Author's notes: This last chapter was going to be so long I broke it in half, so there will be 11 chapters in total. I was very happy to find out when doing some research for this chapter that in the Russian Orthodox church, Christmas is celebrated Jan. 7. In that case, this story is right on time!
POV...follow the bouncing ball.
Chapter 10
Fritz leaned his head against the doorframe and silently asked his Higher Power for patience. Please give me the strength not to kill her.
Out loud, he said, "Claire, are you ready to go? We have a ton of shopping to do, and like you said, the malls are going to be packed. I wanted to be out the door an hour ago."
His manic sister threw open the door to his study, which she had been using as a guest room. "Sorry Fritzy!" she said, slightly out of breath. "I wanted to clean up and get things ready before Katerina got here. I spread my junk all over and I had to pack. Messy me! I'm just going to throw my stuff in the car to get it out of the way." She brushed past him, rolling a large suitcase.
His anger melted. Claire really did have a good heart. It was just hard to see it nestled behind all the loud noise and flashing lights of her personality. "I'm sorry you're losing your room, Claire. Thanks for being such a good sport."
"I could always stay in the stables! Ha!" She laughed hysterically at her own joke.
Fritz took her suitcase from her and rolled it into the living room. "This can go in the front closet. You need access to your things." After moving a few coats aside, he got her luggage squared away. "Okay, now can we leave?"
She hesitated. "Fritz, do you think Brenda's okay? She was so upset at breakfast. I've never heard her yell like that. Did you talk to her?"
Fritz shook his head. "She was asleep by the time I got back to the bedroom. I set the alarm so she won't oversleep, because she needs to pick Katerina up some time this afternoon. She's tough, Claire, she really is. She'll be fine." At least I hope she will.
Fritz had sat, dumbstruck, an hour earlier, while Brenda unloaded on her father for objecting to a prostitute spending time with them on Christmas. Inside, though, Fritz was on his feet cheering as loud as if he were watching a triple play at a Dodger's game. Not only was Clay a complete ass to object to who Brenda brought into her own house, but his insensitivity was appalling. What really had him on his feet chanting Brenda's name at the top of lungs in his mind's eye was that she had finally stood up to her father's bullying. Fritz just hoped that she didn't negate the power of what she had done by apologizing for it later. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to be sorry for.
"How about Clay? Where is he? That man needs his chakras balanced more than anyone else I've ever met." Claire shook her head slowly, apparently deeply troubled by the state of the older man's energy centers.
"I think he and his chakras are pouting in the guest room, and who knows when the next sighting will be." After Brenda had stormed off, Clay had risen from the table, trembling slightly, and walked away without saying a word. Claire asked Fritz if she should go after him, and he almost laughed. Not unless you want your head ripped off. Instead, Fritz took Claire's tendency to fix other people's problems and refocused it on preparing for Katerina's arrival, which included a massive shopping trip for presents.
"Alright, I'll leave him alone. I guess the two of them need to work it out." Claire leaned against the wall and massaged her temple. "All this negative energy, though, is giving me a headache."
Fritz had something he needed to discuss with her, and the quiet house was a better venue than in a crowded mall, where the desperate shopping would most likely amp up Claire's internal wattage. He put his hand on her shoulder to brace her for more incoming "negative energy."
"Claire, before we leave, I need to talk to you about something, and please don't take offense."
"You know, I hate when people start conversations with me like that."
"Just listen to me, okay?" She nodded.
"When Brenda was talking about Katerina, she didn't go into a lot of the details of what she's been through, besides the fact that she was smuggled unwillingly into the US and forced to work as a prostitute. Her story is much, much more horrible than that. When girls are trafficked, they are raped by their captors as a way to control them and to break their spirit. Katerina was in a brothel in Albania, and in those places the girls are made to have sex with dozens of men a night. It's sickening. She said that the man who 'owned' her used to hold a gun to her head and threaten to kill her if she misbehaved."
Claire was in obvious distress. "Fritz, why are you telling me this? I think I'm going to be sick."
"I'm sorry, this must be revolting for a woman to hear. The point I'm trying to make is that she is a very traumatized person, and we all have to be aware of that. I imagine she doesn't trust men at all, and will probably be very wary of Clay and me, so you or Brenda should be in the room with us at all times. Brenda really needs you to help out with her."
"You know I'll do anything," she chirped. Claire loved to feel needed.
Here comes the hard part. "I know you will, Claire. What I'm asking is that you be very, very aware of how you interact with her. No declarations about what you see psychically or how unbalanced her chakras are. Brenda said she speaks some English, but this type of talk is still going to confuse her."
"Uh huh," Claire said. "Go on."
"And absolutely no touching. No one has respected this young women's boundaries in a long time, so she is not going to appreciate one of your massive hugs. Girls who have been sexually abused often have a hard time distinguishing between sexual and nonsexual physical cues. Hugs, even from another woman, are going to confuse her."
"No hugs. Check."
"And you just need to calm down. No loud talking, no rapid speech, no squealing, no yelling. Interact with Katerina, and us when she's in earshot, as calmly and quietly as you possibly can."
"In other words, Fritz, to quote Clay, you want me to 'tone it down.'" Claire frowned.
"I'm not trying to insult you, but right now, this girl's comfort in my home and her mental health trump your feelings. Yes, Claire, tone it down. " He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
"Thanks for understanding."
Claire nodded, and Fritz thought she looked more hurt than angry. "Yes, well, now you have given me my tough love for the day, we should get going. Do you have Brenda's list?"
Glad to be moving on, he pulled the paper out of his pocket. "Right here. Brenda was very specific with items, number of each, suggested color, and, unless we don't have any luck, she wants things bought at Ann Taylor, Talbots, or Saks."
"Whoa, sister has expensive taste! Are you really going to take back one of her Christmas presents to pay for this?"
Fritz shook his head. "Absolutely not. I use my inheritance for things like this. Brenda considers it 'my money' and won't let me use it for anything like house repairs or a new car. She insists that comes from our salary. Or mainly her salary, because he makes more than I do. I'll just let her think I took a present back to finance this, and she'll never be the wiser."
"Keep your money, son, this shopping trip is on me." Fritz turned and saw Clay standing in the entranceway to the living room.
"Hi Mr. Johnson!" Claire said, fully recovered from her brush with melancholy. "Are you feeling okay?"
"No, he said, and walked over to them. Fritz noticed his eyes were red and puffy, and he moved as slowly as he had after Brenda's barrage that morning, although he was no longer trembling. "But I'll be just fine, never you mind. We've got bigger fish to fry." He looked at Fritz. "Is Brenda doing okay?"
Fritz nodded, dipping his toe in the pool of Clay's mood to test the temperature. "She's asleep right now, and we were just leaving to go on a buyfest for Katerina."
"I'm coming with you two, hope you don't mind." He reached past them into the closet Fritz just stuffed Claire's suitcase into and grabbed his jacket. "I want to pay for what Brenda put on the list."
"Clay, you don't have to-" he started.
"No, I don't have to do anything, especially if I want to keep acting like a horse's ass, like I did at breakfast," he said, eyes downcast. "Financing this trip is a way of saying to Brenda that I'm really sorry for my behavior, and I want to help make Katerina's Christmas as nice as it can be. So please, let me be the one to pay for all of this. It would really make me feel like I was making up something small to Brenda."
Fritz was touched. "Before you commit, Clay, you should see the list."
Clay dug in his pocket for his glasses. "You'll be surprised, I'm pretty good at shopping for women's things. I used to give clothes to Willie Rae as presents." He squinted at Brenda's handwriting. "Let's see what it says here, she wants clothes at Talbots, Ann Taylor…yup, she's her mother's daughter all right. We need two pair jeans, two pair pants, black and tan, one skirt, black or other, two tops, two sweaters,…oh, this isn't going to be a problem, Brenda was real specific." Clay looked at Fritz. "If you haven't learned how to buy clothes for Brenda by now, son, today you will learn from the master. What you want to do is to walk into a woman's clothing store and immediately go right up to a saleswoman. Do not touch even a single rack or your brain will be clouded by confusion. Tell the saleslady what you want, and she will be so charmed that you are shopping for your wife that she will help you pick out everything. You just need to yea or nay what she pulls out for you in the correct size. Piece of cake."
"Seriously, Mr. Johnson, you're going shopping with us?" Claire asked. For a second Fritz thought Clay might take that the wrong way, but he stopped worrying when Claire broke out in a big smile, raised her arms, bounced on the balls of her feet, and squealed, "this is gonna be fun, fun, FUN!"
The unlikely trio returned to the house six hours later, and Fritz couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so beat. His feet hurt, he had a cramp in his hand and a muscle spasm in his shoulder from carrying around shopping bags, and repetitive Christmas music left a ringing in his ears. Claire and Clay managed to carry in the bags of presents from the car by themselves, and somehow Fritz juggled four bags of groceries without dropping anything.
He brought the food into the kitchen and saw Brenda making cookies with a young blonde woman. They stopped what they were doing when they saw him, and Brenda introduced him in English. Clay and Claire popped into the kitchen a moment later, and there was a flurry of gentle hellos and welcomes, with a few heavily accented "thank you's" coming from their guest. Katerina was a few inches taller than Brenda and slender with striking blue eyes. She wore one of Brenda's pink sweaters and a floral skirt, both of which were a little too small for her, and her hair was pulled back from her pale, makeup-free face. If he had passed her on the street, Fritz would have thought she was another pretty California girl who grew up with endless summers and beach parties, a true "All American girl" who knew no worse hardships than a broken prom date. Nothing of her horrible past was readily apparent, save for a sharpness in her gaze. Fritz had met enough crime victims in his career, though, to have a sense that her physical size belied a deep emotional strength and a strong will. This young woman was a survivor.
Introductions done, Fritz asked Brenda if he could speak to her for a moment. She hesitated, looking at Katerina, clearly unsure about leaving her alone. Fritz touched Claire on the shoulder to get her attention and then nodded toward Katerina. Claire turned to Brenda and said, "sister, I'll help her with the cookies, if Fritz needs a few minutes alone with you."
Brenda chewed her lip, looking at Katerina, who was concentrating very hard on placing evenly spaced dough balls on the cookie sheet in front of her, then she moved her eagle-eyed gaze to Claire, and Fritz knew what she was thinking. Before he could say anything, Claire whispered to Brenda, "don't worry, Fritz already gave me the lecture. From here on out, I'm Nancy Normal." She walked up to Katerina and smiled wordlessly, then began to slide cookies that had just come out of the oven onto the cooling rack.
"Everyone, I'm going to go lie down," Clay said to the room in general. "Claire, why don't you wrap presents in the guest room? Just give me an hour for a brief nap, then I have to start on dinner. You can use the room then if you like." Then he was gone.
Fritz took Brenda by the elbow and led her out the living room, and they sat down on a couple of chairs as far from the kitchen as they could get.
"'Lecture?'" What lecture did you give Claire?" Brenda asked as soon as they sat down. "I'm dyin' to know."
"For Katerina's sake, I gave her a long talk about toning done her personality so she won't traumatize the poor girl all over again. I think she gets it."
"Good," Brenda nodded. "I need her, cuz you and Daddy shouldn't be alone with Katerina, to avoid any misunderstandin's." Brenda rubbed her eyes. "When I was goin' over my family members she was gonna meet, when I mentioned you, she asked if she was expected to have sex with you in exchange for stayin' here."
"Oh god," Fritz said.
"We had a very long conversation about it, but she can't help but be suspicious of every situation. Nobody's done anythin' nice for her since she left home three years ago."
"Well, someone is now," Fritz said gently. " How's it going, by the way?"
"Good. I picked her up about three hours ago. I had her shower first thing to get her horrible makeup off and change clothes, because I think she might have worked last night. She is utterly fascinated by our 'American house.' I'm sure the condo she lived in must have been nice, but I guess her pimp wasn't a subscriber of 'House Beautiful.' She thinks everythin' we have, all our furniture and pictures and things are amazin'. And she even thinks our house is big!"
"I guess someone who has spent her life in a rural Russian village, then a condo and hotel rooms, just might think 1800 square feet is big."
"She went crazy when she saw the pool. Said it was just like on TV."
"Is that why you texted me to buy a bathing suit?"
"Yes, she's dyin' to try it out."
"Brenda, it's a little chilly for swimming, don't you think?"
She laughed. "Oh Fritz, didn't you grow up in New Jersey? Seventy degrees may be cool by California standards, but she's from Russia. Trust me when I say you've never felt cold until you've experienced a Russian winter. Besides, our pool is heated."
"And she doesn't have to worry about searching for her testicles after swimming in cold water."
Brenda covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, a mannerism he found utterly adorable.
Fritz grew serious. "Listen, Brenda, I want to talk to you about your father. He feels really, really bad about what happened this morning."
Brenda's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "He does?"
"Yes, he does. He acknowledges that he was acting like a jerk, and says he owes you a huge apology."
"Alright, Fritz, now I know you're just makin' up stories."
"Oh, so much more. He actually came shopping with us, Brenda, and he paid for everything. The man shelled over $2,000 today if he spent a penny. All because he wants to make amends."
Brenda put a hand on both cheeks and shook her head. "Wait, I am utterly confused. Daddy—paid for everythin' you bought for Katerina'? And he spent—how much?"
Fritz put his arm around her and rubbed her back. "Breathe, baby," he said gently. "Let me tell you the whole story, okay?"
"She nodded, clutching her head. "Go ahead."
"Leave it to my sister to make a simple task into something complicated. In the middle of getting the things you wanted for Katerina—you are going to be very happy with what we picked out, by the way—Claire pointed out that all the other girls who were found in Brentwood weren't getting any presents, and wasn't that really sad? Clay agreed, and they decided to pick out twelve more gifts. Before they start running around the mall like a couple of kids, I call Sharon Raydor to see if we could even get presents to these girls, and she called back a few minutes later, having made arrangements with an FBI agent she's working with to get them transported to the ICE safe house they are staying at."
"You. Are. Kiddin'. Me." Brenda's mouth was hanging open. "Do you know what Sharon's week has been like, and y'all are buggin' her about Christmas presents?"
"Killjoy," Fritz said. "Sharon was thrilled with Claire's idea. So then came the selection of twelve gifts, which after much discussion we decided on similar tops all in size Medium, thinking they will all have the same issue as Katerina, no clothes at all, and they can swap with each other and hopefully end up with something they like. After double backing to stores we've gone to so we can find enough tops, we are all set, then Claire decides to get them stuff from the Body Shop too. Luckily they have little pre-packaged bundles, but when Claire started to ramble about the properties of each essential oil in the shampoos she was sniffing, your father and I teamed up and made a joint decision to bodycheck my sister out of the way and grab twelve different good smelling little bags with small bottles of stuff in them that we have never heard of."
"Oh, I wish I was there to see that," Brenda smiled. "I can't get over…."
"Not done!" Fritz said. "Stop interrupting me, woman! Then Claire decided that the twelve other girls, oh, and Katerina too, must have stockings filled with candy. So we stopped at the stocking kiosk, and repeat Body Shop scene, but this time in the Lindt chocolate store. Although better Claire than you in the chocolate shop, I suppose."
"This is all too much. Please tell me you got your hard-workin' wife a little somethin…"
"You aren't getting any presents unless you let me finish!" Fritz said. "We wrap up shopping for everyone, and I think, finally, we can go home. Then Claire points out that we need out presents wrapped for the other young ladies before we leave the mall, so we go the wrapping kiosk, but of course the line is a mile long, and your dad is getting tired. Claire says to me, in her incredibly loud voice that could shatter crystal, 'Fritzy, show them your FBI badge and tell them about these poor girls so far away from home and how these are there are their only Christmas presents." And of course, someone overheard her and started asking questions, and I told Claire to shut up because I can't show my badge, and Claire ignored me and told some version of this story that these presents were for twelve orphans I rescued, and then people let us cut in front of them until we were in the front of the line."
"Oh my god, Fritz did you really flash your badge?"
"No, of course I didn't! I told people that I couldn't take favors as an FBI agent, nor could I show my badge, though this little kid was begging. But Claire had no problem grabbing the packages and plowing ahead." He leaned back against the chair. "I just really hope I never see any of those people again."
"Well, she did save you a couple of hours in line."
"Which is a good thing, because we had to drive to the LAPD and drop off the presents for an Agent Jenkins, who promised to drive them over to the girls herself later on tonight."
"That's real nice of her."
"And our last stop, grocery store. Your dad said the two of you were cooking a 'Southern feast' tonight. We got all the ingredients." He sat up and took her hand. "Look honey, I didn't get a chance to tell you this because you were sound asleep by the time I got back to the bedroom this morning. I want you to know that I'm really, really proud of you for what you did today."
Brenda looked at him, shock written on all her features. "Proud? I was expectin' a lecture from you about throwin' temper tantrums. But what I had, Fritz, to be honest, was 'enough.' Enough of Daddy bein' a bully."
He shook his head. "No, I know your temper tantrums. I realize you were fed up with your father and you stood up to him. The delivery could have been better planned out, but I'm still proud of you. Don't apologize for what you said, honey."
"I have no intention to," she said, jutting out her jaw in a sign of defiance he both had grown to love and fear.
"Good." He leaned down and kissed her. "On the other hand, Brenda, I can tell you he's really contrite. Go talk to him and hear him out. And do it soon, especially if you two are going to be making dinner, because I'm starving."
She stood up. "Alright. Let me go check on Katerina." They walked hand in hand back to the kitchen.
Claire and Katerina were sitting at the kitchen table opposite of each other, a plate of hot ginger cookies between them, each with a tall glass of milk.
"The best way to eat them is like this," Claire said in the calmest voice Fritz had ever heard her use. She picked up a cookie, broke it in half, dipped it in milk, and took a bite. "Mmmm," she said. "You try."
Katerina, looking as serious as if she were about to perform her first surgery, mimicked Claire's actions, down to the reactionary "mmmm."
"I never eat cookie like this," she said. "I like." She reached for another, as did Claire. "Oh, watch time?" she said, pointing to the oven. Just then the buzzer went off, and Claire got up and took the new batch out. "Perfect!" she said, only slightly louder than her speaking voice.
"Should we point out to Claire that milk and cookies aren't Vegan?" Brenda said.
"Nah. Maybe it's part of her 'normal person' cover. Don't blow it."
Brenda smacked him on the butt. "You're horrible. I'm goin' to speak to Daddy. Wish me luck."
"You don't need it, Brenda, you have yourself. You have everything you need right here." He tapped her head, then her heart, and was rewarded with a smile.
Brenda stood outside the guest room door and took a slow, deep breath to calm her nerves. Easy, you can do this, she told herself. You were right to call him out, Fritz said so. Don't let Daddy make you feel guilty.
The embarrassingly few times Brenda had stood up to her father, it had never ended up being worth the effort. Clay had subtle ways of making her pay by infusing guilt here and there, somehow turning the tables so she ended up feeling like the bully. Willie Rae always told Brenda to pay no attention to him, to speak her peace and move on, like she herself was always able to do. But Clay knew better than to try and mess with Willie Rae: she wouldn't be bullied in the first place, and at any sign of it, she put Clay in his place immediately, and she didn't mince words. Maybe that's why he always went after Brenda to extract apologies, because he sure as hell wasn't going to get them from Willie Rae.
Just remember what he said, how dismissive he was about Katerina, talking about her like she was some dirty streetwalker after hearing her tragic story. With the fire of that memory restoked, her anxiety was washed away in a wave of anger. That's a better state of mind, she thought, and lightly tapped on the door. When she didn't get an answer, she opened the door and stepped in.
Her father was asleep on his back, gently snoring, and considering all his hard work that afternoon, Brenda decided to let him sleep a bit longer. She looked around the guest room in the semi-darkness, amazed at the number of bags with names of her favorite stores on them that littered the floor. Claire's gonna be wrappin' presents tonight until her fingers are bloody. I better help out a little bit. Brenda noticed a framed picture on the dresser she didn't recognize and picked it up for closer inspection. It was a photo of her mother with a backdrop of ragged cliffs and azure ocean behind her, and Brenda guessed it was taken on her parents' Hawaiian cruise. Her father must have packed the photo and brought it with him.
She heard Clay stir and turned around just as he opened his eyes. "Mrrrph, you startled me, little girl," he mumbled into his pillow.
"Sorry Daddy, I knocked but you didn't hear me. I don't want to spend too much time away from Katerina cuz I'm the only face she knows, but we need to talk." Her father nodded and sat up on the side of the bed, scratching the top of his bald head. Brenda crossed the room and sat down next to him.
Wordlessly, Clay held his hand out for the framed picture of Willie Rae that Brenda held, and she gave it to him. "You always travel with a photo of Mama?" she asked.
"Sure do," Clay said, cradling it in both hands and looking down at it with stooped shoulders. "Although it didn't help me this time."
"What do you mean, Daddy?"
He sighed heavily and turned to look at her. "I bring it everywhere so it reminds me to conduct myself as if Willie Rae was still alive. It makes me think what she would want me to do in a situation, how she would tell me to behave. Nobody kept me in line like Willie Rae."
Brenda nodded. "She was an expert at that. But what do you mean it didn't help you?"
He made an impatient noise. "Isn't it obvious, Brenda? I've been in a mood ever since I've been here, and I've taken it out on everyone. Claire, Fritz. And you. I have been—" his voice cracked—"I have been missing my Willie Rae so bad this Christmas I can hardly stand it. And how have I dealt with that? I've been mean to everyone. What I said this morning about Katerina…" his voice trailed off, and a sob caught in his throat, and thick tears started to roll down his face. "Brenda, your mother would have been so ashamed of me!"
Without reservation, Brenda turned to her father and wrapped her arms around him as he cried, his sobs so deep that the bed shook. She wasn't sure how long they sat there, child comforting parent, but not it was soon after Clay's tears started that they were joined by Brenda's own. Brenda never ceased to be amazed at the depths of her own grief, and how, when tapped, it seemed to spring from a well with a depth that was unplummable.
At last, Clay's tears stopped flowing, and they took Brenda's with them. He pulled away from her embrace, and Brenda grabbed a box of Kleenex that sat on top of the dresser and offered them to her father. He blew his nose loudly and then said, in a gravelly voice rubbed raw with loss, "I'm not sure if I got the words out between the boo-hooing, but I'm sorry for what I said this morning, darling, and I'm sorry to being a general pain this visit. I deserved what you dished out, Brenda."
"Apology accepted, Daddy."
A beat of silence. And then, "you don't have anything you want to say to me, little girl?"
Oh yea, Daddy is still Daddy. "I'm not gonna diminish your humble apology by offerin' my own, Daddy. I said what I said, and I'm not takin' any of it back. Clearly, you needed to hear it."
She snuck a sideways look at Clay. He looked a little shocked, but not angry. This was good for him, Brenda thought. It was good for us both. Personal growth and all that crap.
After sharing a few minutes of silence, Brenda said, "There is one thing I do feel bad about, though. "But it's not you I owe and apology to. I never should have told you about Rusty's past. That was wrong of me."
"Well, I'm not gonna say anything tomorrow night at dinner, if that's what you're worried about, honey. I'm not a complete clod."
She shook her head. "Of course you aren't. That's not the point. It's just that, well, according to Fritz, when I worked at the LAPD, I was a little ruthless when it came to usin' anyone and everyone to close a case. I even got Charlie involved in a murder investigation when she was stayin' with us. Fritz was furious with me, especially because she befriended a victim who ended up dyin.'"
"Oh lord. Never heard about that." Clay looked horrified.
"Yea, well, I give Charlie credit for keepin' my secrets. Anyways, it's a bad habit of mine, usin' people like that, and I've changed a lot in the past year, since I've been at the DA's office. But when I was tellin' you off this mornin', I used Rusty's story, his terrible past he's tryin' to escape, to make a point. And that was really low of me. Real low. Rusty and I are close. Fritz and I consider ourselves emergency backup parents when Sharon needs a hand. And I basically sold him out to win an argument. And I'm supposed to be a good role model for him." She looked at the picture of her mother in Clay's hands. Mama would be so ashamed of me.
Clay stood up. "We all backslide, Brenda. Point is you are trying to be a better person. That's what counts." He put the picture back on top of the dresser. "Now what do you say we put in some Perry Como Christmas music and start cooking up a traditional Southern dinner? Let's show Katerina how good food is done in America." He maneuvered around the bags on the floor and reached the door, turning back to look at her.
"Let's say we show her how good Christmas music is done in America and play something besides Perry Como," Brenda said, following her father out the room.
"No way, not gonna happen. It's Perry Como or I won't get myself into the Christmas spirit."
She stopped in the hallway and put her hand out to her father. "Oh, I almost forgot. Fritz told me you paid for everything for Katerina, plus the presents y'all bought for all the other girls. Daddy, that was real generous, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much."
"Well," Clay said, "that was something I wanted to do before I died."
"What?"
"Play Santa Claus."
The kitchen was a cacophony of scents. The aroma of freshly baked cookies intertwined like a helix with the deep resonance of Cajun spices, and the combination enveloped Brenda and whisked her back to childhood Christmases. She knew it was crazy, but a small part of her was convinced that within the sensory feast, there was a hint of her mother's perfume.
"My grandmother's people were from Louisiana," Clay told Fritz as he stirred the large pot in front of him. "She taught all us kids how to make gumbo the right way, Cajun-style." Clay poked at a chicken leg.
"So that means no shrimp, right?" Fritz asked. Brenda was supposed to be helping her father with dinner, but within ten minutes, Fritz's constant questions about his cooking methods, and Clay's pleasure to have the opportunity to expound on Southern cooking to someone who actually enjoyed being in the kitchen, led Fritz to slowly slip into her place as assistant. Brenda stepped over to the cookie making table, which suited her just fine.
"No shrimp," Clay said firmly. "And I guess a gumbo with no okra is LA-style gumbo."
"Clay," Fritz said lightly, "we could have gone to ten stores today, none of them would have had okra in December."
"I know, I'm just teasing." He sniffed the stew. "I think we're about done here. If the cornbread's ready and the table is set, we are ready to go."
Brenda leaned into her father's ear. "Don't be offended if Katerina doesn't like your cookin', Daddy. Russian food is pretty bland compared to Cajun. I told her if she doesn't like the gumbo, we have left over pork and potatoes."
"No offense whatsoever, honey," Clay said, gingerly pouring the gumbo into a large covered dish. "Although she certainly seems to like Christmas cookies."
Katerina certainly did. Although not the most expressive person, it was obvious that she liked helping out with the baking, and after both Claire and Brenda assured her that she could have as many cookies as she liked, she put away even more than Brenda did.
Claire was amazed. "How do you two stay so thin?"
Katerina shook her head. "No, I don't like. The men say we must be little, make us use treadmill and say, no eat too much. But in Russia, I am not so small. So I eat lots of cookies now." The women laughed. Katerina's serious expression didn't change, but her eyes seemed to lose some of their wariness.
"My mother," she said softly, "she was…" she searched for the word, then spotted Clay and pointed. "Like him. Like Brenda's father." She held out her hand to indicate a large person. "When I gave her hug she was, oh, what is great English word I learn on TV!" She closed her eyes in concentration, and then brightened. "Oh yes, she was cozy. Mother was cozy." They all smiled. Brenda wasn't sure if that was the exact word Katerina was looking for, but it fit.
"Katerina, I have to say that yes, I'm very cozy," Clay said, patting his belly. "And after dinner and some of those cookies, I'll be even cozier."
She nodded. "Ah yes, Brenda's father. Me also."
"For now, ladies, put down your baked goods and join us at the dining room table," Fritz said. In between batches of their third type of cookie, Brenda had set the table with a Christmas cloth and matching napkins and lit gold candles. It looked lovely.
"Ohh, so pretty!" Katerina said. "See, I watch much TV in the day, and I see those shows where the women have lots of love. What is the name?"
"Soap operas?" Clay guessed.
"Yes. That is it. On there they have pretty American houses like this. Nice tables and Christmas trees. I feel like I am on TV right now, it is perfect."
"Katerina, you sit here, next to me. We're glad you think so, and are happy to have you here. But I hope you will find things here a little less dramatic than on soap operas."
Salad, cornbread, gumbo, rice, and baked tofu was passed around, the latter with only one taker, and they all settled down to dig in.
"Remember," Brenda said to Katerina in Russian, "we have other food. You don't have to eat anything you don't like."
"The men ordered most of our food from restaurants. I've had Chinese, Mexican, Indian. I can eat almost anything," Katerina answered in her native tongue.
Her face lit up with her first taste of Clay's creation, then she took another bite, then another. Once she swallowed, she said to Clay, "so good! It's very…oh, I don't know. What is word to say a food kicks in your mouth?"
"Spicy," Brenda said.
"Spicy," Katerina repeated. "I have been here little time and my English already better!"
Brenda beamed. If she had any worries about bringing Katerina into her family for Christmas, they were all gone. The tense, traumatized girl was already letting her guard down, just a bit. And it was beautiful to watch.
...
Stuffed to their gills, Brenda, Fritz, Clay, Claire, and Katerina retired to the living room after the dinner dishes were done. Brenda brought out the cookies and egg nog for everyone. Fritz lit the tree and started a fire. Clay put in a Christmas CD and turned it on low.
"Mmm," Katerina said. "This music, is nice."
Clay looked triumphant. "Why thank you, Katerina. My daughter doesn't think very much of it." Katerina tossed Brenda a confused look and then turned her attention to the tree.
"This," she said, "I could look at all day." She reached out and touched a small silver ornament.
"Katerina," Claire said, "what is Christmas like in Russia?"
Katerina leaned forward and grabbed another chocolate crinkle. "Oh, Russia, not so big. And not now."
"Not now?" Claire asked.
"I think what she means is, Christmas is on January 7th in the Russian Orthodox church," said Brenda.
"My father, no church," Katerina said. "Not much god in Russia for long time, you know?"
Everyone looked at Brenda to explain.
"Under Communist rule, the USSR was atheist. Organized religion was banned. People could only practice religion openly again after the 1992 revolution." Everyone nodded.
"My mother, she tell me stories of Ded Moroz. He like your Santa, but is thin."
"You mean he's not cozy," said Clay, his eyes twinkling.
"No, Ded Moroz not cozy. And the hat is not the same. And he rides in a troika, but no…" she tapped her nose. "With red noses."
Brenda bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't laugh. "Reindeer."
"Yes, yes. We eat reindeer you know, in Russia. Very good meat."
Claire nearly choked on her egg nog.
"My father said I looked like Snegurochka," Katerina said.
"Sneg—" Claire started.
"Snegurochka. If my Russian mythology class from Georgetown still serves, that means 'ice maiden.' She is Ded Moroz's granddaughter, and she helps to deliver presents," Brenda explained.
"Snegurochka gives present when farm is good, but next year, eh, farm not so good, no present." Katerina shrugged, then yawned.
Brenda saw how tired the young woman looked, and said, " if you want to, Katerina, you can go to bed. It's gettin' awfully late, and we have a big day tomorrow."
"Yes, please, sleep." She stood up. "Big day? What is tomorrow?" She looked at everyone with suspicion.
"Oh, tomorrow is Christmas, that's all, Katerina. You aren't goin' anywhere. We wake up and open presents." Brenda pointed to the tree. "I heard that Ded Moroz and Snegurochka are makin' a special trip just for you. Then tomorrow evenin' we are goin' to a friend's house for a big Christmas dinner."
Katerina looked down at her hands and shook her head. "Ded Moroz will come?," she mumbled to herself. "Why? So much, so much here." She raised her eyes and said goodnight to everyone, then headed towards Fritz's study.
After she left the room, everyone was quiet, and Brenda watched the undulating shadows of the tree branches on the wall cast by the flicking fire. She intertwined her fingers with Fritz's and put her head on his shoulder and said, "she's right, honey. We really do all have so much."
END CHAPTER 10
Ooonnnneee mooorreeee chhaaapppptteeerrrrrr. Cheer me to the finish line so I can go back to writing "Welcome Her Home with Red Roses."
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