Just Two Friends, Chillin' in a Cemetery…
There wasn't much of a gate around the cemetery. There never had been. It was rusted with age and rain, easy to miss due to the small size of the graveyard. It only occupied a few acres, set back a ways from the road. The tiny wooden shack that served as the registry office and caretaker's shed sat smack dab in the middle of the property, run-down and decrepit looking even in the light of the evening sun.
Daryl slowed the bike, riding no more than 5 mph down the barely-trodden gravel path as they passed through the entrance. Iron letters formed a sign above them that read: Senoia Baptist Cemetery. The sun had already sunk just below the trees, their lush canopies and thick trunks offering a blanket of shade from where they bordered the acres of gravestones.
Beth let out a long breath and looked around, taking in the familiar sight. Stones and statues formed a scattered skyline that almost resembled some sort of melancholy city. Shadows stretched across dying grass, late October sunlight casting an ominous glow over cement and marble and wilting flowers.
She hadn't visited since last year, but it always looked the same. Maybe a little more weathered, a little more worn, but it was always the same dead people buried in their graves; always the same markers, the same names carved into stone. Never moving, never changing. Never aging.
This would be her someday, she reminded herself. She would be lying here, buried beneath several feet of earth, silent and unmoving for the rest of eternity. But would her soul be trapped in Hell with Papa Legba, like he'd threatened? Or would she finally get to see her mama again?
She directed Daryl silently, using one hand to instruct him where to turn along the maze of a gravel path that wound through the whole cemetery. He followed where she pointed and eventually, she instructed him to stop. He did. She began to dismount while he silenced the engine and put down the kickstand.
She rested her helmet on the back of the seat and stepped forward, crossing from the gravel into the yellow and green grass. She could hear Daryl dismounting the bike behind her, his boots crunching over pebbles. But she kept walking forward, her eyes set on the gravestone that sat several feet away, and he stopped somewhere behind her.
Annette Greene's cemetery plot was set between the plots of two prominent and well-off families, their markers much larger and more intricate, with photos of the smiling deceased plastered to the stones that designated their graves. There was one empty plot beside Annette's, unmarked and already purchased by Hershel. It was where they'd be burying him when his time finally came, Beth knew. Right beside their mama. Where he wanted to be.
Until then, all they had was the modest headstone for her that they'd been able to purchase. They couldn't afford the fancy picture like the families beside her, nor the long and intricate engravings of full Bible verses. But it was nice all the same. At least Beth thought so.
She approached the familiar grave with slow and measured steps. It rose up maybe six inches from the ground, rectangular and solid and heavy. There was a simple cross engraved at the top, right above her mother's name.
Annette Lynn Greene
September 23rd, 1966 — October 18th, 2012
Beloved Mother & Wife
"Death is swallowed up in Victory."
The late Greene matriarch's grave had already received several visitors throughout the week. Beth could tell because there were a few bouquets laid out, barely wilted. One small bunch of flowers had been placed in the cement vase beside the headstone, and it looked the freshest of all. She could only assume it had been put there by her daddy or Maggie or Shawn, or maybe all of them. She hadn't come out here with anyone else in a few years.
She wasn't sure why, but lately, she preferred to visit alone. Sometimes she liked to talk to her mom, pretending Annette could somehow hear her better from here. Even though she knew that wasn't true.
She had no plans of speaking aloud today. Even if Daryl hadn't come along with her. All the things she'd learned in the past week were beginning to change her perspective. Because if she could speak to the dead anywhere, why should it mean more out here? Standing six feet above the decomposing body? She knew now, for certain, where her mama had gone. Morgan had more or less confirmed that fact for her. And if Annette was listening—from wherever she resided beyond The Veil—she wouldn't be listening any more or less just because Beth was standing at her grave.
No, her soul was free now. Resting in eternal paradise. Or maybe taking a break before being recycled back out into the world, fresh and new. Either way, the corpse settled so lovingly in its casket underground no longer held any trace of Annette Greene.
Just look at Merle… he was in ashes, scattered across the Georgia countryside. Yet he hadn't really gone anywhere. Everything that made him Merle was still floating around Earth, cussing and yelling and stirring up all kinds of trouble. Which led Beth to believe that everything that had ever truly been Annette was somewhere else. Hopefully watching. Hopefully happy.
"You want me to leave you alone?"
Daryl's voice startled Beth from her thoughts and she looked back to find him standing just a few steps away from his bike, paused and watching her tensely, chewing on his thumbnail.
"No," she said, offering him a weak smile. "It's okay. I just…" She glanced back to the headstone, her smile fading. "I meant to bring some flowers out for her, like I do every year. But I kinda got uh, distracted."
"Oh," he grunted. His tone indicated that he knew what she meant—she'd been distracted by Merle, of course. And the whole Dixon conundrum that she was stuck in the middle of. He looked around curiously, shaking the shaggy hair out of his eyes as his gaze drifted out to the edge of the cemetery. Then he began to walk away with a purposeful stride, tossing her a brief, "Hol' on."
She watched him curiously as he half-jogged between headstones, headed towards the treeline at one side of the cemetery. He disappeared for only a moment, and when he emerged from the trees, he was holding a bunch of wildflowers in his hands.
Beth could feel her cheeks turning bright pink as he approached. But when he stopped an arm's reach away from her, holding out the last-minute arrangement of wildflowers for her to take, she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. She took them gingerly, holding them up to her nose and taking in a deep breath of the sweet scent. Then she looked up at him, still smiling wide.
"They're beautiful," she said. "Thank you, Daryl."
He shrugged like it was no big deal, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. She wasn't sure if his ears were red from the sun or from something else. He grunted out a brief, "Ain't nothin'."
Her smile remained while she leaned down and carefully placed the flowers atop the headstone. She ran a fingertip along the etchings, then stood back up and gazed down at the newly added arrangement. How it made all the other flowers pale in comparison.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd come out here and smiled. The last time she'd visited her mama without crying. She didn't even feel like crying right now.
In fact, she just felt… really peaceful.
"'S a nice stone," Daryl remarked, his voice soft and quiet, drifting into her ears on the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair. "This is a real nice place."
Beth looked over at him with gratitude. "Thanks. I think so, too. We couldn't afford as nice of a headstone as she deserved, but we made do."
He grunted. "Y'can tell she was loved. That's all that matters."
Her heart skipped and she was smiling again. "Yeah… Good point."
He gestured towards the words engraved on the headstone and asked, "Is that from the Bible or somethin'?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Corinthians. It was one of her favorites." She paused and licked her lips before reciting, "So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in Victory."
He hummed in understanding and remarked, "Sounds like somethin' from Harry Potter."
She chuckled. "It does, doesn't it?" Then she shrugged. "It's basically about how all the pain we go through in life will be worth it in the end, because we'll get to join God's Kingdom, and Christ's love for us will be a sort of victory for everyone who serves Him."
"Yeah," he grunted. "I get it."
She looked over at him with a slightly quizzical expression and a crooked smile. "Gotta admit, I didn't take you fer a Harry Potter fan, Dixon."
He rolled his eyes, but he was smirking. "Wouldn't say I'm a fan. I've only read a couple of the books. My roommate's kid loves 'em."
Beth giggled. "Oh, I see."
Daryl's shoulders stiffened and he shoved his hands a little deeper into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other somewhat awkwardly.
She looked back to the headstone, watching the breeze rustle the petals and leaves of the fresh wildflowers. A moment passed in silence while she gazed down thoughtfully, her smile fading. Daryl was gazing down at it too, chewing on his lower lip.
She wasn't sure how many more moments passed like that, but she couldn't say she particularly cared. She was enjoying the peace, reminiscing on a thousand different memories of her mother inside her head.
And when she spoke, she wasn't sure that she'd actually intended to speak aloud. If she did, she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she thought Daryl really gave a crap. Lord knew he already had enough of his own grief and deceased loved ones to remember and mourn for.
But he'd come out here with her, hadn't he? He'd offered to give her a ride, and then he'd picked a bunch of wildflowers at the last minute. He was standing here. He was listening. So maybe he gave a little bit of a crap.
Even if he didn't… it just felt respectful to say something. To make him less of a stranger to this place that meant so much, to this woman that had been so much. He would never have the pleasure of meeting her, and vise versa. But Beth could still tell him about her. And she could still wonder, silently and longingly, what her mama would think of Daryl Dixon.
"She was a good mom. A really good mom… a good person. I know I got lucky with both my parents. With my family and my home life. And I know there's lots of good moms out there, and I'd never try an' claim she was perfect. 'Cause nobody's perfect. But she was… I dunno. She was special."
A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed past it.
"'Course she was," he mumbled. "She was yer mama. Ya only ever get the one."
Beth huffed out a soft laugh, though there were tears pooling in her eyes. She stared down at the headstone and the wildflowers.
Another moment passed in silence and she could hear Daryl shifting his weight uncomfortably. Clearing his throat.
Then he said, "Sorry. I didn't mean…"
His voice trailed off and she assured him, "No, don't be sorry. I know what you meant. And you're right."
She could see his stance relaxing ever so slightly from the corner of her eye. He started chewing on his thumbnail again and she wondered if there was anything left to be chewed. His fingers must be bloody and raw by now.
She sighed and went on, "She was just… a really good woman. That's what my daddy always called her. He used to say, 'a good woman is hard to find, but luckily, your mama found me.'" She smirked at the recollection, briefly longing for the days when Hershel would boast wildly about how wonderful his wife was, how he'd already given up on finding love after Maggie's mom because he'd been 'too old,' how he didn't deserve her and couldn't figure out what he'd done to be blessed with her unconditional love. "And I… I dunno. I guess I just thought it'd always be like that. I had this idea in my head that my parents would live to be like, a hundred years old. That they'd die peacefully in their sleep. No suffering. No pain. No wasted moments."
The tears were back, gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape and roll down her cheeks. She sniffled and tried to force them away.
"I was so… stupid. And naive."
Daryl grunted. He spoke softly, "Weren't yer fault. That's what everybody wants. Doesn't make you stupid. Not like there was any reason ya should've expected anything different."
Beth frowned and turned her head to look at him, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry I got so freaked out today. When you had that—uh, that coughing fit in the city. It just really scared me."
He simply shrugged. "Freaked me out, too. Demons are pretty wild. Can't blame ya for gettin' scared."
She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, watching him warily. "Yeah, but… it wasn't even the demon aspect. As screwed up as it sounds, realizing that it was just a warning from Papa Legba kinda… I dunno. Made it less scary. For a second, I really thought—"
He narrowed his eyes as she spoke and interjected, "Ya thought I had cancer or sum'n? Like I might be as sick as yer mama was?"
She pursed her lips and nodded, ashamed. "It's stupid." She turned and quickly looked back to the headstone. She mumbled, "I'm just bein' paranoid, expecting the worst—I mean, it's a literal demon, yet I'm lettin' myself get worried about cancer." She shook her head and scoffed.
He let out a hmph. Then he said, "Stop. 'S not stupid. An' you know it. Ya learned a lesson about bein' naive, learned how to be strong… in the worst way, sure. But ya learned it all the same." He paused before adding, "Word around town was yer mama didn't know she was sick till it was too late. I reckon that's a lot scarier than some sketchy demon sendin' messages through loogies."
Damn small towns, Beth thought. But then again, what did it matter? Her mother's diagnosis and eventual death was certainly no secret. It was inevitable that he'd have heard about it.
She just didn't like the idea of Daryl learning things about her family from people who were not her family. She didn't want his second-hand pity. Didn't want him to view her as some kind of charity case from the get-go.
Not that it mattered. He already knew about her little "attempt." If he was going to pity her, surely he would've started doing so way back in Morgan's cabin, right? Yet she didn't feel like he looked at her any differently since learning the truth about her scarred wrist. In fact, she'd been pleasantly surprised by his understanding thus far.
Even now, he was offering empathy. For something that seemed so much less severe than the circumstances that surrounded his own mother's death. But he wasn't comparing, or belittling her grief. He was just… listening. And empathizing.
She took in a deep breath and listened to her own heartbeat thumping against the breeze. Stared down at her mama's name engraved in the headstone.
Then she exhaled slowly and said, "It's not like I knew that all those people I saw as a kid were dead people… but it was still scary whenever they'd come begging me for help. I never knew what to do. I always felt helpless. And lost. But I could ignore it, and eventually, it'd go away. They would go away." She paused, swallowing past a knot that was beginning to form in her throat, fighting back more tears. "Then she got sick. I still remember like it was yesterday: we were sittin' at the kitchen table. Having breakfast. She never drank coffee, just tea. Never smoked a day in her life. Only drank wine once a year—at Christmas. And we were sittin' there, just talking. She was drinking her tea. Daddy was drinking his coffee. Me and Maggie and Shawn were eating our pancakes, and me an' Shawn were arguing about something; I don't even remember what it was, but I know it was dumb. We shouldn't have been fighting. Mama begged us not to fight almost every day, but we never listened. So she tried to intervene, told us to stop fightin' and just love each other. Then she started coughing and—and she just couldn't stop. Daddy got real mad. He started yelling at us, sayin' we sent her into a fit an' all our arguing was making her sick. But she… she didn't stop. She kept coughing till she couldn't breathe. The next thing we knew, there was blood all over her hands. All over the table. And she just. kept. coughing."
Beth blinked back a fresh wave of tears, but it was no use. Two stray drops rolled freely down her cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away with one hand. Then she sniffled and, sensing Daryl's tense stance and bated breath, went on.
"We had to drive her to the ER 'cause an ambulance would've cost too much. And I remember hearin' my dad crying in the waiting room, 'cause our insurance didn't cover all the tests the doctors wanted to do—but we had to get the tests. All of 'em. He said he had to tap into our college funds. And he just kept apologizing, saying he shouldn't have retired so early, saying he failed us, but…" She trailed off and shook her head, pausing and taking a breath before continuing. "Then we had to wait fer hours in that awful hospital room… just so the doctor could come in and tell us that she had cancer. Lung cancer. Stage three. Metastatic. Which meant it was basically hopeless… The cancer cells had spread before we even knew they existed."
She inhaled deeply through her nose, stiffening her spine. That day replayed inside her head on a loop, dark and torturous and painful.
"They said there was hope since she was only stage three. Said we could do chemo. Radiation. Some new experimental drug that might work—if she qualified for the trials. But I overheard the doctor talking to one of the nurses in the hallway… he didn't know I was there. If he had, I don't think he would've said it. 'Cause he said my mom's whole body was a 'ticking timebomb.' He called her a 'dead woman walking.' And that's when I knew she wouldn't live to be a hundred. Wouldn't live to be fifty. I knew she wouldn't even live to see me graduate high school."
Daryl exhaled a long sigh and muttered, "Jesus."
Beth shrugged, glancing over at him for no more than a second. "Honestly, I wish he would've said it to our faces. I wish all those doctors and nurses would've told us the truth. The false hope we had only made it all that much more painful. There was nothin' we could really do besides make her comfortable and make every last minute count." She tried not to sound terribly bitter, but it was difficult. The edge arose in her voice as she recounted the deep regret that still haunted her, eyes glued to the headstone. "But we wasted a lot of it with pointless treatments and medicines that didn't do anything except make her more sick. She was so… miserable in her last days. And she didn't have to be. I watched her cough up so much blood and mucus and—and she loved her hair. It was one of the things that made her who she was. She just took so much pride in it. She taught me how to do all the different styles of braiding, and I grew my hair long because I wanted it to be as pretty as hers. And in the end, she lost it all. She died bald. Skinny. Sad. She hated every moment of it. But she stayed strong through everything… for us. She loved us so much that she couldn't stand to see us sad. Even when she was dying."
Beth didn't even realize she was crying until she looked over and saw the somber expression on Daryl's face through water-blurred eyes. The deep frown. The forlorn shadow in his azure orbs.
She quickly swiped a hand across her face, wiping the tears away, and cracked a smile.
"Shit," she muttered, choked up, trying to appear indifferent. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional an' start crying, or—"
But the rest of her words caught in her throat and stayed there when he suddenly reached out and grasped her hand. He squeezed it, intertwining their fingers and letting their arms hang loosely between them. She watched his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed thickly, but his lips were pressed tight together.
He gave a gentle nod of his head and she understood. She reciprocated with a weak smile of gratitude.
I get it, he seemed to say. Without having to say anything at all. She could feel it in the grasp of his palm, in the way he gazed back at her with oceanic depths.
They let the silence fall over them for a minute or two. Then he said, "Don't worry 'bout me, alright? Not my physical body. Let's jus' focus on savin' my soul fer now."
For now? She thought. And then what?
But she just nodded and hummed in agreement. She gave his hand a light squeeze.
She didn't want to think about Papa Legba's threats. His promise that she would suffer the loss of Daryl just as she'd suffered the loss of her mother. But she couldn't avoid it. That dream was still prevalent in her mind, heavy on her conscience. The centuries old demon's words remained at the forefront of her concerns.
She had to remember what the Bible had taught her, though; what her mom and dad had taught her, the faith they'd instilled within her over several years. All the storms that the journey of her grief had already brought her through.
Death is swallowed up in Victory.
Legba was bluffing. He was all threats and cold laughter. She was stronger than that. Daryl was stronger than that. She knew, because she'd seen. At this point, she was almost convinced that Daryl would be the last man standing, no matter the circumstance. Even if it pissed Papa Legba off—especially if it pissed Papa Legba off.
He was just like his brother in that sense.
"Thanks for bringin' me out here," she said. "And… bein' here."
Daryl shrugged, glancing away from her and down at the headstone. "Figured I oughta pay my respects."
"Well, you didn't have to," Beth said. "But I appreciate that you did anyway."
She paused and gauged his reaction from the corner of her eye, gently squeezing his hand. He squeezed back.
Then she added, "I wish she coulda met you. She would've liked you."
His eyes flicked up and caught hers through shagging strands of dark hair, the corner of his mouth twitching in surprise. He grunted. "Ya think so, huh?"
She couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. "I know so."
"Well, I didn't know her, but it sounds like she'd be real proud of ya." He went back to gazing at the headstone as he mumbled bashfully, "Yer a good woman, Beth. Like yer mama."
She had to swallow back a lump in her throat, fighting a fresh wave of tears.
And even though she knew he got it, knew that he already understood without having to say it… she wanted to say it. She needed to make sure he knew. That he knew how much she actually cared, how inevitable the worry was, how much he already meant to her. How far she was willing to go in order to ensure the safety of his soul. Ghosts and demons be damned.
But what if it weirded him out? What if she was crossing some sort of boundary? Was this relationship supposed to be strictly professional? Did he only see her as the girl who could talk to his dead brother? Or—
Fuck it, she thought.
"Daryl, I—I really care about you. And that means I'm gonna worry about you, whether you like it or not. I know this is all pretty weird, the circumstances an' all, but I… well, I consider you a friend. And friends look out for each other. They do everything they can to help each other. They worry about each other. So that's what I'm gonna do."
She tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, but her voice cracked regardless. She stiffened when he slowly turned his head, giving her the most curious look. But he quickly looked away again, and she thought his ears might've been turning pink, though it could've just been the way the sun was shining through the trees and setting his skin aglow.
Then she felt him squeeze her hand, and he cleared his throat and said, "Yeah. Me, too."
Her stomach fluttered and her heart skipped. She pursed her lips.
"You really think I don't give a shit about ya?" He asked quietly. Almost pained.
"I dunno," she answered honestly. "You're not exactly the easiest person to read."
She could see him smirking through the strands of hair that hung over his face. "So I've been told."
"It's not like I expect you to," she added. "I mean… you don't have to. Care about me. Or consider me a friend."
He turned his head and finally met her shy gaze. "We been through a helluva lotta crazy shit the past week. But I don't know many folks who'd be takin' it all in stride like you have, Greene. Or folks who'd actually try an' keep my head on straight, even when I'm bein' kind of a dick."
She smiled at that.
He shifted his weight and concluded, "Shit… 'Course we're friends. Reckon it ain't sum'n that needs to be said, is it?"
Beth's stomach was fluttering wildly now, and she knew her cheeks were flushing pink, but she couldn't say she cared. Maybe he would just think it was from the chill of the wind.
"No, I 'spose not," she agreed, her smile growing wide. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
"A redneck an' a psychic, 'member?" He teased.
She giggled and said, "You're not a redneck, Daryl. You're just a guy."
"And yer not a psychic—yer just Gifted."
They shared a laugh and, for a split-second, Beth wondered if it was wrong to be laughing in front of her mother's grave.
But before she could give it any contemplation, a chill ran down her spine. A familiar shadow flickered across her periphery. She whipped her head around and gazed over towards the caretaker's shack. She thought she saw a wisp of smoke, but it faded away within a beam of late evening sun before she could be sure.
"We should go," she said.
"Y'ready?" Daryl asked.
Beth looked over at him with a frown. "I think Merle's back."
His face fell and he nodded towards the bike. "Alrigh'. Let's get you back home."
to be continued…
