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APRIL SHOWERS ARE A WARM WELCOME in contrast to the harsh winter Rick and his family survived. There was a scare a few weeks ago when both Beth and Carl came down with a cold, and lacking any medication, he feared the worst. Josephine, of course, along with Hershel nurtured them back to health with her medical skills and his herbal ailments. Once again, he was eternally in the Greene family's debt. His appreciation for Hershel keeps growing in unimaginable ways; and his affection for the farmer's eldest daughter intensifies into an indescribable feeling—although he doesn't want to admit it yet, he knows the exact definition of it—deep within him.
Would it be considered betrayal if the other has already been disloyal? Rick questions himself often in moments when he separates from the group, which has become increasingly more frequent as Lori nears her due date Jo has informed him will be in about seven or eight weeks. His internal dilemma is set aside, the source of his stress is the baby. Where is a secure enough place for the delivery, and How can we possibly protect it?
Currently, they are at the creek, which had been previously frozen over, after recently departing from a house a few miles west. After marking it on the map with a red X over the town, Rick joins the others, yet keeps his distance. He helps Glenn at the mouth of the short waterfall to refill their 16oz water bottles, canisters, 5-gallon water jugs, and single-gallon bottles as the rest of the group minus Daryl and T-Dog, who are out hunting for tonight's dinner, finish washing a few articles of clothing that haven't touched soap in a nose-plugging amount of time.
His gaze first settles on his wife's round stomach. It brings painful images he has conjured up himself to flash before his very eyes. He doesn't hate her. He just simply wonders if she ever truly loved him. And the answers lie in her womb; excruciatingly reminding him with every growing centimeter. They haven't discussed the subject, because he would probably break into tears begging to know what he did to deserve this or how he failed her. Because he loved her more than his own life.
His eyes drift to Josephine; she has a toothbrush sticking out from the side of her mouth after she pauses her brush strokes to scrub Beth's scalp with the travel-sized shampoo they had stretched the use longer than probable. She dips the bottle in the water, plugs the hole with her fingers, shakes it hard enough to mix the stuck remnants on the side of the small bottle, and quickly foams to the top. She tips Beth's head forward and pours the watered-down shampoo in the middle of the back of her head and starts massaging her scalp. Believing she scrubbed away all the grit and dirt, she hands Beth the bowl-with-many-uses to rinse her hair out. She takes this time to continue brushing her teeth and spits the white paste in between two rocks to not contaminate the water everyone is currently utilizing. She rinses her mouth, and spits again on the rocks; then, she cups a handful of water and splashes her face—nothing like those commercials that he groaned at every five minutes they cut in between the best parts of his favorite crime show—the water ricochets and lands on the ground around her, a few droplets trail down her neck and down her chest. She doesn't bother to wipe it off, the cool droplets refresh rather than bother her. She swipes the wet stray hairs near her forehead behind her ears and pats them flat; although her hair reaches her elbows, her natural raven locks are prominent, reaching from her roots to right below her ears, and mixing with the artificial auburn color.
