Chapter 1

Brenda rested her forehead against the window pane and stared out at the settling twilight, her breath causing a fleeting white mist on the November-cooled glass each time she exhaled. Behind her she could hear Fritz speaking but she no longer listened, instead becoming fascinated by the fog her breath created, ephemeral though it was. I wonder how cold it will be in Atlanta at Christmas time, she mused. She sighed, the long stream of warm air causing a large patch of cold glass to turn opaque. She lifted a finger and idly began to draw a heart in it. I guess I'll never find out, she thought bitterly.

She felt Fritz's hand on her shoulder and jumped. She quickly stopped doodling on the window but she didn't turn toward him, embarrassed to be caught in her inattention. He put a hand on her other shoulder and slowly turned her around.
"Brenda, did you hear anything I said?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

No. "Yes," she answered. She was too upset to listen to what Fritz had to say; besides, she know what it would be, something reasonable and rational. Completely opposite to how she was feeling. Water to her fire.

"Liar," he said, with a smirk. "I can always tell when you have tuned me out." He took her by the hand and guided her to the couch, and then sat down next to her. She tried to avoid looking at him, but he tilted her chin upwards so she couldn't escape. Against her will, her eyes filled with tears. Dammit, she cursed, yanking her head out of his grasp and dragging the back of her hand across her face. He gives me one sympathetic look and I start crying again. Why can't he be a jerk every once in awhile?

"Oh Brenda, don't be mad at your father. He's just doing what he needs to do to get through this Christmas without your mother. He is going to be with family who will take care of him. Can't you be happy for him, honey?" Fritz reached over to rub her back, a familiar gesture of comfort, but she jerked out of his reach.

No, she couldn't be happy for her daddy. She could only feel angry, she only wanted to feel angry, and wanted no part of Fritz's attempts to soothe her. Earlier that evening, she had called home to talk to Clay about when she was going to come to Atlanta for Christmas. For months, Brenda had been planning to make Christmas at the Johnson's look as similar to when Willie Rae was alive as possible. During her time in Atlanta the previous summer, Brenda found her mother's cookbook with all the recipes for the Johnson family holiday favorites: rocky road, snickerdoodles, the glazed ham served at dinner, and, of course, her mother's famous peanut brittle. Brenda had never actually made peanut brittle before, but she knew it had something to do with a candy thermometer and a temperature called "hard crack," and she was confident she could figure out the rest of it. She located all of the Christmas decorations in the attic, and even saved one of Willie Rae's hideous holiday sweaters from being sent to Goodwill. Brenda knew she had huge shoes to fill, but she was going to work very hard at creating a Christmas for her father and brothers that her mother would be proud of.

When she spoke with Clay this evening, she chatted about all the things she planned to do to make this first holiday without Mama as nice as possible. After awhile, Clay interrupted her, and, sounding guilty, he told her that he wasn't going to be in Atlanta for Christmas. Turns out his sister Margery is going on a cruise with her family and in-laws, and at the last moment her bachelor brother-in-law cancelled, and she invited Clay to take his place. Brenda listened in horror as he explained how being in the house was going to be very hard on him, and a cruise to the Caribbean with his sister sounded like the perfect solution. When Brenda, struck speechless, didn't respond, Clay described the ports of call, the extravagant dinners, and all the luxuries they have on cruise ships. With her mouth hanging open, she thought, I was gonna try and make peanut brittle, me, the person who can't cook, to comfort you at Christmas, and instead you want to drink mai tais on Saint Martins and eat a midnight buffet? When her tongue unfroze, she couldn't stop herself from saying, "this is the first Christmas Mama's dead, and the way you are gonna honor her is leave your home and your kids and party on a cruise? Daddy, what is wrong with you?" Tears stung her eyes as all her plans for the holidays, and how she was going to work so hard to take her Mama's place, fell to pieces.

"Brenda, I can tell you are upset, so I'm gonna let that rude tone of yours slide," Clay answered, sounding irritated. "I know you were planning on coming here and doing everything you could to make a nice Christmas. But the truth is, it's not going to be a nice Christmas, no matter what. Your mother's gone, and all the decorations and homemade cookies in the world can't make up for that. I just don't think I can take being here, in this house, at Christmas without my Willie Rae beside me. As far as I'm concerned, Fate stepped in by a space opening up for me with Margery's gang on that cruise. I get to spend time with my sister, my nieces and nephew, and mourn my first Christmas without my wife the way I need to do it, far away from a house with 40 years of holiday memories." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I can tell you don't understand it, but I don't owe you any explanations, little girl. Grief is personal, and private, and whatever helps a person get through it, as long as it's healthy, is a good thing. And I know that for you, coming here and putting on your Mama's apron and trying to be her might be your way of grieving…"

"I was not gonna try and be Mama!" Brenda protested.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted, coming here and making peanut brittle may be your way of mourning, and if so, I'm sorry for messing that up. But I've got to do what I've got to do. If you want my advice, instead of focusing on your Mama being gone this Christmas, why don't you focus on Fritz being here. The man could use your attention."

Brenda didn't remember the rest of the conversation. She just recalled hanging up and running to the bedroom and curling up like a small child as the tears came. This is how Fritz found her, in fetal position on the bed with red swollen eyes and tears leaking down her cheeks. She brokenly told him what happened and, to her surprise, he didn't take up her crusade of indignation. Instead, he coaxed her into the bathroom to wash her face, then into the kitchen to eat some of the takeout Thai he had brought home. Now they were in the living room talking. Rather, Fritz was talking and Brenda had drifted off into a depression-seeped fog.

"I was saying, Brenda, that you have to respect your dad's choice, even if you don't understand it. You miss your mother, and being in Atlanta this Christmas was going to help you mourn her, but he lost his wife. It's different. Neither one of us can understand that kind of pain, so we can't judge his decisions."

"Bein' around women in bikinis and drinkin' those drinks with little umbrellas is gonna help him with the mournin' process? Oh please!" Brenda huffed, crossing her arms over her chests.

"He needs distraction, Brenda. Like he told you on the phone, that house has so many memories with your mother. The cruise doesn't. And he will be with family, a bunch of people his own age. People he can talk to about all of this." Brenda started to open her mouth to protest, but Fritz put his finger over it. "I know what you are going to say. He can talk to you, can't he? He did talk to you, quite a lot, when you were in Atlanta. But you are his daughter, and you don't know what it's like to lose a spouse, or be at the age where that's a real possibility. He will be with his sister and other people his own age, and he can get support from them, support his kids just can't give him. And I hate to say this, Brenda, because it sounds trite, but this isn't about you. It's about your father and what he needs."

"Oh, so now you are callin' me selfish," she felt herself getting choked up again. "Thanks a lot, Fritz." She was backsliding, she knew, but she was too upset to stop herself. Ever since Brenda had her personal revelation about "the bad men" and how her job was eating away at her soul, Brenda has been making an honest effort to change. She strove to make Fritz a priority in her life, a position he always held in her heart that got lost in the chaos of translation into her reality. And she was learning to fight fair, and throwing out childish lines like the ones she just spoke was exactly the type of thing she was trying to get away from. She sat up straighter in the couch and looked at Fritz, waiving her hands in the air as if to erase the words.

"Sorry, sorry," she said hurriedly. "I promised not to fight like that again. I'm sorry that I said what I said. I've been so much better, haven't I, Fritzy?" Her eyes, red and abused from earlier tears, began to fill again.

He took one her flailing hands and held it in his. This calmed her, the feeling of his soft warm palm enveloping her much smaller hand. He raised it up to kiss her knuckles.

"Much better, and I accept your apology," Fritz said. "And now maybe you can listen to me for a few minutes, without interrupting and with an open mind, okay?" She nodded. "Consider this another lesson in 'The Continuing Emotional Education of Brenda Leigh Johnson." They both laughed.

Looking at her life honestly didn't come easily to her, so she enlisted Fritz's help. Most of Brenda's "education" involved a lot of talking, which she frankly hated but knew was a necessary evil, especially because the things Fritz told her were laced with wisdom and almost always right.

"All right, Sensei Fritz, hit it," she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. He grabbed her other hand and held that one too.

"I think we have some choice about how we respond to situations," he started. "Not at first, because we are just reacting out of sheer emotion, but once we settle down, our brains kick in. So tonight, you were shocked to hear about your dad not being in Atlanta for Christmas, and that also completely messed up your Christmas plans too."

Brenda battled the rising tears and nodded.

"Once the shock of that news is over, you can decide how that's going to impact your Christmas. Was going home to Atlanta and trying to fill your mom's shoes the only way you can spend this Christmas? Frankly, honey, I had my doubts about how healthy it was for you to even try." He squeezed her hands.

She shut her eyes. "Go on," she said, her throat tightening.

"So the way I see it, you can make this Christmas all about it being the first Christmas without your mother…"

"Fritz, I don't have to make it about it being the first Christmas without Mama. It just is!" Brenda protested.

"I know honey, but is it going to be the only thing to define this Christmas? Are you going to choose to cry yourself through the holiday season, or are you going to try and find some happiness?"

She pulled a hand away from his and rubbed her face. "Ask me tomorrow. Right now I'm too pissed off at my daddy."

"Oookay," Fritz said slowly. "How about I propose something else, another thing for you to focus on, an alternative way for you to frame this Christmas? I think that might help."

Brenda was curious. "What do you mean?"

It's the first Christmas without your mother, which is sad. But it is also the first Christmas of something good, or at least that's the way I see it. This is the first Christmas we've been together that we don't have to worry about you being called out and our day ruined. Or we won't be transporting suspects in an RV across the country. And most important of all-" he stopped to wrap his arm around her shoulder- " I think this is the best Christmas for us as a couple. We've never been stronger, Brenda. I know I've never been happier, despite all the tragedies. I love you more every day, and things just keep getting better and better. It's our first Christmas together where things are in such good shape. I think a focus on a 'Brenda and Fritz Christmas' would be really nice, don't you think? Even though that does kind of sound like a cheesy holiday special." He smiled and laughed at his own bad joke.

Her anger drained from her in an instant from his touching words. She turned toward him and buried her face in his chest, loving him beyond her own comprehension. His other arm came around her back and pulled her closer, and she snugged her nose in the crook of her neck, where she could feel his pulse and revel in his Fritz-smell. The smell of comfort, of safety. Of unconditional love.

Fritz was right. Things were so much better between them than they had been a year ago. It wasn't just leaving Major Crimes and starting at the DA's office, a demanding job but one where she could bring work home and wasn't at risk for being called out to a murder in the middle of the night, leaving their warm bed and a disappointed Fritz behind. The epiphany she had with Rusty Beck and what the "bad men" were doing to her life was just the beginning. After her mother's death she spent a great deal of time in Atlanta, and in her mourning did more soul-searching than she had ever done before. What she discovered is that Fritz had spoken the truth; she didn't know how to be honest with herself, she tended to be selfish, and worst of all, she took Fritz for granted.

How little she gave to Fritz was driven home one week when, while buying a few necessities at the drug store, she spontaneously decided to buy him a mushy card for no particular reason. Brenda was no romantic, but he had been having a tough time at work and had been coming home exhausted, so for $3, she thought, what the heck, I'll surprise him. She picked out something simple, not too silly or with any long, simpering declarations of love, and wrote, "Fritzy, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you forever, Brenda." She put it in his briefcase that night and forgot all about it. The next evening she was chopping vegetables for dinner when Fritz came through the back door and grabbed her from behind. He lifted her up and twirled her around, causing her to cry out and warn him about the knife in her hand. He had a grin from ear to ear, and he pulled her close to him and gave her a passionate kiss. "I found the card," he said, looking incredibly happy. "That was such a wonderful surprise, Brenda. I can't tell you how much it made my day. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He pushed the chopping board aside and set her on the counter, his kisses growing more passionate and insistent. If he got this incredibly excited over a silly card, Brenda thought as Fritz took off her blouse, I really have been tossing him crumbs for the past several years. After that she made more of an effort to make romantic gestures such as leaving him notes, texting him suggestive messages, and buying him little gifts. Each time he looks like Oliver Twist getting seconds at dinner. She knew, without a doubt, a Christmas that celebrated them, as a couple, a new and improved couple, would put him over the moon.

"I like that," she said, her voice muffled against his neck. "Does a 'Brenda and Fritz Christmas' come with lots of presents for Brenda?"

He pulled back so he could look her in the face. "Well, as of tonight it does."

"Huh?"

Fritz shifted on the couch so he could see her better. "Last summer, when things were really rough, I decided to buy your Christmas present early. I booked us for Christmas at Big Sur. It's the skiing trip that you missed out on a few years ago. The one I was a jerk about and went on without you." He shifted uncomfortably. Brenda knew he felt bad about that. "I have a deal with Jerry. If it ended up that we couldn't go for some reason, he was going to buy it off of me, because he and Susan don't have any plans. And I still haven't given it to Jerry."

Brenda look puzzled. "But we were supposed to go home to Atlanta next month. That was the plan as of about 2 hours ago. Why are you still holdin' on to the reservation when you knew, or thought, that we weren't going to be here? Tryin' to torture your old partner?"

Fritz cleared his throat. "I just had this feeling that we weren't going to end up in Atlanta after all. When we were visiting your dad a couple of months ago, every time you mentioned coming back for Christmas, he got this really unhappy look on his face. I got the sense he was going to try and be somewhere else, that he was dreading the holidays. And I was right."

"Yes, you were," she murmured. "I just wish you let me in on your hunches, Fritz. Then maybe I wouldn't have been so shocked tonight." She lay her head on his shoulder.

"They were just hunches, and I didn't want to get you upset for nothing. But that's beside the point. What do you think? Big Sur was beautiful, and we can finally learn to ski together. We can drive up there Saturday the 22nd, and come back the 26th. How does that sound?" He had that earnest expression on his face he wore when he is trying desperately to please her. Brenda's heart lurched.

And she was pleased. Five days away in the mountains, just the two of them, leaning to ski, enjoying the Jacuzzi, roaring fires…Brenda let her mind wander. This has definite romantic potential.

"Did you book a couple's massage?"

"You bet. And I was hoping for some other 'couple' activity that doesn't need to be scheduled." His voice dropped an octave. "After all, you are going to be cold with the snow, being a Southern girl and all, you are going to need a source of heat." He waggled his eyes at her suggestively.

Brenda smiled but all of a sudden felt very tired, the emotional weight of the day crashing down on her. "Yes, yes, and thank you, Fritz," she said, yawning. "But it's been a long day and I need to go to bed. Cryin' your eyes out just kinda sucks out all your energy, you know what I mean?" She yawned again and untangled herself from him, standing up.

Fritz grabbed her hand before she could get very far and she turned to look at him. "I'm serious, Brenda. It's a decision, a choice. What is this Christmas going to mean to you? What are you going to choose for it to mean to you?"

She thought back to the conversation with her father earlier that evening, when he said to her, "instead of focusing on your Mama being gone this Christmas, why don't you focus on Fritz being here. The man could use your attention." If there was one thing her father was now an expert on, Brenda thought with an aching sadness, it was valuing the time you have with your spouse. And suffering terribly when that time is over.

"Us, Fritzy," she answered sleepily. "I choose Christmas 2012 to be all about us. Just watch me."

End Chapter 1

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