A/N: Hello, Dear Readers. This story follows on from my other story, Red Dirt Road. It sees a reunited Richonne now that they are adults. You will need to read RDR before you start this one to get the full gist of what happened with them. Please let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to share this; you're all amazing. Enjoy!
The small Toyota Corolla hybrid flew along the Georgian highway. The surrounding trees blurred into a mass of green as the car sped by the quiet stretch of road. Michonne could not help but smile when the sign that marked the exit for King County appeared in her sights. Upon signalling her turn, she let out a sigh of relief as she made her way back to the small town that held so many memories for her.
When she entered Main Street, she drove slowly. It did not matter how long it had been since she last saw King County, or how many changes had been made, there was always this sense of familiarity. Many of the old store fronts had changed. The streets seemed a little busier, and she was not sure she recognized the people who walked them, yet she felt the same as she did all those years ago. She felt at ease. When she had finally driven down Old Route 3, onto the red dirt road, she felt at home.
…..
After placing their luggage inside, Michonne opened the curtains to let some light inside. She had not been back in the old house since she had come home for Miss Pattie's funeral. The large house felt emptier than it had the day they buried her grandmother. Now, as she looked at the photographs adorning the walls, her heart clenched in her chest. It had only been five years since her grandmother had passed, and nearly ten since her grandfather. Yet the pain was still fresh. She exhaled loudly, and then called out to her son, André.
"Yes, mama," the six year old answered.
"Let's get to dusting," Michonne replied. "And then we'll head back into town to see Aunt Sasha."
…..
"Wow, look at you!" said Michonne, as she and Sasha fell into an embrace. "You're ready to pop."
Sasha laughed, and placed her right hand over her pregnant belly.
"I feel like I'm ready to pop," she replied happily before turning her attention to André and saying, "Hey little man."
The small boy gave a shy smile, and stepped behind his mother before offering a soft, "Hello."
They all took up a seat at the diner's table and then looked over the menu. Michonne and Sasha had kept in contact over the years, through college and marriage, and Michonne's divorce. Though Michonne never visited the town where they first met, they frequently vacationed together, stayed connected through social media, and spoke on the phone at least once month.
"You know what I love?" asked Michonne. "I love the fact that in twenty years the menu here hasn't changed."
Sasha nodded her head and said, "I hear you. And it all tastes exactly the same."
"It's the best," Michonne replied. "I'm tellin' you, there was this spot I liked goin' to on Saturday morning just up from our place, and in the past six or seven months, it's changed twice. It went from a café, to a bar that specialized in artisanal beers, back to a café with a bar."
"That's crazy," said Sasha. "One thing I love about this place is things hardly ever change, and that's how I like it. The ice cream tastes the same as it did the summer we became friends."
"Does it really?"
"Yes," she said with a smile. "After we're done here, we should go get some."
"What d'ya think, André?" asked Michonne. "Should we go get ice cream?"
The little boy's eyes went wide as a large, bright grin crept over his face.
"Yes, please," he answered.
"Alright, then," Michonne said. "Ice cream it is."
…..
By the time Michonne and André were finished in town, the sun was hanging low in the cloudless sky. Though it was still warm, Michonne turned off the air-conditioning in the Hybrid and rolled down the windows. The smell of blossoms and ripening peaches filled her nostrils. The scent of the red dirt road had not changed, too. The wind that swept into the car reminded her of the times she and Rick sped down the road in his GTO. She smiled as she recalled that time in her life when she was young. How a lot of her worries and pain fell away when she first met him. How, for a long time, he was everything to her, even after they broke up.
She had not seen Rick for almost ten years. It was when her grandfather died, and his remains were returned to his little home town in Georgia. Rick had seen her at the funeral, and instinct made him want to go to her. Amid the flurry of mourners, he offered his condolences, and she offered hers upon recalling that his wife had passed earlier in the same year. They did not speak again, not even at the wake, as Michonne was too busy comforting and taking care of her grandmother. She and Miss Pattie returned to New York the very next day, finding it too painful to remain in the old house.
Rick was unable to make it to Miss Pattie's funeral, which he regretted deeply, but he sent Michonne a card. She still kept it in a small box on the top shelf of her closet, along with other things that made her too sad to think about. Sighing, she pulled onto the driveway of her grandparents' property; her property, since they had left it to her. She glanced to where the blackberries grew wild.
She smiled when she remembered the first time she met Rick and Jeff. The spot where she was kneeling down and picking the berries now had a large 'for sale' sign standing in it. She reminded herself to point out to prospective buyers, when they come to inspect the property over the weekend, that there were many opportunities to grow produce.
…..
"Carl?" called Rick as he stood at the backdoor of his family's home on the farm. "Come on in and wash up."
The fourteen year old sighed, and hugged the dog one more time before he turned and made his way toward his father. Rick patted him on his back as the boy stepped inside. He waited a moment, and looked out over the farm where he had grown up. Every time he visited, he was overcome with a sense of nostalgia.
His parents, now elderly, had moved from the property some years ago, and bought a small house in town. It was more convenient for them, and Jeff was doing well managing their dairy farm. They still had their traditions, though, and spent most Sunday evenings having a roast dinner with their whole family. Rick had taken his son over early so that he could help Grandma Sheila with preparing the food; Carl loved being out in the old house. He often asked his father to regale him with stories from when he was a teenager. Rick made sure to only tell him about the good times, and there were plenty of good times; there were great times dotted with moments of sorrow. Carl had already known too much sorrow in his young life, so Rick focussed mainly on the good times.
…..
André walked beside his mother as they made their way back from the old tool shed. She had a shovel in one hand, and André's small fingers in the other.
"What are we diggin' for, Mama?" he asked, somewhat excitedly. "Is it treasure?"
She smiled down at him, and said, "Not quite, baby. Well, I guess it's like treasure to me because it's important. I buried it here a long, long time ago."
"Back in the olden days?" he queried, making her smile grow wider.
"Yep," she offered cheerily. "Back in the olden days."
As they reached the spot where, all those years ago, Michonne and Rick had buried the postcards, she took a deep breath. Writing those messages had helped her through her time of grief when she had lost her mother. They were important to her. It marked one of the toughest times of her life, but also, one of the most enlightening. She planned on getting the postcards and taking them with her when she visited her mother's grave in Atlanta. It had been a long time coming, but she wanted to have them turned to ash, and sprinkled on the earth where her mother had been laid to rest. It was a way of truly moving forward.
Michonne found herself becoming quite emotional at the thought. She wiped a finger at the corner of her eye, and then looked at her son.
"Okay, baby," she started. "Step back, and let me dig this hole."
…..
"You think we've got enough butter in there, honey?" asked Sheila of Carl.
The teen narrowed his eyes and stared into the bowl of mashed potato a moment. He reached for a spoon that was set atop the counter, and then dipped it in. Scooping up an ample amount, he brought it to his lips and tasted.
Carl shook his head, placed the spoon back down, and then said, "No, ma'am. We're gonna need more."
…..
"Oh my goodness," said Michonne as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "I was sure it was here."
She placed a hand to her hip, and one on the handle of the shovel as she inspected the wide, fairly deep hole: It was empty. There was no box buried there that contained her treasured postcards. She felt her heart sink.
"Surely, I'm not digging in the wrong place," she said to no one in particular.
She glanced around the backyard and then shook the doubt from her mind.
"Nope; definitely not," she added.
She let out a sigh and then shrugged. There was only one other person who knew where she had buried the box, and that was Rick Grimes. She knew that he still lived in the area, because Sasha had mentioned it, but she was not sure of the best way to get in contact with him. She could wait and call the Sheriff's Department, but they probably would not give out personal details. She could always ask Sasha for his number, since they were still friends, but was worried how that might appear and was not in the mood to explain things. She looked at her son, who was waiting for her to clarify what they were going to do next.
"Come on," said Michonne, finally, as she dusted her hands on her jeans. "We're gonna take a little drive."
…..
Not much had changed, Michonne mused, as she went along the dusty driveway that led to the Grimes Farm. There were still cows out in the paddocks, and wildflowers still lined the side of the road. The main house, and the barns, came into view, and Michonne had a sudden rush of butterflies unleashed into her tummy. She had not been there for almost twenty years. Some of the best times she had experienced in her life were on that farm. After the butterflies settled, a sense of anxiousness enveloped her. Maybe rolling up to the farm was a bad idea; what if he was there? Was she ready to have a conversation without the weight of loss hanging over them? Either way, she did not slow her pace.
Soon, she was parked out the front of the house. She noticed more than one car out there. After taking a deep breath, she told André to wait for her, then strode up the front porch and knocked three times. Jeff Grimes answered the door and it took a moment for them to recognize one another.
"Jeff?"
"Yes?"
"Hi, it's Michonne," she said.
"Ah, yeah, of course," he said with a wide smile. "Hey there. How are ya?"
"I'm doing well, thank you," she said, returning his smile.
"Gosh, it's been years," he offered. "What are you doin' back in town?"
"Yeah, it's been a while. I'm actually back to try and sell the old house," she explained.
"Really? You're lettin' it go?" he asked as he leaned against the doorjamb and scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah," she replied, somewhat sadly, with a nod. "I just don't get back here often enough, or at all, and it's goin' to waste. Best to let someone else have it and enjoy it."
"Lotta memories there for ya," he said. "Can't imagine it's easy to let go."
"Yeah, it isn't," she replied before sighing loudly. "Probably why it's taken me so long to finally put it on the market."
Jeff nodded his head in understanding and then said, "That must be a headache. You'll have a lot of stuff to clear out, too, I'd imagine."
"Yeah, it's amazing how much stuff is still there, and that's kind of why I'm dropping by tonight. Would it be okay to ask for a phone number for Rick? Or possibly an address?" she queried. "There's something important I need to ask him about a few things that were left at the house years ago. He might not even remember, but I really need to check."
"Well, you can ask him right now," said Jeff. "He's here havin' dinner."
"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling slightly anxious, while instinctively smoothing down her clothing. She had not meant to see him face-to-face, at least not this soon. She had intended to make a quick, simple phone call. She was thrown for a loop; her easy conversation with his little brother was just that: Easy. She was not prepared to have a conversation, in the flesh, with the man who had been so many firsts for her. Her first boyfriend; her first love. She was not ready to face him. To say that she was back to sell the house she had spent that fateful summer in. To let go of one of the things that connected her physically to King County; that connected her to her memories of him. She was not ready, not at all, but just like that, Jeff turned his head and called out, "Rick? Rick? It's for you."
A/N: Thanks for reading. Your reviews are much appreciated.