Carol leans in the partly open doorway of Hershey's room and peers in. Daryl is crammed into the twin size bed with the boy, half sitting up against the headboard, half lying down. With one hand, he holds open a book that rests upright on his stomach, just above his belt buckle.
Daryl's arm is slung around the boy and one hand rests on Hershey's shoulder, so Hershey has to turn the pages for him as he reads. A golden halo glows above the oil lamp on the nightstand.
They don't notice her, or, if they do, they don't say so. She leans her head against the wooden frame of the door and listens to Daryl read Huckleberry Finn. She loves the deep, smoky sound of his voice, and this is the only way she gets to hear it for more than a sentence or two at a time.
Daryl pauses suddenly in his reading. "Ya ain't s'pose to say that word, just so ya know."
"Why not?" Hershey asks.
"'S rude."
"Then why is Huck using it?"
"'S how people used to talk 'bout black folk. Some people anyhow. Ain't no more. 'S rude."
"But they're friends, Jim and Huck? Right?"
"Yeah. But Huck don't know no better."
Daryl finishes that page, and Hershel turns it, but before Daryl can start reading again, the little boy asks, "Did your daddy read you this book when you were a boy?"
"Nah, my daddy didn't read me no books. We didn't have no books. 'Cept car repair manuals."
"You had a car?"
Daryl chuckles. "Everyone had cars."
"Oh. I thought only rich people had cars."
"Nah. When I's a kid, we had like...four or five."
"Five! I thought you said you were poor!"
"My daddy'd get 'em from the junkyard, fix 'em up. Couple of 'em never did run. Just sat there in the front yard on blocks. Great for hide n' seek though. 'Til I got locked in the trunk for six hours. My brother Merle finally got tired of me screamin' 'n let me out. Don't crawl in the trunk of a car now."
"I'm not stupid."
"Yeah, well, I didn't think I's stupid either. But sometimes a boy gets a notion to do somethin' and don't think it all the way through."
Hershey turns the page. "So did you ever read this book before?"
"Yeah. Had to. In 8th grade. 'S a classic."
"What's a classic?" Hershey asks.
"'S somethin' old that's good enough to stand the test of time, so 's still 'round years later."
"So…like you? Are you a classic?"
In the doorway, Carol smiles and slips quietly away as Daryl snorts and says, "Yeah, kid. 'M a classic."
[*]
When Daryl comes out of Hershey's room, Carol's back at the roll top desk, pouring over some more paper. "Still at it?" he asks.
She turns sideways in the chair to face him. "How is he?"
"Fine. Just had a bad dream 'n wanted stories. Fever ain't back or nothin'."
"Good. But him getting sick reminds me…the Director of Supply Acquisition says we're almost out of penicillin. We need to send someone to trade with the Kingdom. They're doing a better job of growing it than we are."
"A'ight, I'll go."
"I wasn't asking you to go."
"Don't mind."
"I was actually thinking of going myself," Carol says. "It's been six months since I left Hilltop."
"Nah. Yer mayor. Gotta stay."
"The mayor is not indispensable," she reasons. They planned it that way, so that no one person would ever be indispensable. After Rick died, they realized the importance of that. "The Council can handle my duties for a couple of days."
"Nah. I need to get out on the road for a bit anyhow. Wanna take my new bike for a spin."
"You've taken it for three spins."
"A longer spin."
Carol gives him a skeptical look. "I think you just don't want me seeing my ex-fiance."
"I don't think yer ex-fiance wants to see you."
"We parted on good terms," Carol assures him. "I mean…after the initial embarrassment."
The initial embarrassment involved Ezekiel – tradition be damned – coming to Carol's dressing room to see what was taking her so long. He found her with her arms wrapped around Daryl's neck and her lips pressed to his lips.
Ezekiel ripped Daryl off of Carol and landed a solid punch straight in his face, to which Daryl did not respond. That was followed by a second punch, but when it was clear Daryl still was not going to respond, Ezekiel didn't throw a third. Instead, he began pacing the dressing room like a caged animal, and then finally came to an abrupt stop before Carol. Whirling on her, he said, You could have simply told me no. There was hurt in the king's eyes. And anger. But not, interestingly enough, surprise.
"We get along very well whenever we run into each other," Carol insists.
Daryl scoffs. "Yeah, 'cause he's a goddamn gentleman who knows how to put on a show. But don't think 's easy for 'em to see ya."
"It's been years, Daryl. Ezekiel moved on long ago."
"He ain't married no one," Daryl reminds her. "Ain't got no queen."
"But he's had his dalliances. He's not you, Pookie. Wooing me was almost like a game of chess to him. Don't think that just because it would be hard for you to move on, it's been hard for him, too."
"Ya got a heart as cold as stone, woman."
Carol laughs. She stands, laces her fingers through his, and tugs. "Come on. Let's go to bed. You can warm up my cold heart."
[*]
Teasing aside, Carol's not interested in sex tonight. She seldom is two nights in a row. Daryl knows that, but he makes the attempt anyway, and she feel a little guilty deflecting him. But he says what he always says when she turns him down – "A'ight. Love ya," and then he kisses her on her forehead.
He doesn't say he loves her often, but oddly enough, he says it every time she turns him down for sex. She appreciates the reassurance, because she used to be afraid to turn Ed down for sex, so much so, that she eventually stopped doing it.
Daryl murmurs goodnight and rolls on his side, his back to her. This is one of his peculiarities that she's just come to accept – unless he drifts off immediately after sex, he can't fall asleep while being touched. But she's learned how to manage the situation to get what she needs while still giving him what he needs. "Would you cuddle with me for a few minutes before you go to sleep?"
He flops over again. "Mhmhm. Sure." She rolls on her side and spoons back against him, nestling herself into the warmth of his firm body and enjoying the weight of his arm slung familiarly around her. He won't fall asleep like this, she knows, but he'll wait until she is before moving away.
"You can go this one time," she says.
"Go where?"
"To make the trade. But next time there's an opportunity to get out on a supply run or a scouting expedition to a trade, I'm going. No arguments. I can't stay pent up here for an entire year."
"A'ight."
Carol closes her eyes. "Just a few minutes of cuddling," she murmurs. "Then you can have your space." She doesn't know when he takes that space, because she's asleep in sixty seconds.
[*]
Daryl's gone from the bed when Carol awakens, and the bedroom door is slightly ajar. There's a murmur of voices coming from the living room. Carol rolls out of bed and instinctively begins making it up. There's something about a neatly made bed that just gives her a sense of peace.
She's tucking the quilt under the pillows when Daryl comes in, a backpack slung over his left shoulder. He leaves the bedroom door open, opens the small closet, and plucks down one of the three crossbows on the shelf.
"What's wrong with your usual one?" she asks.
"String broke. Ain't got time to fix it."
He scavenged six crossbows from Cabela's four years ago. The place had been looted of all food, guns, ammo, and propane, but they still found plenty of things to take. He and Carol filled an entire horse-drawn cart full of loot, including hundreds of carbon crossbow bolts. The prior looters were more interested in firearms than archery.
Carol turns to face him. "Be careful."
"Always." He leans in for a kiss.
From the living room, Henry calls, "Daryl! Time to get moving!"
"You're taking Henry?" Carol asks.
"Council says it's safer to travel in twos."
"As if you've ever cared about the recommendations of the Council. And doesn't he need to stay to hunt if you're going to be gone?"
"Ain't gonna be gone long. Two days. Got other hunters. Smokehouse is almost full anyhow after what we got yesterday."
Carol leans closer and whispers, "He's going there so he can see Jessica, isn't he?"
Daryl shouts through the open door, "Saddle yer horse! Meet me by the gate."
"Can't I just take your old motorcycle?" Henry hollers back. "Now that you have the new one?"
"Nah! Don't have 'nuff ethanol refined."
"You've got three gallons in the shed!"
"Council's raitonin' it."
"Fine," Henry mutters. Footsteps disappear toward the cabin's front door, which opens and closes. Carol hopes all the shouting through the cabin doesn't wake Hershey, who could probably use another rest day before returning to school.
"He is, isn't he?" Carol asks. "Going to see that woman?"
"Henry's 19 now, Carol. 'S a grown man. Ya can't control who he fucks."
"She's much too old for him," Carol complains. "She's old enough to be his mother."
"Yeah," Daryl says drolly. "If she had Henry when she was ten."
"I wish you'd talk to him, Pookie. He only seems interested in dipping his wick."
"'S that really the metaphor yer gonna go with?"
"Please would you just talk to him?"
"'Bout what? Ain't my business."
Carol sighs. "I just always thought he'd turn out to be more…honorable."
"Ain't bein' dishonorable. 'S just takin' what's on offer."
"Is that what you'd do?" she asks peevishly.
"If I was 19? Hell yeah! Look, he'll screw 'round with her for another couple months, get it out of his system, get his tutorin' from 'er, 'n move on to someone closer to his own age."
"You are far too casual about this for my tastes. What if he gets her pregnant?"
"Then yer gonna make a gorgeous grandmama," he assures her with a smirk. Daryl kisses her frowning lips, chuckles, and heads out the bedroom door.
"Talk to him!" Carol shouts as he disappears.