Part 1
Sasha Williams made a detour to the break room to check the holiday weekend schedule again. Everyone accused her of OCD tendencies and she didn't deny it. How could she when she had already entered her days at the fire station in her iPhone calendar? But with her crew, she liked to know ahead of time who would be on shift with her, too. New Year's Eve brought out the stupid in people and if a call came in, she wanted the good ones on the truck with her. Not the two knuckleheads who used the firefighter gig as a way to pick up women.
"What the hell?" she muttered.
Zack Turner, a newbie, came up behind her. "How did you score that?"
"It's not a score," she said.
According to the schedule, as of seven a.m., she had the next five days off and that included the dreaded holiday weekend. She should have known that her brother, Tyreese had been serious about his threat. For the past four years, she had intentionally missed the infamous New Year's Eve party that he and his wife Carol threw without fail. His friendship with her Fire Chief wasn't supposed to cause problems of favoritism, but once her brother decided something, nothing short of an apocalypse could make him change his mind.
She slid behind the wheel of her black F-150 pick up and reminded herself not to race into traffic. The urge to confront Tyreese was strong. His habit of interfering in her life had only gotten worse since she hadn't snapped out of her self-imposed isolation within his time frame. She understood that he wanted her to move on but he couldn't dictate the when or the how. It was her call.
By mid-morning, her annoyance refused to fade. She donned a sweater, her favorite pair of jeans and combat boots and headed to her brother's impressive two-story brick home in Dunwoody, a small suburb north of Atlanta. Christmas decorations littered the drive. This year the color scheme was blue, white, and silver. Everything sparkled and looked so damn cheerful. She shook her head and scolded herself. When had she become the Grinch?
She parked behind her brother's Escalade and headed to the back door. Tyreese stood with his cell phone to his ear. He saw her and waved her in. While barking orders into the phone, he pulled her into a bear hug.
The smell of gingerbread lingered, serving to remind her that she hadn't eaten all day. Of course, the cookie jar was empty. Tyreese pointed to the bag on the counter. Inside, she found a container of snacks. She pulled out a couple of sugar cookies that were Carol's specialty. She munched on them while she waited for her brother to end his call.
He pocketed his cell phone. "Hey, baby girl. You're later than I expected."
"Am I so predictable?"
He laughed. "Not so much apparently. Look, about the schedule… Abraham owed me a favor so I called one in. You know how we do."
"You and Abe have been a pain in my ass since I was a kid," Sasha said, "but that doesn't mean you should continue. I volunteered to take those hours. It's not fair that someone else is getting screwed—"
"You worked Christmas and Thanksgiving, too. No one was getting screwed, but you," her brother argued. His big brown eyes had the wildness in them that signaled there was no getting through to him.
She sighed. "Why is the house so quiet? Where are the girls?"
"Carol took Lizzie and Mika to the cabin."
The two preteens were fairly new additions to the Williams household. Tyreese and Carol adopted the girls when their parents were killed in a car accident two years ago. The adoption hadn't been easy, but in the end, the four made a wonderful family. Sasha was happy for them. She knew that Tyreese had always wanted children and he and Carol were great parents.
"So the party is off?" Sasha couldn't mask the hopefulness from her voice.
Tyreese heard and chuckled. "Nope. The party has been moved to the cabin."
"You're expecting fifty people to drive all the way out there in the dark and back?" she asked. "Highway Patrol's gonna love you."
"If you would read Carol's emails or return my texts," he said, "you'd know that the party is a sleepover this year. We're downsizing. Not fifty, but just a small number of our select nearest and dearest."
"Oh. Great."
"Only the cool kids got an invite this year," he said with his trademark, charming smile. "You'll be sorry you missed it."
"I doubt it."
"Sasha, Bob would have wanted you to move on."
"Dammit, Tyreese!" She started to pace. "This isn't about him. I know he's dead. I know he isn't coming back."
"But do you know that after four years, it's time to live again?" he asked.
"We were going to be married." She stopped walking to look out the window. It wasn't fair that someone who had such a positive outlook on life was dead while others lived. Sometimes she wondered why it was him instead of her. "You don't understand."
"I do." He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "Probably more than you realize. Come out tonight. Even if you just stay in your room. Be with us. I miss my baby sister."
His words stunned her. For years, they only argued about this. The softness was different. She covered his hand with hers. "I'll think about it."
"It's better than nothing."
*&+%$^
Daryl Dixon parked the Harley in a prime spot in front of the corner Starbucks. He hated the trendy coffee shop and the stares he got from the baristas when he strolled in. The shit annoyed him, but when a friend was doing him a favor, he could put up with stupid for a few minutes out of his day.
He ordered a grande Americano and a venti skinny Peppermint Mocha with whipped cream. He took both to a secluded table in the corner where he had a view of the street and the front door. The Americano warmed his insides from the brisk winter day of riding. His cell phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. He glanced at the caller id and sighed.
"Whassup, Carol?"
"I'm not sure about your tone," she said. "It doesn't sound like your happy voice."
He released a faint laugh. "You always sound happy enough for everybody."
"Did you get everything worked out?" she asked.
"I'm not sure, yet. Michonne's running late. Traffic's a bitch today."
"Good thing you're not on speaker," Carol said, pretending to scold him.
"You know better. Tell the girls hi."
He heard rustling movement. "Uncle Daryl sends greetings of tidings and joy."
"I did not!" he said.
Carol laughed. "Lizzie and Mika return the same to you. They're asking if you're coming tonight. They want to know if you're bringing a date."
"Right," he grumbled. "Sounds more like their mama with her nosy ass."
"Don't deflect. Are you?"
Daryl stiffened. He hated when she started to pry into his love life, such as it was. To his regret, she already knew far more than he wanted. A late night, a few too many beers, and he dropped his guard. Carol dove in like a hawk attacking prey. She figured out shit that he had tried to conceal for years. Now that she knew, she dogged him worse than his brother, Merle, ever did back when Daryl kept stashes of weed hidden at the garage.
"Daryl—"
"I'm thinking about it. Tonight's usually good for business. All that towing. I'll need it for the trouble Merle's gotten into," he said. "We'll see."
"She's coming this time," Carol said quietly.
The few words left him winded. He gripped the phone so tight that he feared breaking it. He willed himself to relax and drew in measured breaths.
"She always works…" Daryl swallowed hard. "It don't matter. She ain't ready, and the time's not right."
"That's fear talking. You have to—"
"Hey, friend!" Michonne arrived and tossed her briefcase into an empty chair. She reached for the Peppermint Mocha. "You're the best."
"I gotta go. Michonne's here." He ended the call before Carol's matchmaking rant drifting toward the new arrival. He stuck the phone in his pocket and watched her savor the dessert coffee. She had a way of making anything chocolate seem like the most decadent experience ever. He couldn't help but grin at her antics.
"That hit the spot. Come January…oh, hell," Michonne said. "I'll never give up chocolate."
Daryl laughed. "You wouldn't be you if you did. Sorry to get ya out in the cold."
"Shut up about that." She waved off his concerns. "How are you?"
He shrugged. "Fine."
"You look stressed."
Daryl rolled his eyes. "I'll never be a GQ model with this mug. Don't worry about me—"
"You're my friend. Not your brother. I'm taking his case for you," Michonne said. "So that we're clear, he doesn't deserve you."
Daryl twirled his cup of Americana between his fingers. Like the conversation with Carol, he and Michonne had been through this before. They met years ago when she first graduated from law school. He needed legal advice for his garage and she was doing pro bono work at the library. Normally, he hated uptight lawyers, but they got along. Next to Rick Grimes and Carol Peletier-Williams, Michonne Martin was his closet friend.
"Are you listening?" she asked.
"Everybody in this damn place is listening," he muttered.
"Exaggerate much," she replied with a smile.
"He ain't got nobody else," Daryl said his usual response. "How bad is it this time?"
"Bad. Possession of crystal meth and an AK-47 plus the assault on the arresting officers…Merle is looking at new digs at GSP."
Georgia State Prison was the maximum-security facility in the state. Merle had never been there before. The lockup in Atlanta had always been his temporary detour. Daryl's mind went blank. His brother had a habit of doing stupid shit, but his latest trick was by far the dumbest.
"What are his chances?"
"I'm doing everything I can, but the DA wants to make an example of him." She reached out and patted his hand. "I am trying."
"Don't try so hard."
She frowned. "What?"
"I mean it," Daryl said. "He's my brother, but maybe this is what he needs."
"Really?" Her face registered her disbelief.
"Yeah." He took her hand and squeezed. "Do what you can, but don't let it ruin your time off. I know you have plans."
"You do?"
"Tyreese and Carol's party. You're going, right?" Daryl said. "You always go."
"Yeah," she said with a faint smile. "I always go. Are you going?"
"Maybe. Tonight's a good night to make money."
"Or it's a good night to have your wishes come true."
Daryl laughed. "Yeah, right."