He’s left me here, alone. Then I notice the three backpacks lined against the front door. If he had really left, he wouldn’t have gone without the supplies. Especially the baby supplies. I sigh in relief. He has to be here. He and Sam have to be here.
I hear a small laugh come from the garage, I quickly go for the door and open it. There’s stuff everywhere. Storage bins are scattered across the concrete floor. There’s garden tools along the wall. Daryl stands in the far corner, searching through one of the bins, and Sam runs around the perimeter with a small garden shovel in his tiny hands, giggling to himself.
Daryl looks up at me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
I wonder how much he remembers from last night. I don’t know how alcohols works. I don’t know how much you have to drink in order to not remember things.
“Sam, if you don’t stop runnin’ around with that shovel you’re gonna knock a tooth out,” Daryl warns.
Sam stops running and looks at his father. Seeming to understand the tone of his father’s voice, he drops the shovel to the ground, but keeps running in circles around the garage.
Daryl motions towards me. “Make yourself useful and look for anything we might need in these boxes.”
Okay, so he’s talking to me. That’s a good sign.
“Her parents just had all these boxes of stuff laying around in here?” I ask as I remove one of the lids and begin rummaging through the bin.
“Yeah, they hoarded a lot of shit and never got rid of nothin’,” he replies.
I stare at him for a second. There’s no sleeves on his shirt and I can see the definition in his arms.
“Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?” I question. I had to do it. I had to ask him.
“No,” he grunts. “I don’t.”
“Okay,” I say.
So we don’t talk about it. As time passes, the tension between us slowly decreases. My heart still aches from some of the things he said to me. It kills me to know that I hurt him. To know that just by looking at me he hurts. I think it kills me even more to know there’s nothing I can do about it.
Sam continues running around the room. Ever so often he approaches me, trying to sneak up behind me and grab something from the bin I’m searching through. I don’t say anything. I just let him take whatever he wants.
“Sam, put down the toe nail clippers,” Daryl says, grabbing the clippers from his son. “Where the hell are you finding all this stuff?”
I smile, and don’t say anything.
Sam giggles and as soon as Daryl turns his back, he comes running back up to me and steals a water gun from my box. Miraculously, there’s still water in it and once he realizes this, he immediately shoots the gun at Daryl.
I expect Daryl to be pissed but he just laughs. “Sam, where do you keep finding this stuff, man?”
Sam keeps shooting the water at him.
“All right, son. You can stop it now, you’re starting to make Daddy mad.”
A small laugh escapes my mouth.
“You think that’s funny Macy?”
I immediately look to the left. “No, no I don’t think it’s funny.”
“Daddy have water,” Sam giggles, pulling the trigger of the water gun again.
“Samuel Andrew Dixon!” Daryl says, attempting to keep a stern face but failing miserably.
Sam instantly drops the gun and starts running in the opposite direction. He laughs uncontrollably as Daryl begins playfully chasing him around the room. Sam rushes towards me, hiding behind my legs.
“What? You think she’s gonna protect you, Sam?”
Sam clutches my legs harder and I try not to stiffen at his touch. Daryl maneuvers himself around me, grabbing Sam from behind my legs. As he reaches for his son, his fingers graze my calves. My skin begins to tingle from his touch.
He looks at me for just a second, like he felt it too. “We need to start getting ready to leave,” he says, breaking our gaze.
“Okay,” I agree.
I follow him out of the garage. He sets Sam down on the floor and he runs for the living room, stumbling over his feet.
“We gotta figure out how we’re carrying everything,” Daryl says.
“Well there’s three backpacks. So we’ll each take one and then take turns carrying the other one.”
“Macy, I’m gonna need help carrying Sam. You wanna tell me why you make that face every time you have to hold him?” he asks, not looking at me.
“Uh, no not really,” I breath. “When I was eight, I helped my mom babysit one of her friend’s kids. She was three and my mom left me alone with her to go get something from the store. I don’t remember exactly what happened, all I know is that she fell and hit her head while I was watching her. I guess it kinda scarred me. Ever since that happened, I’ve never really liked kids.”
He nods, considering this for a moment. “There was this one time when I was watching Sam. I had begged Carrie to get out of the house and have some fun. Took her a while, but she finally gave in. While I’m watchin’ him, I go to use the bathroom. And in the forty-five seconds it takes me to piss, he manages to get ahold of one of those spray cleaner bottles and he sprays bleach into his mouth, the little shit. Carrie met me at the ER and he ended up being fine, but it took me a while to let me live that one down.”
I stare at him. I’m confused as to why he’s sharing this with me, why he’s trying to make me feel better. Why he’s trying to help me. I can’t keep up with him.
He cracks a small smile. “All I’m tryin’ to say is shit happens.”
I laugh. “Shit happens.”
I sit outside on the back patio. There’s patio chairs and a small wooden bench, but I decide to sit on the steps that led to the grass. Even though the yard is fenced in, I keep my knife close at hand. It’s incredibly hot and I’m already starting to sweat through my t-shirt. The fabric clings to my skin. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face, as I watch the sun begin to set.
We’re leaving tomorrow. It scares me to think about the three of us having to walk around out there with such little protection while the walkers prey on us. But I’m hoping by leaving this house maybe Daryl will be easier to deal with. I still haven’t decided how I feel about my feelings towards him. He’s erotic and moody.
I don’t even know why I like him.
I guess I like the whole I’m-a-hard-ass-but-I-can-be-nice-when-I-wanna-be thing he has going for him. I like it when he’s sweet to me. And I’m only twenty-one and God only knows how old he is. Maybe I’m just infatuated with the way he looks. I don’t know. All I know is that I need to make my feelings for him stop. All he sees when he looks at me is her. He’d never be able to return the feelings I have for him.
Sam comes running through the backdoor, out onto the patio, and begins pulling my hair once he’s close enough.
“Sam, don’t do that,” I say, pulling his tiny claws out of my hair. He stares at me for a long time and starts giggling.
“Why are you laughing, Crazy?” I ask with a small smile.
“Because you look funny,” Daryl says from the doorway.
“You’re not that funny, you know?” I turn slightly to face him.
He shakes his head. “Whatever you say.”
He sits down next to me, leaving a good few inches of space between us. I’m surprised he even sat by me in the first place. Sam tries to wedge himself in the small gap of space Daryl’s created so he can sit down with us.
“Do you ever think the world is going to go back to the way it was?” I ask.
“No, I don’t,” Daryl answers. I’m surprised by his answer. I know I shouldn’t be shocked at his negativity, but that wasn’t the answer I was expecting.
“You have no hope, whatsoever?”
“The world’s gone to shit, Macy. There ain’t much to live for anymore. And when people can’t find things to live for they go crazy. Even if we do beat this disease, or whatever the hell it is, the world will never be the same. The human race will never be the same.”
I stare at him, even more surprised at this answer than the last. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” he says.
I laugh. “Whatever you say, Daryl.”