"It's a Yuppie Utopia!" laughed Maggie, standing on the front sidewalk.
"I believe the technical term is 'Yuptopia,'" Glen replied.
T. Dog walked in the front door first. "Oh, hell yeah," he said, reading the card propped on the entry table that said Furnishings provided by Pottery Barn and Pottery Barn Kids. "This is white people heaven up in here."
"More like Pottery Barn hell," Daryl smirked. "Seriously—this place look like somewhere I'd live?"
"Only if it had wheels under it," T. Dog laughed. "I stand corrected."
"A'right, funny man. Me and Carol are gonna start cleanin' out the private residences for supplies. Have fun pickin' out your room, but don't go out back."
"Something wrong back there?"
"No, ain't nothin' like that," Daryl explained. "Just a place for me to put my gear."
"What kinda gear you talking about?"
"Jesus—what's with the twenty fuckin' questions?" Daryl snapped. "I already cleared it with Rick. Just keep everybody in the house and leave the garage to me."
TWDTWDTWTDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD TWD
The first floor of the house consisted of a small formal living room, a dining room, and an open concept kitchen/family room. Upstairs was the master bedroom and bath as well as two additional smaller bedrooms that shared a Jack and Jill bath.
"Oh my God!" Maggie exclaimed entering what had been designed as a boy's bedroom. "It's Nerd Land!"
Espresso colored bunk beds were adorned with Star Wars comforters and R2-D2 pillows. The walls sported Luke Skywalker and Han Solo decals. A Death-Star mobile hung from the ceiling and a Millennium Falcon replica sat on the dresser.
"Oh, yes! None of that prequel stuff! I'm calling dibs on this one," stated a wide-eyed Glen.
"Yeah—I had a feeling you would," said Maggie. "What about the bunk beds, though?"
"We're young and limber," he replied. "We'll figure it out."
"I don't know. You think maybe we should let Carl have it?" Maggie asked.
"Ha! Carl wants to sleep wherever your sister does."
"Over my daddy's dead body!" she laughed.
Just then, they heard a voice boom from the next room. "Over my dead body!"
Maggie and Glen barged through the bathroom and into what was obviously the "girl's room." Hershel glared at Beth and Carl who were bouncing on separate twin beds decked in pink, flowery bedspreads.
"Oh, Daddy," Maggie said. "Relax. They're just kids."
"Yes, and I'd like to keep them that way a little longer."
"I'm 17, Daddy!" Beth exclaimed. "Carl's like, what—12?"
"Hey! I'm 13!" Carl shouted indignantly.
"Come on, Hershel," said Glen, glancing at the tiny white table and chairs set topped with a pink, plastic tea set. "It's like Laura Ashley threw up in here. Not exactly a swinging bachelor pad. Besides, Maggie and I will be next door."
"Pardon me if I doubt you'll find the time for supervision," said Hershel.
Rick walked in from the hall. "Lori and I will be in the master right through that door. God knows we won't be too distracted to keep an ear out. Son," he turned to Carl, "behave and keep your hands to yourself."
"Yes sir," said Carl.
"Well, I don't have to like it," said Hershel.
"Come on, Hershel," said T. Dog from the hallway. "I found us a sweet crib on the third floor."
"I'm a little old for a crib, Theodore."
"Just follow me."
"I don't know how much more of this my knees can take," Hershel complained up the steep staircase.
"Wait'll you see this couch, man. You thought you liked your old one…"
"I never had to share my old one," said Hershel.
The third floor had been designed as a media/bonus room. It contained an enormous, u-shaped, slip-covered sectional.
"And look," said T. Dog, pointing at an air vent. "You can hear everything in Beth's room."
"This will do just fine," the older man smiled.
TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDT WDTWD
Carol was in the kitchen sorting supplies when Daryl came up behind her. "Hate to tell you this, but everyone's already got rooms, and there's nothin' left for us."
He tried not to react to her look of disappointment when she turned toward him.
"Well… there's a couch in here," she frowned, gesturing toward the family room area, "and one in that front living room. Guess you could take the living room, so I could be in here to figure out breakfast in the morning."
"There's one more option," he said. "Follow me."
They walked out the back door. Across from a stone patio stood a small, white two-story building.
"What is this?" Carol asked. "A potting shed?"
"It's a garage."
"Oh, great. Even better. We're sleeping in a garage? I think I'll take my chances on the couch."
"Look up," Daryl said.
"Why would a garage have two stories?" she asked.
"I'll show ya."
They entered a door and walked up a staircase.
Upstairs was a guest room and full bath, separate from the house. There was a queen bed with an ivory, tufted headboard. The bed featured a thick duvet covered with a print of oversized red and yellow dahlias. It was piled high with pillows and draped in several throw blankets in shades of russet and buttery yellow. The bed was flanked by two black metal nightstands carefully staged to look as if the books sitting on top had been tossed there casually. One stack of books was crowned with a silver budvase.
A cream-colored dresser with bead board trim and iron drawer pulls stood against one wall. It was topped with dozens of candles in varied silver-plated holders. In true house-staging form, all the wicks had been previously, briefly lit so they looked as if someone had actually used them. Across from the dresser, beneath a window, was a crimson colored settee decked out with more pillows and throws. The walls were a pale blue and covered in bright canvases of poppies, sunflowers, tulips, and daisies. But the piece de resistance was on the wall directly across from the bed: an antique-white mantel framed a gas-burning fireplace.
"Oh, Daryl. What is this place?"
"From all the floor plans and brochures layin' 'round these models, about 50 grand extra is what it is."
"It's beautiful," she almost whispered.
"You like it?"
"Are you kidding? I love it! It couldn't get any better than this."
"You sure? 'Cause the gas line still works."
"We can have a fire?"
"Hell yeah. Let's do it."
Minutes later, they were sitting on the tiled hearth, both holding their palms as close to the fire as they dared.
"Fire always makes me think of the Lone Ranger and all that other cowboy shit," Daryl said.
"Really? That's not what it makes me think of at all," Carol laughed.
"What're you thinkin' 'bout?" he asked.
"I don't know… It's pretty romantic," she smiled. "Wanna screw around?"
He leapt up so fast she thought he'd burned his hand in the fire. His cheeks had turned the color of a lava lamp. He looked like he might be sick.
"Gosh, Daryl—if the thought of me makes you want to puke, forget it. It was just a joke."
"No—I ain't—you—you don't make me wanna puke. Jesus, woman! Can't a man gather his thoughts?"
He walked over to the settee and plopped down.
"Why did you bring me up here?" Carol asked quietly.
"I don't know. 'Cause I thought you'd like it?"
"I do. Thank you."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. She knew he was skittish. There was a time when she would've blamed herself. Ed used to say, "A woman like you oughtta be damn lucky you got a man." Ed's Carol would've thought, "Of course a man like Daryl Dixon wouldn't want you."
But Ed's Carol died when she took a pickaxe to his skull. And after Sophia… when she wasn't anyone's mother anymore and had long-since stopped being someone's doormat—she'd figured out how to be her own Carol. It started after the farm, in the light of the dying fire when she thought he was asleep. She heard the words clearly behind her and knew she wasn't dreaming. "Ya ain't no burden."
She woke up the next morning in that makeshift camp wondering how she could feel so warm. She was pretty sure they hadn't thought to bring any blankets. She was right. That was not a blanket wrapped around her. It was Daryl Dixon. Feeling his hardness pressing into her, she could sense from his breathing that he was awake. He nearly jumped a mile when he realized she was too. "Goin' huntin'," he muttered.
Every morning after, whether they camped out or found a safe house, she awoke to much the same situation. But each time, he jumped a little less and stayed a little longer. He looked like a man who should've had hundreds of women. But she could tell that somehow wasn't the case. She didn't know what had happened to him—wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Her eyes still teared up when she thought of those scars she'd seen on his back. No, nothing could be gained by delving into either of their pasts. She just wanted to move forward. He made her feel like there was a future she might actually want to be a part of.
Now she just hoped she hadn't blown it.
"Your thoughts gathered yet?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Are you going to sleep in that little bitty chair tonight?" she winked.
"No."
She stood up from the hearth. "Let's go get some dinner."
"I need a drink," he said.
"Let's get you a bottle," she smiled, as they descended the staircase.