Carol didn't make her usual trip to Daryl's bedroom that evening after the movie. He was on night watch. The group had decided that it would be a good idea for one of them to stay awake each night just in case someone rolled up to their gates or some walker managed to get in somehow.

The night watchman would take the stairs up to the top of the Castle Tower Slides (a series of side-by-side, giant plastic slides with multiple hill-like dips that people could ride down while sitting on burlap sacks – already a favorite with the kids) and intermittently survey the park through the night vision scope of one of their long-range rifles. It was possible to see the House of the Future from there, the front gate, and quite a bit the rest of the park, though not all of it.

So tonight Carol read a book as she sat up in her queen bed while Sophia read on the trundle below. "What if it's just B?" Sophia asked. "Daryl's middle name. Just the letter B."

"That's a good idea. I'll try that one next time."

"Do you think he'll come to my tea party?"

"Who?"

"Daryl," Sophia replied.

"Mr. Dixon," Carol corrected her instinctively, though she'd largely given up on the convention now. "You're having a tea party?"

"I've been working on the invitations. It's going to be very exclusive. I'm only inviting Daryl, Carl, and Andre."

"Not me?" Carol asked.

"Well…that set I got only has four teacups and saucers."

"Just make sure you don't pour Andre any actual hot tea. He's little still. He might burn himself."

"Okay. But do you think Daryl will come?"

"I think I can persuade him to come." She was excellent at persuading him to cum, after all. Carol chuckled to herself.

"What's so funny?" Sophia asked.

"Just something I read in my book." She closed her book. "I'm going to sleep early. Turn off the light when you're done reading, sweetie."

Wednesday, October 13

Carol drove a nail into the kitchen wall to the left of the window in the breakfast nook. Then she hung the three-year wall calendar she'd taken from one of the gift shops. This month pictured a silver-armor-clad knight astride a horse. The knight thrust his sword in the air as the horse reared up in the clearing of a stunning autumn forest. The month read October 2010.

On the square that read Monday, October 11, she wrote Welcome Michonne & Andre. On the squares that read Tuesday October 12, 19, and 26, she wrote Movie Night. Then she crossed off all the days through Tuesday, October 12.

She had no idea what day it actually was. They'd all lost time in the quarry camp. But she had decided it was Sunday when she created her chore list, so today must be Wednesday. It would give the group a sense of order and normalcy, she thought, to keep time.

She flipped back to September 30 and wrote: Arrival at Fun Kingdom. Maybe she was creating a history of sorts, too. She flipped forward to May, and in the first blank unnumbered square wrote: Grimes Baby Due this Month.

If the father had really been Rick, and he'd gotten Lori pregnant his very first day in the quarry camp, then the baby would be due the first week of June, so May was believable for an early baby. If Shane was the father, the baby would likely be due the last week of April, so mid-May was possible if the baby came late. Either way, Carol wasn't really taking sides by picking May.

[*]

Daryl had slept four hours, from 7 AM to 11 AM because of his night watch shift, and so he hadn't gone hunting until noon. Now, he was walking home from the woods by the railroad track with a snake slung over his shoulder. He was just passing The Queen's Spinning Teacups ride when Glenn zipped out between two buildings on the other side of the wide pathway,

The Korean kid was standing up and riding some kind of weird-looking motorized vehicle with two wheels. The bottom part he was standing on had footrests that made it look like solar panels were stretching out the back of Glenn's heels. A pole rose up from the board with handles at top, and coming out of the front of the handles were two more little solar panels.

The Grimes boy and Sophia followed Glenn on two other similarly peculiar vehicles. They drove in a circle around Daryl, forcing him to stop walking. They circled him three times before they all did a spin and stopped and stepped off.

"The fuck are those?" Daryl asked.

"Segways!" Sophia announced. "Sort of. They're kind of like Segways. They're solar powered. They're one of the attractions in the Kingdom of the Future. You can ride them around this painted track thing. The handles are adjustable. For height."

"Glenn broke open the gate around them and took these ones out," Carl explained. "There are ten of them, but one wasn't working."

"They're supposed to go up to twelve miles an hour," Glenn said. "But we tried to get them going as fast as possible and it felt more like ten. Still, great transportation when the gas spoils! The sign said the batteries hold a charge for about thirty miles. And the batteries last seven to ten years!"

"And since the attraction is new since we last visited," Carl said, "We've probably got at least six years before they die. We can use them to get around!"

"Ain't gonna catch me dead on a Segway. Ever," Daryl informed him.

"You wouldn't say that if a herd of walkers was after you," Sophia told him.

"Pretty sure I can run almost ten miles an hour."

"Not for long," Sophia insisted. "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it." She climbed up, turned the handlebars back and forth, and soon the thing was humming. "Don't forget to RSVP!" she told him before taking off like a shot, and the other two glided after her.

RSVP? he thought.

[*]

After skinning the snake and scrubbing up in the bathroom, Daryl went into his bedroom to set down his crossbow and grab a pack of cigarettes. That's when he saw the card standing up by its edge on the corner writing desk. He plucked it up. The front, which was pink and white and had a picture of a steaming teacup read:

You are cordially invited
to afternoon tea

When he opened it, a business-sized RSVP card fell out. Inside the larger card, Sophia had filled in the blanks of the invitation:

To: Mr. Daryl B. Dixon
From: Miss Sophia Peletier
Date: Thursday, October 14
Time: 3:30 P.M.
Location: Breakfast Nook, House of the Future

"Did you check yes?" came a voice from the doorway. Daryl turned to see Carol standing there, leaning against the open doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I ain't much for tea parties," he replied.

"You should check yes."

"How long's it gonna take, ya think?"

"I don't know. But there will be fresh, homemade oatmeal cookies."

"Ain't even sure cocaine could get me through a tea party. Doubt cookies are gonna do it."

"She's really excited about it. It's very elite. Only three guests. And she chose you to be one of them."

"If I go, I still got to play D&D after dinner?" he asked.

"Not tomorrow. But probably again on Friday. You know," she dropped her arms and arched her back to better emphasize her chest. "I find a man holding a teacup to be extremely sexy." She batted her eyelashes at him.

"Pfft. Like hell ya do."

Carol chuckled and relaxed her posture. "It would mean something to me, though, if you said yes to her."

"Hell ya didn't just say that for in the first place?" He closed the card, pulled a pen out of the cup on the desk, and checked YES on the RSVP card, which already had his name filled out on it. He extended it to Carol, who strolled in and, smiling, took it from him.

He grinned. "Feelin' helpful?" he asked. "Wanna shut that door?"

She laughed, shook her head, and tapped the RSVP card against her fingertips. "Later. Not right now. I have to get dinner started. I saw there was snake. At least I think that was a snake on top of the beer."

"Yeah."

"I was going to make an alligator chestnut soy stir fry, but we just had cornmeal-fried alligator last night. So, I'll use the snake instead. Next time, though, wrap it? It's kind of gross. Raw meat. Just sitting there on top of the beer cans. And a little unsanitary, too, touching cans people drink from."

"Hey, don't mind if no one else wants to drink that beer. I'll take care of it."

"I just want you to wrap it."

He ducked his head and smiled.

"I meant the meat!" Carol cried.

"Pffft!"

"No, I meant the snake!" she tried to clarify.

Daryl snorted through his nose.

Now Carol was laughing, too. "Stop!" she told him. "Stop! I wasn't going for the sexual innuendo this time." But she was chuckling when she walked through the door.

He watched her leave and then slid open a writing desk drawer to check if the condoms he'd snagged were still there. They were. Waiting and ready. For whenever she was.

[*]

Tonight, Carol learned that when she scraped her teeth along Daryl's earlobe, it sent shivers down his spine.

She learned that when he was eight years old, he'd gotten lost in the woods, and no one had come looking for him.

She learned that his favorite flavor of Life Savers was "the green one."

They followed a routine similar to the previous night, shirts off, kissing, fondling, and mutual masturbation. He didn't ask for more. He didn't mention the condoms she'd seen him tuck in his back pocket in the garage.

After their releases, she slipped her shirt back on again, and he didn't question why she wanted to. He yanked up his sweatpants, and Carol settled her head against his bare chest, with his one arm lightly down her back and waist, his fingertips on her hip.

"Brandon," she said.

"Ain't Brandon."

"B."

"Bee?"

"Just the letter B."

"Nah."

"Oh," she said with disappointment. "I was so sure Sophia was onto something. How about Brooks?"

"Wrong again."

"I'm also taking my three guesses from last night, since you were on watch," she declared. "Bertram."

"Ain't Bertram."

"Bodhi."

"Bodhi? Nah, I can be zen when I'm huntin', but I ain't no Bodhi."

"What does Bodhi have to do with zen?" She'd just seen the name in a baby name book in one of the gift shops.

"Means to have woken up. Name of the sacred tree. The one Buddha sat under when he got enlightened."

"Oh. I had no idea. I never took you for a Buddhist."

"Ain't. Just...dunno. Some of it makes sense I guess."

"Well, I'm Catholic. Born and raised and kept in line by the nuns."

He smirked. "Still got the schoolgirl uniform?"

"You wish."

"You religious?" he asked.

"My faith has gotten me through some difficult times, and it means something to me, if that's what you mean by religious. I pray. I even have a rosary in my pack."

"Ain't never seen you with it."

"I'm not an in-your-face kind of Christian. More of a go-in-your-closet-and-shut-the-door sort."

"My folks were stay-at-home Baptists. You know: once saved, always saved. Never went to church. Few months after my mama died, after the cabin burned down and we moved into that trailer, my daddy got religion. He dragged me to one of them tent revivals, so as I could get baptized, and then I could be once saved, always saved, too."

"Oh?"

"Later that night," Daryl continued. "I was playin' with a toy crossbow in the trailer and shot his beer can. Knocked it right off the end table. Damn proud of myself, too, waited for him to tell me what a good shot I was. But he didn't. Cursed at me for spillin' his beer and went and got the switch. And that's where this one come from." He pointed to one of the white scars on his chest, which her head was half resting on. "Guess the religion didn't stick long."

Carol raised her head and then bent and pressed her lips down on the scar. She looked up and caught his eyes and his lip twitched in the sort of way it did when he was trying to hide some emotion. "Got one more guess."

He needed to change the subject. Carol accepted the fact and lay her head down again. "Bard."

"Bard?"

"Like Shakespeare. The Bard."

He chuckled. "Nah, ain't bard."

They talked a little more, about little things. Favorite movie. Carol's was "Roman Holiday." Daryl's was "True Grit." Favorite Warner Brother's cartoon character. Carol's was Marvin the Martian. Daryl's was Yosemite Sam.

Favorite musician or band. Carol's was Dolly Parton. "I don't know why," she said, "but I just admired her so much when I was a little girl. I thought she was such a strong woman. And of course she had her own amusement park."

"Yeah, well, so do you now."

Carol chuckled. "I do, don't I?"

"Queen Carol of Fun Kingdom."

"And who was your favorite musician or band?" she asked.

"The Band."

"Yeah, or band."

"The Band."

"Which band?" Carol asked.

"We playin' 'Who's on First' here? The Band. 'S the name of the band. The Band. Don't ya know 'em?"

"I don't think so."

"How can you not know The Band? You know, The Band. 'The Night They Drove Ole Dixie Down.'?"

"Didn't Joan Baez sing that?"

"Gawd," Daryl muttered. "Joan Baez? Woman sings like a bleatin' goat."

"She does not!" Carol objected. "She has beautiful voice."

"If you like goat voice."

"Plenty of people beg to differ with you. And I'm pretty sure she did sing 'The Night They Drove Ole Dixie Down.'"

"Well, yeah, probably did sing it. 'Cause she ain't got an original bone in her body. Just sang other people's shit. But she sure as shit didn't write it. Robbie Robertson wrote it for The Band, and that song was meant for Levon Helm to sing. She just ruined it probably."

"I think she did a beautiful job! You know what? Now I'm changing my answer. My favorite musician is Joan Baez."

"Now you're just being ornery."

"I can be ornery," Carol admitted.

Daryl smiled. "Little bit."

"Favorite pizza topping."

"Cheese."

"That's not a topping!" she cried.

"Course it is! Just the most important toppin' in the whole damn history of pizza toppings!"

"It's part of the base. It's a standard ingredient."

"'S on top of the crust and sauce." Daryl yawned. "'S a toppin'."

"Fine, what's your favorite topping besides cheese?" Carol asked.

"Pepperoni," he murmured.

"Predictable."

"Why? 'S yours? Fresh basil and angel's tears?"

Carol chuckled. "No. Ham and pineapple."

"Heathen. Gonna have to say at least six Hail Marys for that."

Carol smiled. "Favorite job you ever had?"

Daryl yawned again. "Secret Service Special Agent."

"Seriously now."

"Dunno. They was all the same. All shit." He yawned a third time. "But work's work. Pays the bills."

"Mine was as a seamstress at this little dry cleaner in town, for six months when I was twenty-two, but the place burned down, and the owners didn't have adequate insurance, and I ended up going back to my old job as a receptionist. At fifty cents less an hour, too. My penance for daring to leave. Favorite flavor of ice cream?"

Daryl didn't answer. She peered up at him and found his eyes closed. She lay her head back down and felt the level breathing in his chest. As he fell deeper and deeper into sleep, his arm began to feel heavier and heavier across her. Carol slipped out from under it and stood.

When he snorted awake, she bent down and kissed his forehead and then his lips, ever so softly. "Goodnight, Daryl. I had a really good time tonight."

"Nite, Miss Murphy."

Thursday, October 14

"No, Andre," Sophia told the little boy. "Only two cookies each."

"This one Andre's cookie," the little boy said, taking a cookie off Daryl's china plate and putting it on his.

"No, that's Daryl's cookie." Sophia returned the cookie to Daryl's plate. "You better eat that fast," she whispered.

Daryl didn't have to be told twice. He popped the oatmeal raisin cookie straight in his mouth – whole – and started chewing. Sophia was a pretty good little baker.

Sophia picked up the china tea pot and began pouring the cups full of hot tea, first Daryl's, then Carl's, then hers. Andre had only cool water in his cup. "Yum! Yum! Yum!" Andre said as he watched her poor and rocked slightly in the plastic, brown booster seat attached to the wooden chair they'd brought in from The Royal Banquet.

Carl, who had already eaten both his cookies, took a sip of his tea and said, "Ewwww!"

"Well, put some sugar in it!" Sophia took the top off the sugar bowl. Andre leaned forward, promptly stuck his hand inside, took a fistful of sugar, and let it filter through his fingers while he laughed.

Sophia sighed.

Daryl held his teacup out to Andre. "Put some in mine," he told the little boy.

Andre scooped up some more sugar, held it over Daryl's cup, and let it stream through his little fingers into the cup.

Daryl swirled the cup.

"You have a silver spoon," Sophia told him. "On your saucer."

Daryl picked up the tiny spoon and stirred the hot liquid. He took a sip. "Hey, this ain't half bad." He'd never had hot tea before. Always iced.

"It's jasmine tea. Mom says jasmine is your favorite flower."

"Hmmm. Jasmine tea." Daryl slurped the tea. "Ain't half bad. Ain't half bad a'tall."