besides, a little intermingling never hurt anyone." He glanced up to see Michonne rolling a cart of food and drinks over to them and sneered.

The group fell silent as Michonne placed their meals in front of them. Once she was done, she asked, "Can I get y'all anything else?"

"That'll be all darlin'," Negan replied, again causing Rick to glare at him.

"Well, enjoy," Michonne said, avoiding making eye contact with any of them. She quickly rolled the cart back toward the kitchen.

"What do y'all have planned for tonight?" Lori asked, slathering one of her hot biscuits with butter.

Sherry looked dumbfounded by Lori's question. "Nothing…the boys are on patrol tonight, right?"

"Not tonight," Rick noted, ignoring the daggers Negan was shooting him from across the table.

"Oh…I thought…" Sherry, looked to Negan to clear up her confusion.

"I'm filling in for one of the guys who called in sick," Negan remarked.

Sherry was skeptical, but again she didn't dare question his story. Instead, she looked down at her plate and began pushing around pieces of chicken and lettuce with her fork, her appetite suddenly dissipating.

For the next several minutes, they ate in silence, wanting nothing more than to put an end to the tension filled meal. After a while, Rick looked up to see Michonne removing her apron and heading to the back of the diner.

"Uh, excuse me for a second. I need to use the restroom," he announced, standing from his seat in the booth.

"Thanks for the info," Negan responded sarcastically.

Rick shook his head and followed the path Michonne had taken. He quickly caught up to her as she entered the empty break room.

"Michonne," he called, catching the door before she could close it.

Startled she turned around and nearly ran into his broad chest. "Rick…what are you doing?"

He closed the door behind him before turning back to her. "I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were all right after our talk the other day?"

"Rick, that's sweet, but I'm fine…and you should probably get back to your wife and friends," she smiled, trying not to get lost in his captivating eyes.

"Friends is a bit of a stretch," he lightly chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

Michonne chuckled along with him. "Well, wife isn't," she retorted.

He nodded in agreement and stared into her warm, cocoa-colored eyes, once again overcome by her beauty.

She shifted on her feet as he closed the gap between them, stroking her soft hair and gently cupping her chin. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat radiating between them. He smelled so good…woodsy with hints of sage and bergamot. She hadn't smelled a man in so long and the nearness of him was doing a number on her senses.

"Rick…" she stated softly, opening her eyes, and looking up at him.

He lifted her chin and gently pressed his soft lips against her cheek. He kept them there for what felt like an eternity, and Michonne could feel something soaring through her body. It scared her. She urgently wanted to get away, but she couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

"Oh sorry," Carol said as she stood in the doorway.

Rick and Michonne quickly stepped away from one another, each internally chiding themselves for not hearing the door open.

"Uh…I'm glad you're okay. I'll see you later," Rick told Michonne before walking past Carol and out the door.

Michonne sighed and held her face in her hands. She sat down at the small table, anticipating Carol's inevitable lecture.

When the woman didn't speak, Michonne cautiously glanced up at her. "Go ahead, I know what you're thinking."

Carol grinned and took a seat next to Michonne. "What I'm thinking is that you are vulnerable right now and that really attractive man, Deputy Rick Grimes…has taken note of that vulnerability."

"I don't know what I was thinking, opening myself up to him. He's a stranger and I'm not in a place to make any new friends…well, besides you, of course," Michonne smiled at the woman.

"Of course," Carol grinned, patting Michonne's hand.

"He seems nice and all, but I have no business interacting with a man like him," Michonne continued.

"Why, because he's white?" Carol asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, that and he's a cop…a married cop. Nothing good can come from it," Michonne said, shaking her head in frustration."

"Oh sweetie, things aren't always what they seem," Carol remarked.

"What do you mean?" Michonne inquired.

"Let's just say, I know a little bit about the Grimes family. Deputy Grimes and his wife have been through a lot, and it changed them…but it's not my place to tell you."

Michonne pondered Carol's words, growing more curious about Rick's story.

"Look, Rick is a nice guy, Michonne. Believe me, I know a piece of shit when I see one, and that's not him. Sometimes, friendships bloom unexpectantly. Maybe you do need more friends. Maybe…what you need is staring you in the face and you just have to lift the veil to see it," Carol stated pointedly.

"You could be right," Michonne agreed, trying to process the notion.

"Just be careful, darling," Carol noted, patting Michonne's hand once more. "Folks in this town aren't used to the unexpected."


Lyrics: The Tracks of My Tears by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles

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