but those people keep a movin'
Beth finished her iced coffee and dumped the cup in the trash, heading back inside the Starbucks to use the restroom before she started on her way to meet the mysterious "D." She was happy to find a single-stall bathroom with a lock on the door handle so she could have some privacy. After emptying her bladder and washing her hands, she busted out the new contact lenses and solution.
It took several minutes of reading the directions and trying to get herself used to the feeling of sticking something against her eyeball, but after about a dozen tries, she managed to get them to stick. They moved a bit and settled, and finally, she blinked away the last of the tears and felt herself adjusting to the new contacts. They didn't change her vision at all, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, it shocked her a bit. Seeing her big, round eyes turn from blue to brown in a matter of minutes was an odd thing to get used to. She had grown so accustomed to seeing her momma's eyes staring back at her from the mirror.
Now she was a brunette with brown eyes. She'd never noticed before how much she actually looked like Maggie, but now it was hard to miss. Her hair was only a shade or two darker than her big sister's, but the eyes were spot-on. It was almost like she'd never had blue eyes at all.
She practiced smiling at herself in the mirror, trying to imagine it would be the man who called himself "D." She had no idea what to expect, but she tried to prepare nonetheless. Even her best smile seemed forced right now, and she tried to speak with confidence, "Hi, I'm Rosie." But her words wavered and she was afraid this man would immediately know she was lying about everything.
What if he was a cop? Shit, she hadn't even thought of that possibility. He worked a lot, wasn't home until evening, had a strict schedule… he could easily be some sort of police.
Well, she figured, she'd just have to ask that question within the first few minutes so she could bail if he was. Hopefully he wouldn't recognize her before she could get away.
Just as she was thinking about an escape plan for the meeting, a loud knock came from the door.
"Just a minute," Beth called, quickly gathering her things and stuffing them all back into her bag. She zipped it and latched it and strapped it to her back securely before unlocking the bathroom door and slipping out. She nearly bumped into a middle-aged woman, the alleged knocker, on her way out, but she didn't look up or make any acknowledgement, heading straight for the front door instead.
Once she was out on the sidewalk, she slipped her sunglasses back on and hailed a cab. The streets were packed with cars, and she was realizing that between the time she'd sat down at the Starbucks and now, people had gotten out of work and school and were all commuting at the same time. She held her arm out for a good few minutes before a cab was even able to reach her.
Once inside, it took twice as long as it should've to reach her destination. They practically crawled down each street, and intersections kept them waiting at the same red light for at least three cycles. Beth took the time to observe her surroundings and start getting to know them. She was thankful that Manhattan was a nice area, for the most part. She hoped the East Village was just as nice. And with a price tag so high that two people couldn't afford rent on their own, she figured it had to be at least decent.
The cab stopped at another red light just a block or two away from the McDonald's that Beth was going to. She waited a moment or two, but when she realized that they weren't moving any time soon, she paid the driver and got out by the street. She hurried onto the sidewalk and began her walk down to the fast food restaurant.
This McDonald's had no drive-thru, unlike every other McDonald's Beth had ever seen before. It was small and tucked in between a couple other businesses, including a bank and a Dunkin' Donuts. Beth spotted the Subway that "D" had mentioned, too. She double-checked the street sign just to assure herself, then headed inside the small establishment.
The smell of grease and French fries permeated the air. There were a couple of school-age kids standing in line at the counter, ordering. An old man sat at a table in the far corner, drinking coffee and reading the paper. Beth turned her face away from him.
There were a couple other people in the restaurant, a small family and an old couple, sitting at tables against the wall. Beth tried not to make eye contact with anyone, knowing that it was only 5:45 and "D" wouldn't be here yet. Instead, she stood in line and waited to get to the counter and place her order.
She ordered a medium coffee and took it to a table in the corner, on the opposite side of the room as the old man with the newspaper. She kept her head low and turned away from the front door, sipping her coffee and checking her pocket watch every minute or so. She would glance over her shoulder every three to five minutes, just to check the front door for any sign of the man who might be "D." But everyone who was in the establishment already either looked way too young or way too old to be thirty-two.
She still had at least five minutes to kill before he'd probably even show up, so Beth pulled out her phone and started checking the news sources just to pass time. She was happy to at least know that she didn't have to worry about any updates right now. She turned her head to check the door again, realizing that it was six o'clock exactly. But she quickly found that her view was clouded by someone standing directly behind her, their hand held out as they were in the middle of reaching out to get her attention when she'd turned around.
"Oh – sorry," came a gruff, male voice. The figure that was seemingly composed of only black leather and cloth quickly backed up to reveal that it was a man… and he looked about thirty-two years old.
"Oh," Beth looked up into his eyes in surprise, finding deep blue orbs nearly hidden behind dark, straggly hair. "I didn't see you there, I'm – "
"Rosie?" He reached his hand out as he studied her, looking Beth up and down.
She quickly stood up and reached out her own hand to take his, shaking it politely. He was taller than her and wearing dirty jeans, black boots, a plaid shirt, and a black, leather motorcycle jacket. His hair was shaggy, but still groomed, stopping just past his ears. He had a trimmed goatee and moustache and the hints of a patchy 5 o'clock shadow along his jawline and cheeks. He was holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand, rested against his thigh. He looked down at her almost skeptically, but he seemed more cautious than unkind – at least from her first impression. He almost reminded her of when you'd first meet a new dog and they'd want to sniff your hand and make sure you were okay before letting you touch them. He flinched away from her in just the slightest bit, as if shaking hands were still a new custom he was getting used to, and she noticed it, even though it was only a split-second. His body language was subtle but Beth observed every little movement.
Good, she thought. I'd love to live with someone who's as paranoid as me.
She started, "Yeah, that's me. Are you – "
"Daryl," he finished for her, nodding. "Nice to meet ya."
He gestured to the seat across from where she'd been sitting, giving Beth a questioning look. She nodded in assurance and he sat down, resting the helmet in his lap. She sat back down as well, pocket watch gripped in her hand beneath the table, hidden so that Daryl couldn't see it. Her knuckles were turning white.
"Nice to meet you, too," she said, smiling and praying to God she didn't look like a lunatic right now. Her practiced smiles in the mirror had not been good.
She must not have looked too crazy, because Daryl actually gave her a shy smile before clearing his throat and speaking again, "So, about the apartment. Obviously, you read my ad, so you know I have rules that you'll have to respect. I dunno if you got a job or if you got some money to get ya by or what, but if you have the cash, I'd like to get the fifteen hundred plus the seven-fifty for deposit. We can talk about the last month's rent later, when you can afford it. And we can give it a couple days, if ya don't wanna stay, ya take your money back and I'll just prorate based on how long you stayed and keep that much, and we call it even. What d'ya think?"
Beth was surprised at how prepared he'd been to get straight to business, but then she wasn't sure what else she expected. Now that she was meeting him face-to-face, she could tell he wasn't the kind of guy to make small talk. She nodded hesitantly, reaching over and putting a hand on her bag, which sat directly next to her.
"Actually, I can pay you the first, last, and deposit all right now. If you want," she said, speaking a little more quietly.
His eyebrows rose in surprise, voice lowered, "You got that kinda cash on ya, princess?"
She furrowed her brow, holding back a scowl. Princess? He doesn't even know me.
"How much is it for deposit again?" she asked, unzipping the bag just enough to fit her hand inside and grab the envelope that she'd put together in the cab on her way here. The envelope bulged with thirty hundred-dollar bills inside. She placed her hand on it, ready to pull it out and hand it over once he decided to take her seriously.
He had smirked at her playfully, but now it was fading. He studied her carefully, searching her face for clues. She stared back at him with equal solemnity, features unwavering. The paper of the envelope crinkled between her fingers.
"Seven-fifty. So that would be thirty-seven-fifty altogether," he finally answered her, in all seriousness. "And we can't put that on a credit card."
She smirked and rolled her eyes, pulling the envelope from the backpack and sliding it across the tabletop. He reached his hands out and grabbed it, pulling it closer. She then reached back into the depths of the bag, going by feel to find eight more hundred-dollar bills. When she had them, she folded them up and handed them over to Daryl in her fist, letting his own hand graze hers as he took the bills from her palm. Then, to her great pleasure, she watched with a stoic expression as he tried to discreetly look through the envelope full of cash, as well as the other bills in his hand. His expression was nothing less than nonplussed.
All he could seem to choke out from his disbelief was, "What the…?"
Beth's smirk disappeared and she quickly replied, "Inheritance. And you can keep the change."
He remained dumbfounded for a moment, looking back at Beth and then to the money in his hand. But then he shrugged, stuffed the extra bills into the envelope, and shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket.
"Alright then. You got a hotel room or somethin' ya need to stop by to get your stuff?" He asked, standing up as if readying to leave.
Beth was a bit surprised, having expected a longer conversation and more questions. However, if this was what he would be like, she thought maybe the less they talked, the better. Besides, she couldn't tell him a whole lot without having to come up with some elaborate lies and then remember those elaborate lies so she could keep up with them later on.
"No, uh – just this. I'm ready to go, but I can get a cab there, if you want," she said, standing as well and putting her backpack on. She was assuming he'd ridden here on a bike of some kind, judging by the helmet in his hand.
He shrugged again, seeming very indifferent about the whole situation. It was like he was being asked "paper or plastic" rather than "can I live with you for an undetermined amount of time." He gestured to the door, where Beth could see a black motorcycle parked by the street just outside the front of the McDonald's.
"Well, if that's really all ya got, I can give ya a ride," he said. "Hope you're good with bikes, though."
She glanced at Daryl and then back outside at the bike again. She hesitated. She'd never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. Her daddy never would've let her near one, in all honesty.
But that was Beth back in Georgia. Now she was Rosie in New York City, and she didn't know much about Rosie, but she knew that she'd be down to ride on the back of a bike any day. And if she were being completely honest, Daryl wasn't the worst guy she could be seen with on a motorcycle – he certainly wasn't ugly.
She looked at him again, wondering if she should go with him. Then she remembered the one vital question she should've asked him the minute he shook her hand.
"What d'you do for a living?"
The question seemed to be out of nowhere and sudden, but Beth had simply forgotten to ask once she'd come face-to-face with this intimidating, older man. She didn't get an authoritative vibe from him, but she didn't quite trust her instincts that much yet.
He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn't break his stare, assuring him that she was serious. He answered, "I work in a motorcycle shop, mostly repairin' them, sometimes buildin' 'em. Why?"
"Oh," was all she could think to say. She swallowed a nervous knot that was forming in her throat. "That's it?"
He quirked his eyebrows at her, and she didn't think he could seem any more confused by everything about her than he did now. He nodded anyway, speaking slowly and somewhat suspiciously, "And… I teach self-defense classes on the weekend… Is that enough for ya?"
She felt the heat rising to her cheeks and shook her head quickly, breaking eye contact and glancing towards the front door again for no real reason. She shrugged, trying to play it off as a casual question, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I was just curious."
He continued staring at her even though she wasn't making eye contact anymore, and he lowered his voice and said, "What'd yer boyfriend do?"
She finally looked back into his eyes, giving him a questioning look. "What?"
He repeated himself, "What'd yer boyfriend do? Fer a living?"
The corner of her lip turned up just slightly as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. "What does that have to do with anythin'?"
"That black eye's almost gone. Figured you were askin' me what I do 'cause yer afraid of livin' with somebody who's just like the guy who did that to ya," he explained, pointing to her eye. He said it as if it were completely logical and anyone else would've come to the same conclusion. "Do I remind you of him or somethin'?"
At this, Beth turned her face away from Daryl and looked at the floor so that he couldn't fully see her bruised eye, feeling embarrassed for reasons she couldn't explain. She wasn't sure how she should answer his question, since he was partially right, but not even close to the whole truth. Her mind started racing with how many different directions she could take this in, and how many different lies she could tell him. She wondered if she should start weaving her web so soon. But then again, if this was the most he talked to her, she would probably be fine with just a couple of lies. She had to have some kind of foundation for Rosie, after all. She thought of the things she told Dale and Irma – or let them believe.
She finally nodded, deciding to go with his assumption. She looked up at him with the most innocent expression she could muster, pushing every ounce of "victim" she had inside her up into her eyes, boring them deep into Daryl's. She spoke quietly, trying to sound hesitant and a little fearful without sounding forced, "Yeah… He was a cop."
She looked away from him again as soon as the words came out, hoping to add to the dramatic effect. She could almost feel the pity pouring off him. He grunted.
"Don't worry, I ain't no cop," he said gruffly, lowering his voice. "Cops are bastards."
She raised her eyes again to meet his and was surprised to find that he wasn't actually looking at her with pity or sympathy, but something closer to empathy – mostly apathy, though. In the few minutes she'd known him, the largest impression she'd gotten was that he didn't care about much at all if it didn't directly affect him. She could respect that.
"Is that your mantra?" She asked, trying to change the subject and tone of the conversation. She stood from her seat, leaving the empty coffee cup on the table and shoving the pocket watch deep into her jeans pocket.
He shrugged, "One of 'em. Ready t'go see the place?"
Beth nodded, throwing her bag onto her back. "Ready when you are."
Daryl led the way out the front doors and to the bike parked by the street. He opened a small compartment beneath the seat and pulled out a spare helmet, handing it to Beth. He then proceeded to put his own helmet on and straddle the bike, putting in the keys and bringing it to life. Beth struggled with the helmet for a moment, hoping he wasn't watching her and noticing how much trouble she was having. But she finally untangled the straps and slipped it over her head – having shoved her sunglasses into her backpack – and fastened the strap so it stayed secure.
"What kinda bike is this?" She asked, speaking loudly over the sound of the motor as she mounted the seat directly behind Daryl.
"Eh, a little bit of everything," he replied, checking his mirrors. "Built it myself with a bunch of different parts. Cheaper that way."
Beth was surprised but impressed. She looked down at the bike a little closer now, unable to even tell that it wasn't straight out of a factory. But then again, she didn't know shit about motorcycles.
"Alright, put yer arms around me and hold on tight," he told her. "You ever ridden one of these before?"
"No," she told him, putting her arms around his middle until she could clasp her hands together. She tried to keep a comfortable distance between them, but it was just about impossible, and she couldn't help but notice that he smelled like leather, engine grease, and some kind of cologne she'd never smelled before. It gave her a little flutter in her stomach, but she tried to ignore it.
Stupid natural girl reactions, she told herself. It's just cologne, try to keep yourself dry here.
But the fact of the matter was, she hadn't been this close to a male who wasn't related to her in weeks. And she hadn't even had time to think of any of her other primal needs besides food, water, and shelter – and by shelter, she meant anywhere that didn't have cells and guards. Now, being this close to a moderately attractive man who smelled really good, it was getting kind of hard to forget that other primal need.
Daryl revved the bike to really bring it to life, slowly pulling away from the curb and out into the street. He hunched over just slightly while merging with traffic, and Beth's arms tightened around him. He didn't seem to mind, if he even noticed, because he acted as if she weren't even there. He sped up here and there, taking turns when he could, weaving between cars and in and out of lanes. He seemed to know all the least populated streets, because he was taking a horribly confusing route through the city, but he was finding a surprisingly small amount of traffic in his way. They only waited at a couple of stoplights, and once or twice, Daryl was actually able to speed up past the limit.
Beth shivered at the vibrations beneath her, reveling in how they got stronger each time Daryl sped up. The buildings, businesses, and cars around them sped by in colored blurs, and she only caught a couple of street names. Within minutes, she had no idea where they were or where they were going, but their meeting spot seemed to have been a pretty long distance from the apartment. She had only ever heard of the East Village in movies and a couple TV shows, so she didn't really have any idea what to expect.
Her heart raced every time Daryl sped up or took a sharp turn, and she wondered if he could feel it beating against his back, because she was sure it was about to beat right out of her chest. The bike was thrilling – wind on her face, passing cars left and right, zipping down the streets like they were invincible, all the streets turned to red and black and green blurs. But she couldn't ignore the way her breasts were pressed against his back, even though she tried her hardest to keep a small space between them. It was nearly impossible on this thing, though.
They rode through the Upper East Side, according to a sign, and Beth realized she'd heard of this place, too. She only got glances of the expensive homes and classy establishments and foreign cars. Yeah, this place was definitely expensive.
But the foreign cars gradually stopped appearing and the expensive houses turned to cramped apartments and shared homes. The area was still nice, but not high class. Beth kept her eyes peeled for signs and landmarks and was finally able to tell that they'd entered the East Village, if it hadn't been obvious already.
It felt like they'd only been riding for maybe ten minutes when Daryl started slowing down, approaching a street that was lined on either side with houses and apartments, all squeezed in next to each other. There were trees along the sidewalk, providing shade to the stoops on the front of each door. A couple of people wandered about outside, one of them walking a dog on a leash, but it was mostly quiet. Cars were parked in nearly every spot along the sides of the street, and Beth was starting to understand why Daryl chose his mode of transportation.
He pulled in carefully to an empty spot on the side of the street, parking the bike with precision before turning it off. The sudden quiet was jarring, and Beth's ears were still ringing. She climbed off the bike, trying her hardest not to fall as she stepped onto the curb and walked forward. Her head was on a swivel, looking around and taking in all of her surroundings. There was a Starbucks that she could see down the street on the corner, and across the street from that was a dentist who specialized in braces placed next to a brunch bar. Down the other end of the street, she could just make out the sign for some sort of dry cleaners in the distance, across the street from a Trader Joe's. All the apartments and houses were indistinguishable, though – they were all so close together, they looked like they could've just been one big building that was painted differently by sections. Some of them had stairs leading down from the sidewalk into a door at basement level, while others had steps leading up to a door.
"Pretty good area. Most of the stores are within walking distance, so ya don't really gotta worry about takin' the subway or the bus or whatever," Daryl said casually, taking his helmet off and leading the way up the sidewalk to a brick building that looked older than the other buildings on the block. There were AC units sticking out of half the windows, and the front entrance was at ground level. A couple of the window sills had plants, while others had black stains from the AC leakage.
Beth looked up to the top floor – there were only 3 stories – and tried to guess which window belonged to Daryl's apartment. Or rather, Rosie and Daryl's apartment. She followed him inside, descending six or seven small steps into a quiet lobby area that was in need of a good mopping. Six large, square, locked mailboxes took up the left wall, while a reception desk sat in the corner at the far side with a woman behind it, talking on the phone. Directly ahead was a large doorway that led to a wide set of stairs. They headed straight for it.
The girl behind the desk came into clearer view as Beth got closer, following Daryl from a couple of feet behind. She gave the pair a friendly smile and Daryl waved a hello to her as he passed. She had shoulder length, curly, black hair and olive skin, and her features boasted all of the most envied characteristics of her mixed Asian and African heritage. She wore a nametag that Beth glanced at as she passed, which read: Clementine. When she realized that Clementine was staring at her, as well, she looked away quickly and stared at Daryl's back instead, hoping the girl hadn't gotten a very good look at her face. And if she had, she hoped the contacts were helping her to become unrecognizable.
The pair trekked up the first set of stairs to find a hallway with one door on each side. They passed the hallway and followed the second set of stairs that stood directly next to it. The next floor was nearly identical and they took the third flight of stairs up to the final floor, where they finally went down the hallway and stopped at the heavy, black door on the left, which was labelled 3A. The other door was labelled 3B. Beth was breathing a little heavier than normal from the climb, but Daryl seemed unfazed.
"No elevator?" She panted.
He shook his head, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and fiddling with them.
"Must've been a bitch to move in," she commented, gazing around the brightly lit hallway. She had been searching the ceilings and upper corners for cameras since she stepped inside the building, but luckily, she hadn't seen a single one yet.
Daryl grunted, but in a way that it sounded more like a half chuckle, "Yeah. It was."
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, retrieving his keys again and stepping inside. He held the door open and motioned for Beth to step forward. She did so, cautiously, while looking around the inside of the apartment. It was small, but spacious at the same time. It didn't look or feel cramped, and the carpet and walls were done in baby blues and eggshell whites, giving the room a soft glow as the afternoon sun poured in through the cream-colored curtains that hung over the square windows. Beth was taken aback – this wasn't at all the apartment she'd expected once she'd met Daryl and talked to him for five minutes.
She took a few more steps inside and got out of the way so Daryl could close the door behind her. He gave a lazy wave towards the general area of the apartment, reminding Beth of a drunken Vanna White.
"Well, this is it," he told her plainly, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack behind the door. "Whaddya think?"
She continued looking around, almost unable to stop her head from swiveling in every direction at this point. The apartment was spotless, which was something else she hadn't exactly expected. To her right was the living space, open and arranged neatly so that it was easy to walk around. A couch sat turned away from the front door, facing a large, flat, HD television on the wall across from it. It was a huge, corner couch that went into the corner of the room and wrapped around to the other wall. There was a dark wood coffee table in the space between the two. There were no living chairs, but with the size of the couch, Beth figured he probably didn't need any. There was a bookcase sitting against the wall a few feet away from the TV, and hung from every wall were pictures in frames, mostly of Daryl and a baby boy. Aside from the photos, the only evidence that a child lived here was the toy box sitting next to the bookcase. And in the corner, a few feet from that, was a small dining table with two dining chairs. To the left of the front door was the kitchen area, separated by a bar that came out from the wall to the left and stopped at the hallway that sat next to the kitchen. The kitchen was small, but plenty big enough for two people, and the floor changed from baby blue carpet to white tile at the border of the bar.
"It's beautiful," Beth said in complete honesty, finally looking at Daryl to see his expression. It was unchanged.
He motioned for her to follow him and she did. He led her to the hallway, which revealed two doors to the right and one door on the end. He opened the first door on the right, which exposed a square, bare room that was painted and carpeted identical to the living room and hall. It didn't have any windows, but it did have a queen-sized bed in the far left corner, which was already made up with a bedspread and an arrangement of pillows. Sitting next to it was a nightstand that held a lamp and a digital alarm clock. In the right corner, directly next to the door, was a small dresser. And in the far right corner was a desk with a cheap, black office chair. The only decoration that hung on any of the room's walls was a shiny crucifix hanging directly above the nightstand. It was no bigger than Beth's head, but it reminded her of the larger one that hung in her own dining room back at home. Or at least, it used to.
"This has been the guest room, but I ain't ever got guests so I figured that was just money bein' wasted," he explained as she stepped inside and looked around the room. "It was all my ex's shit, still pretty nice but I don't wanna sell it."
Beth smiled as she looked around, finding herself genuinely excited about something for the first time since everything had happened. More than anything, she was eager to have her own space and some form of privacy. She looked back at Daryl, who was toeing the threshold as if he didn't like being in this room.
"It's perfect," she told him, smiling. He glanced up at her but looked away quickly. She took one more look around the room before stepping back into the hallway and following Daryl to the second door a few feet down.
The door was already open, and Daryl merely gestured toward it and said, "That's the bathroom. I don't take long to get ready so don't worry about hoggin' it. The kid might need to go, though. He ain't very good at bladder control yet. Especially number two."
Beth raised her eyebrows and stifled a laugh, nodding in understanding as she glanced inside the bathroom. "Got it."
It was a moderately sized bathroom, probably not big enough to comfortably fit two people at once. The bathtub was large, and the shower head looked nice – which was something Beth always worried about in a strange place. There was a small amount of counter space and a pair of towels hung from the rack on the wall. One of them was a plain, black towel, while the other was a fluffy, red, child's towel decorated with pictures of the superhero, Ant-Man. And sitting directly across the toilet was a small, plastic, child's potty chair.
From the bathroom, Beth followed Daryl to the final door on the end, which he pushed open to let her see that it was his and his child's bedroom.
"And this is our room. I usually keep the door closed, but it has to be open if the kid's awake in here," he explained.
The carpeting and paint were all the same, and he had a bed, nightstand, and dresser that were similar to the ones in the guest room in the left half of the room. There was a solitary window in the middle of the wall across from the door that looked out onto the street in front of the building. But to the right was a drastic difference. There was a bright red car-shaped child's bed, its bedspread and pillows decorated with more pictures of Ant-Man. There was a small nightstand sitting next to it, which held an array of jars that appeared to hold different kinds of leaves and rocks. The walls were covered in crayon drawings, posters of bugs, posters of Ant-Man, and one polaroid photo that Beth couldn't quite see from where she stood. In the area next to the door and in front of the child's bed, countless toys were laid out on the floor, but they didn't look to be left out accidentally – they were all arranged into scenes and carefully organized. Beth stared at it quizzically for a moment.
Daryl must've noticed her looking, because he commented, "Yeah, he thinks they all need jobs to do when he's not here. So I let him keep 'em out. Otherwise, he keeps his shit picked up, so ya won't be steppin' on any Legos while you're tryin' to take a piss in the middle of the night."
Beth smirked and nodded in understanding. "Wow, he seems like a… an interesting kid. Where is he?"
"Most interesting I've ever known," Daryl confirmed. "He's next door with the babysitter. I told her I'd be a little late since I was meetin' with you. If ya want, you can go do whatever in your new room and I'll go get the kid so he can meet you."
"Your neighbor is your babysitter?" Beth asked.
He nodded. "Yeah, why?"
She shrugged, realizing it was an odd question. But she was just a little set back by this new information, realizing that this meant there'd be another set of prying eyes trying to watch her every move and probably wondering who she was and what her story was. It was one thing to have a babysitter who picked the kid up and dropped him off, or stopped by from nine to five, but this woman lived right next door and would be basically unavoidable. She'd start to question Beth eventually and the chances were slim that she was as apathetic as Daryl.
"No reason," she said, and turned away from him to head into her new room. He followed her cue and headed for the front door.
She set her bag on top of the dresser for the moment, knowing she shouldn't get comfortable just yet as Daryl and his son were expected back at any moment. But the bed looked terribly inviting. She untied and kicked off her boots, letting them fall to rest on the floor next to the dresser. Then she plopped onto the bed, letting herself get swallowed up by the mattress. It felt like it hadn't been slept in in ages, and judging by what Daryl had said, it hadn't been. But it was soft and warm and inviting and Beth was so grateful to finally have her own bed to sleep in. She'd never realized how much she had taken the luxury of a bed for granted.
A few minutes passed and Beth was close to dozing off. The sun was beginning to go down and it set a hazy glow about the entire apartment, barely lighting the bedroom at all. Only the faintest sounds of the city could be heard from inside the walls of the apartment. Beth could feel consciousness slipping away as all her worries floated up and out of her body and her muscles relaxed against the bed.
The sound of the front door opening and closing jolted her back to reality and the sleepiness fled her body as soon as it'd come. She could hear Daryl's voice accompanied by a child's voice as they rustled around in the living room. She stood up from the bed and stretched, walking to the doorway and peeking out into the living room. Daryl was standing by the front door, slipping a backpack off of a small boy who only came up to Daryl's knees. He was skinny and had a head full of straight, bright blond hair, and the same skin complexion as Daryl.
"…and-and, and then we made um, we made cookies, and uh, and-and she let me um, she let me lick the spoon," the little boy was in the midst of a compelling tale, his father nodding along and "mm-hmm"ing when needed.
Daryl glanced over at Beth's doorway to see her standing there, waiting. He gestured for her to come over and she did, approaching the small boy tentatively. For a moment, she wondered how much this kid could remember and recite and just how safe she'd be letting him meet her. But then she reminded herself that he was too young to be in school and the only people he probably talked to were his father and his neighbor and she probably didn't need to be that paranoid.
"Hey, bud," Daryl said, nudging his son and diverting his attention away from the endless story he'd been telling. "You wanna meet our new roommate?"
He looked up at his dad with excitement and curiosity, nodding eagerly. Daryl gestured towards Beth, and the toddler turned around and looked up, straight into Beth's eyes. She looked back down at him and smiled as politely as she could. He had the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life. They reminded her of her daddy's.
"Hi!" He said, waving enthusiastically with a grin on his face.
"Hi!" Beth waved back, her smile turning to a grin.
"Malachi, this is Rosie. She's gonna be livin' with us for a while in the spare room," Daryl explained.
"Nice ta-to meet um, you, Rosie," Malachi said, clearly struggling to remember the exact manners he'd been taught. His tiny formality made Beth's heart flutter – he was definitely one of the cutest kids she'd ever met.
"Nice to meet you, too, Malachi," she said, squatting down until she was level with him and holding out her hand. Almost immediately, he grabbed it and shook it, his hand tiny in her palm.
"How old are you?" He asked her without hesitation, his eyes studying her face.
"I'm twenty-one," she replied, asking in return, "How old are you?"
The little blond boy held up three fingers. "I'm three. But um, I'll be – I'll be four in um, in three months!"
Beth raised her eyebrows, glancing up at Daryl as he added from behind Malachi, "Now it's only two months, buddy."
The small boy's eyes grew wider, and he turned to glance up at his dad before looking back to Beth and saying, "I'll be four in two monfs!"
Beth grinned and nodded, "Wow! You're gettin' really big! When's your birthday?"
Malachi stopped and thought for a second, his eyes drifting upward momentarily before they lit up with realization, "November fif!"
"Yes, November fifth," Daryl muttered, his lips cocked upward in a proud half-smile.
"Wow, a Scorpio! Well you just get more and more interesting," Beth joked.
Malachi looked at her questioningly, "What's a Scorcho?"
Beth chuckled and told him, "That's a conversation for another day."
Daryl grunted and spoke up to remind his son, "You hungry? We need to have some dinner, it's gettin' late. Gonna be bedtime soon."
The toddler's eyes lit up again, and he turned to his father with an excited glee on his face. "Yeah! What we havin'?!"
Beth stood back up and watched the pair wander into the kitchen and go over the options of food, deciding together what they would have. Malachi insisted on chocolate chip pancakes but Daryl was able to persuade him into Spaghetti-O's and a small side of broccoli with cheese. As he prepared the dinner for his toddler, he glanced back at Beth.
"You want somethin'? There's food in the fridge and freezer and cabinets, you can help yourself," he told her as Malachi pulled on his pant leg while trying to tell him another story. "Just don't touch the pig's feet. Those're mine."
Beth quirked an eyebrow, "Don't worry, they're all yours. I think I'm okay tonight, I had a big lunch. I'm just gonna settle into my room." In reality, her nerves were still settling from such a drastic change that she had no appetite whatsoever.
Daryl nodded, microwaving the canned pasta before moving to the freezer to retrieve the frozen broccoli. "Sounds good. Uh, our schedule's 'bout the same all week. Kid usually wakes up about six-thirty, we have breakfast an' get ready, then I drop him off next door and go to work. I usually get home 'bout six, pick the kid up, have dinner, watch some TV or read a book, his bedtime is no later than eight. So I guess the place is all yours from seven-thirty or eight till six. Weekends are a different story, but we'll figure that out when we come to it."
Beth nodded, "Okay, that sounds great. Do you have a spare key I can have while I'm here?"
"Yeah, I'll leave it on the counter in the mornin'. I gotta remember where I put it," he told her.
He directed Malachi to go prepare the table for dinner, who obeyed and ran to the table with silverware and napkins in hand. Beth stood awkwardly in place for a moment, unsure of what to say next. Should she say goodnight? Just turn around and walk away silently? She wasn't sure.
But then, as if to solve her problem for her, Daryl spoke up, "So I noticed yer accent. You from the south?"
Shit, she thought. The accent.
She didn't answer for a second or two, her mind racing with a million thoughts in that tiny time frame. The accent… the accent. Of course. How had she not noticed it sooner? Well, she had, but it had gone right over her head because of the familiarity. Now that she was thinking back on Daryl's words and the way he spoke, she recognized his accent – southern. Where could he be from? Surely not Georgia. What were the odds? And why had she let herself be so unobservant? She'd become so accustomed to southern accents – between her own, her family's, and nearly everyone's she'd ever known, all the way to Dale and Irma's own southern accents, and now Daryl's. She'd noticed the New York accents that she had begun overhearing and encountering, but somehow, she'd blocked out the sounds that had become so familiar to her. And because of that, she'd ignored the way that Daryl's words tilted and slurred, the way his jaw moved lazily about his contractions; she'd completely looked past the drawl in his voice and hadn't even given it a second thought. What if he was from Georgia? Did he keep up on the news? What if he'd heard of her family, or had some sort of distant connection to them? Everything would be ruined. She'd have to flee… far.
But for now, she had to think of a lie, and fast. This time, she'd have to divert from what she had originally told Dale and Irma. Preferably, no one in New York City would ever know that Beth was actually from Georgia. She replied, "Yeah, Alabama. You?"
"Georgia," he replied as he poured melted cheese over the steaming broccoli.
Beth's heart jumped and she could almost feel her blood running cold. "Oh, what part?"
Somehow she was able to speak clearly and sound normal, but inside, she was completely freaking out.
"Around Atlanta. Grew up out in the boonies, but I think my brother still lives around there, maybe in the city," he said.
Fuck fuck fuck, she thought. Okay, I'm just gonna make this about him so he doesn't ask me anything else about Alabama: the place I've visited all of three times.
"Oh, you don't talk to him?" She asked, praying she sounded as casual as intended.
He shrugged from across the kitchen, "Nah, he's into some stupid shit. I got outta that a long time ago. He should probably be in prison, in all honesty."
Beth was a little surprised at his explanation, but also a little relieved. Maybe he hated Georgia so much that he wanted nothing to do with it, including keeping up on its current events. And hopefully, his brother would stay way over there forever – hopefully in prison, if what Daryl said was true.
"Oh, wow. I'm – uh, sorry to hear that," she muttered, unsure of what was appropriate to say in this situation.
She watched him shrug, but before he could say anything else, Malachi was racing back into the kitchen eagerly. He happily announced to his father that he'd set the table just right and that he would really like some ice cream after he ate all his broccoli. Daryl agreed with him, but only on the terms that he would, in fact, eat all of his broccoli – and all of his Spaghetti-O's.
Malachi turned around to see Beth still standing in the same spot, and he seemed to remember that he had tons of unanswered questions for her. He stepped closer and looked up at her with wonder, randomly spouting, "Um, who's yer dad?"
Beth furrowed her brow, genuinely confused by this question but also slightly amused. The toddler was bursting with unanswered questions, and every time he spoke, you could hear all his racing thoughts trying to get out at once. He was still figuring out how to share his fully formed ideas and how to get the words to come out slowly and accurately, but Beth could tell he was smart for his age. She tried not to take it too seriously, but it certainly reminded her of the things she was trying to put out of her mind for the time being. An image of her daddy sitting in a jail cell flashed through her head for a split-second. But just as quickly, she thought up a lie.
"He's – um, he – " she was about to say died, but then she glanced at Daryl and saw his expression and was suddenly unsure if he'd explained the concept of life and death to his son, or even attempted it. But his parenting style and his son's understanding of mortality was none of her business, so she changed her lie at the last minute and said, "He got taken away from us."
Fuck, that's accurate, she thought to herself as soon as it came out.
Malachi looked confused for a second and another question was forming in his mind, but before he could ask it, Daryl was nudging him from behind to get his attention –and, Beth noticed, to distract him from the conversation. He then handed Malachi a plastic cup full of juice, which the toddler carried very carefully from the kitchen to the small dining table. Daryl began heading for the table, plate in hand.
"I swear I can cook, I'm just tired tonight," he said, and Beth got the sense that he was purposely changing the subject and trying to avoid what his son had said entirely.
She made her best attempt at a warm smile and said, "No need to explain to me. I believe you."
He shrugged, setting down his kid's plate on the table and making sure Malachi was seated comfortably in his chair with a napkin ready before letting him dig into his meal. "Just sayin'. I'm not one of those dads that just feeds his kids microwave meals an' eats the same shit every night."
He headed back to the kitchen and opened the freezer to pull out a frozen dinner for one. Beth smirked.
"I wouldn't expect much more from a single dad, honestly. I mean, at least he's eatin', right?" She was trying to be as friendly as possible, hoping to get on his good side and earn as much of his trust as possible while she stayed with him. The more he trusted her, the less he'd suspect her – and hopefully, the less he'd want to know about her.
"Yeah, not everybody thinks like us," he muttered, shoving his frozen dinner into the microwave.
Beth hesitated by the kitchen, watching Daryl prepare his dinner while Malachi sat at the table a few feet away, feeding himself – messily, but getting the job done nonetheless.
"Um, Dad, um, so today, uh, Carol said that um…" Malachi began telling another story from his seat as his father prepared to sit down and dine with him. Daryl looked over at Beth and she nodded at him, an unspoken 'goodnight,' before turning and heading back into her bedroom.
She turned on the overhead light and shut the door behind her, finding the room dark and calm now that the sun was setting outside and the bedroom was shut off from the rest of the world. She could still hear Daryl and Malachi's muffled voices from the living room, but she couldn't make out their words.
Her bag was still sitting on the dresser, undisturbed and unneeded for the time being. She glanced at it apprehensively, a strong desire to dump its contents out completely onto the floor and count every single bill for the first time since fleeing the farm. But tonight, a larger part of her wanted to pretend it wasn't there and try to forget her whole situation – just for a night, just so she could relax and sleep soundly in this big, comfortable bed for a solid eight hours. Maybe twelve.
Beth turned on the lamp that sat on the nightstand and turned off the overhead light, then stripped off her socks, pants, jacket, and shirt. When she got to the undershirt that held her gun, she pulled the Beretta out carefully and set it on the bed, then pulled off the shirt and tossed it on the pile with the rest of her clothes. Finally, she took off her bra, reveling in the free and relaxed feeling that she'd been craving at night for the last few days. She was so used to sleeping with nearly nothing on at home that now it was a luxury she had always taken for granted, much like having a bed of her own. She carefully tucked the gun under her pillow, then her daddy's pocket watch. Then she pulled back the comforter and crawled underneath it, her body sinking into the mattress once again.
She was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. She looked at the digital alarm clock and saw that it was only 7:32. It had probably been years since she'd even tried to go to bed this early, but tonight, she was taking advantage. Her smartphone was on the nightstand, and she reached over to grab it and begin checking the news sources.
For the most part, her shoulders felt lighter. Aside from the stressful questions and coincidences she'd encountered with Daryl and his son, she felt noticeably more relaxed and at ease. She knew that she should continue being on edge and constantly paranoid, but it was kind of hard when you were exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could cure. Nevertheless, she continued with her nightly routine of assuring herself that the entire nation wasn't becoming aware of her crimes.
The national news sources were still void of any mention of the Greene name or their drug farm. A breath of relief later and she was back to the Georgia news – she checked this one first because it had been the only source that posted her case as its very top headlining story. And unfortunately tonight, her story was right back at the top… with brand new details and photos.
When the fuck did this happen?! She thought, immediately clicking the headline that read: UPDATED: 18-year-old Wanted in Murder of Officer After Major Drug Bust.
She checked the timestamp and realized it had been updated merely an hour ago, when she was busy with meeting Daryl and his son and finding her new home for the next few months. Her heart was racing in her chest, and the comforter that lay over her was becoming too hot to bear. Her eyes skimmed past the half of the article she'd already read, jumping straight to the two paragraphs' worth of brand new information that had been added:
August 30, 6:24 PM: Authorities have released the name of the officer killed Saturday night in a major drug bust outside of Atlanta, as well as the name of the officer critically injured, who remains in a coma. The deceased officer has been identified as Detective Shane Walsh, 36, of Atlanta, Georgia. Walsh leaves behind a mother, father, and grandmother, all of Atlanta. His partner, Detective Rick Grimes, 38, also of Atlanta, suffered blunt force trauma and remains in a coma at Harrison Memorial Hospital, in stable condition. Det. Grimes has a wife, Lori Grimes, and young son, Carl.
Police have yet to find any clues pointing to the whereabouts of the young Beth Greene. Numerous tips have been reported via the CrimeStoppers line, but no leads have been successful. Authorities are not releasing any more information at this time due to the investigation. Alleged drug lords Hershel Greene, Maggie Greene-Rhee, and Glenn Rhee remain in police custody as more suspected accomplices to the Greene Farm are interrogated. Police ask that all citizens stay aware and observant, and remain mindful that Greene is armed and dangerous. She was last seen heading north or northeast of Senoia on Saturday night. She is known to be travelling alone and may have altered her appearance in some way. She is also known to be carrying a black bag with an unknown amount of cash and possible family heirlooms. If you or someone you know may have any tips that could help authorities locate her, please call the number below immediately. Updates will be posted as information is released.
Below the article were two photos of Detective Walsh and Detective Grimes, and Beth recognized them immediately from the night at the farm. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the photo, stared into the dark eyes of the olive-skinned man she'd shot right in the chest. And then she looked over the photo of the other man, and the scene of Maggie smashing a heavy lamp over his head as hard as she could played over and over in her mind's eye. Below the photos was a toll-free number in large, bold print, reminding the public to call authorities with any information they might have. But the numbers began to get blurry and indiscernible, and Beth realized her eyes were filling with tears. She couldn't bring herself to check the Atlanta news site, afraid of what more she might learn.
Shane Walsh, she thought silently, tossing her phone onto the other side of the bed so she could get herself to stop staring at the photos on the screen. I killed Shane Walsh. Detective Walsh. And Maggie put Rick Grimes into a coma. Detective Grimes… Detective Rick Grimes, who has a wife and a kid and - if what that cop back in Ila said was right - another kid on the way. Two families' lives completely changed because of what I chose to do in a stupid, selfish, split-second decision.
For the next four hours, the phone sat undisturbed on the other side of the bed while Beth lay completely still beneath the comforter. She stared up at the ceiling, seeing without seeing, repeating the names of the two men over and over in her head. Her mind raced, her heart raced, her stomach twisted and turned, cold sweat poured down her neck and soaked the pillow beneath her. It wasn't until she finally rolled over and tried to close her eyes that she realized the wetness on her pillow wasn't just cold sweat – it was also the tears that had been pouring from her eyes without her even noticing.
to be continued…
A/N: Another HUUUUUUGE shout-out and thank you to GracieMae11 for giving me insight and educating me on NYC. She helped me figure out that Daryl would live in the East Village, so YAY! Oh, and I posted two photos to accompany this chapter. You can find them on AO3, where this story is cross-posted (I'm under the same pen name on archiveofourown dot org) and the photos are posted on the ninth chapter. One is a photo of the outside of Daryl's apartment and the other is a drawing I did of a VERY ROUGH floor plan for his apartment. And yes, the Clementine in this chapter is the same Clementine from the TWD video game. I love her! Anyway, I hope this meeting between these new versions of Beth and Daryl was satisfying. If it wasn't, I'd still love to hear your thoughts! Let me know what y'all think and have a happy new year! :)