𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐌 (𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛)

𝑇𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒

That morning, I helped Dale prepare breakfast for the group, which consisted of scrambled eggs and pieces of venison jerky. For refreshments, Carol gifted us some apple-flavored juice boxes. 

The sound of everyone rustling around camp, conversing in things that interested them while they gorged on their food made everything feel like a temporary situation. It felt like we really were just camping, soon to return to our normal lives, and probably never see each other again. It was those moments that made me forget, only for a second. When Shane came out of his tent though, the moment was gone. He met my gaze almost immediately, as if he deliberately looked for me so that he could know where I was at all times.

A foul sensation rose in my gut and I looked away. I gave T-Dog his serving, leaving Dale to serve Shane his breakfast. With eggs and jerky on a plastic plate, I went in the direction of Daryl's tent, doubting that he'd eaten anything that morning. 

Hershel said he was healed enough to be moved back into his tent, so with the help of T-Dog and Rick, Daryl got settled back into our camp. I felt a little nervous to see him after what happened the previous night. I'd told myself it wasn't a big deal, that kissing people on the forehead was a friendly gesture and nothing more than that. But, then again, Glenn had never kissed me on the forehead.

"Charlotte!"

I whipped around, feeling my heart jump in my chest, and saw Andrea walking my way.

"Are you taking that to Daryl?"

"Uhm, yeah," I answered warily as if I'd just gotten caught doing something wrong.

"Oh, well, I'm headed there too! Here, I can take that for ya," Andrea took the plate of food out of my hands and left just as quickly as she came. I knew that she was just trying to be helpful, yet, I felt my stomach sink at the thought of not seeing him. I scoffed and shook my head. He was probably already sick of people constantly checking on him; he didn't need me added to the mix as well.

After everyone had finished eating, they started piling into various trucks and cars. Rick had made plans to drive us out to the shooting range. That is, everyone except me. As much as I wanted to join the others, my hand wasn't healed enough to start playing around with guns and I knew better than to push myself. I slouched in a lawn chair next to the dying campfire and watched with envy as Lori, Carol, Rick, and Carl piled into the yellow Cherokee.

"You're not going?" Dale asked from his spot in a foldable lawn chair next to mine.

"No," I grumbled and watched the Cherokee drive off.

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be the next time," Dale said reassuringly and took a bite out of his jerky. It seemed that no matter the situation, Dale always had something positive to say.

"That reminds me," Dale reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dark green notebook and handed it out to me. The words Happy Days were written across the cover in gold cursive letters. "Maybe you can entertain yourself with this."

I smiled with glee and took the notebook out of Dale's hands, quickly flipping through the blank pages waiting to be filled.

"Thank you, Dale," I said to him with sincerity.

"Also, I suppose you'll be needing this," Dale also handed me a pencil with a dull tip, something that could easily be fixed with a sharp knife. Dale's smile reminded me of my father on Christmas day as he watched me unwrap the presents that "Santa" had brought me.

"Now, before you go off and write your novel, how about you help me clean this up," he waved to the pots and pans we had used for breakfast. I placed the notebook and pencil on my chair and eagerly helped Dale put the kitchenware back in its place so that I could soon begin writing in my notebook.