Welcome Her Home with Red Roses (T Rated Version)

by Labyrinth01

After spending a month in Atlanta, Brenda is reunited with Fritz and prepares to start a new chapter in her life. This is the final story in the "Welcome Home" series. (There is also an M-rated version of this story.) THIS STORY IS ON HOLD. I just got so tired begging for reviews that it doesn't seem worth it anymore.

4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes:

Hold your rotten fruit! Chapter 4 is finally here. Sorry it took so long. This chapter ended up being the longest one yet.

In this chapter Fritz reflects back on his alcoholic father and his beloved mother. I wrote a great deal of his backstory in terms of his his childhood with an abusive father, his own drinking problem, and going through rehab in The Second Daughter.

I can't possibly thank my editing team (yes, I had a team this time) for wading through this mess. You can't imagine how sloppy it is until Kate Rosen and BeebleZeeble got their hands on it. They just don't edit the words, they considered the plot, noted if anything felt out of place or inorganic, reflected on how true to a character a piece of dialogue was...they bathed in this story for days before returning it to me with all their great insights. I can't thank Kate and BZ enough.

As always, there is an M-rated version of this chapter posted here .

(I stole this idea from KT, BTW...) when we last saw our beloved couple, they had spent a hot, sexy night at the Beverly Wiltshire hotel to celebrate Brenda's return. The next day, Fritz took Brenda to see the house he had bought when she was in Atlanta. Despite Fritz's trepidation, Brenda was very happy with the little bungalow.

Welcome Her Home with Red Roses, Chapter 4

Fritz was entangled in that heavy, mud-like phase of sleep that doesn't readily let go. He felt a tug, a summoning from the real world, but he was too cocooned in the thick cotton wool of unconsciousness to heed the call.

Until Brenda hit him.

The sting of pain drew him into wakefulness, and as if swimming from the ocean floor to the surface, the closer he got to shallow waters, the more he became aware of. The bed was trembling, an undulating wail filled the room, and his right arm was getting struck repeatedly. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, all of this would make sense.

It did. Brenda was having a nightmare.

She had tossed all the covers off and was thrashing violently, her hands balled in fists and flailing, in search of an opponent, finding one in the air, the mattress, and occasionally, his arm. Her legs were pulled back almost to her chest and were also kicking an invisible enemy . Her head was lashing side to side, and a low moan, like that of a wounded animal, escaped from her clutched jaw. And the look on her face…Fritz could barely stand to look.

The face he loved so much was twisted in sheer terror. Naked fear. He had to get Brenda out of whatever dark place she had been sucked into, and quickly. Fritz immediately got up and ran into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth with cold water, and went back to the bed. He squatted next to her side, grasped Brenda's upper arms, and pulled her into a sitting position. He called her name softly then louder, all the while withstanding the slaps and kicks from her still- flailing arms and legs. He placed the cold washcloth at first in her hand, then to her cheek and the back of her neck. The chill of the washcloth shocked her the final steps into wakefulness, and her eyes flew open. Brenda looked at him, startled, eyes filled with tears as she took gasping breaths.

When she finally could speak, she reached out, put a hand on Fritz's shoulder and said, simply, "not again."

...

20 Days Earlier

Fritz was cooling down from a five-mile run when he felt his phone ring in his sweatpants pocket. He wiped his sweaty hand before grabbing it on the third ring, checking the caller before hitting the Answer button. "Hey honey," he said, finding himself still winded. "Why are you calling from your parents' house phone? Did you lose your cell? Don't tell me you put it through the washing machine again." He sat down on a patch of grass and began to stretch.

"What's wrong with her?" came a gruff voice over the line.

Fritz, bent over his left leg for a hamstring stretch, froze. "Mr. Johnson? Is everything okay?"

"You tell me," Clay answered. "What the hell is wrong with Brenda? She won't tell me a thing, so I need you to be honest with me. Now."

What the hell? Fritz leaned back on his free hand and gazed up at the flawless morning sky. Give me strength.

"Mr. Johnson, I have no idea what you are talking about. Did something happen to Brenda? Is she okay?" He wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes.

"No, Fritz, she isn't okay. That's why I'm calling you." Clay cleared his throat. "Sorry, I don't mean to be so short. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night is all. And I'm worried sick about Brenda."

Fritz gave up on trying to stretch, his building anxiety eclipsing everything else. "What happened? Clay, you're getting me really worked up-"

"Last night," Clay interrupted, "I woke up to Brenda hollering. I mean, the girl was screaming loud enough to wake the dead! I ran to her room and she was having the worst kind of nightmare. It took me five minutes to wake her up, and another ten to calm her down. She was sweating and shaking like a leaf."

"Oh god," Fritz said.

"I don't think god had anything to do with it," Clay retorted. "And neither did her mother dying, or leaving her job, or all the other reasons she gave me for why she had such a horrible nightmare. Son, I was in the military, and I've seen some pretty badly scarred soldiers. I can recognize a traumatized person when I see one. She refuses to give me a straight answer, so I'm depending on you. What the hell happened to my little girl?"

Fritz closed his eyes and collapsed back against the cool grass. He should have known that the nightmares, which were so vivid right after Stroh's attack, wouldn't go away just because she was in Atlanta. In the nine days between that horrible night and her trip home, Fritz had barely got any sleep; it seemed as soon as he drifted off Brenda would start flailing and gasping for breath, tears running down her face, reliving Stroh's attack. Fritz would wake her up and calm he down, holding her in his arms tightly until she relaxed enough to fall asleep again. This scenario replayed sometimes twice a night, and dark circles stood out like bruises on pale skin under Brenda's eyes. Fritz didn't look much better, bags and bloodshot eyes so striking that his reflection reminded him of his drinking days.

He had asked her more than once since during her time in Atlanta, if she was having bad dreams, and she had answered him lightly, saying she had only had one or two when she first arrived, but then they pretty much had gone away. He should have known not to believe her. For one, a change of locale doesn't heal psychic wounds overnight, and two, Brenda's proclivity to lie wasn't going to go away just because she had decided to work on herself. He had given her just a little too much credit.

"Clay," he said wearily, "if you want to know anything, you have to ask Brenda. You know I can't betray her trust and talk about her behind her back. She would be furious with me."

"So something did happen! I knew it."

There is no way I can win this, Fritz thought. "You need to talk to Brenda. I am not getting caught in the middle. That's not fair to me."

"Fair?" Clay said incredulously. "Your wife is having a nervous breakdown and you're worried about what is fair?"

Now Fritz was pissed. How dare Clay accuse him of being a bad husband? "Listen, you don't have any right to judge what goes on between Brenda and me. I am very aware of her mental state, and believe me, it kills me not to be with her now, but you need her, so I've stepped aside. Don't you think I would love to get to spend an entire month with Brenda, and after the year she's had, don't you think we could use it? But we decided that her time would be best spent in Atlanta, with you. I talk to her twice a day, and every night after you go to bed, we spend about two hours on the phone, where she shares her day with me. I am there for her as much as I can be. Yes, she is having an extremely hard time, and it breaks my heart to know she's in pain and I'm not there to hold her. But if you want the details, you'll have to talk to her. I know that getting the truth out of her can be frustrating, but that's your only option. I'm too loyal to Brenda to break her trust. So don't ever accuse me again of not being good to your daughter." Fritz had worked up a good head of steam, and a few passers-by had stopped to stare at him.

Silence on the other end of the line. Finally Clay said, "you're right, son. Your first loyalty is to your wife, and I know how cagey Brenda can be. She just scared me so bad last night."

"I'm sure she did," Fritz answered, his words clipped, anger still flowing through his veins. He genuinely felt for Clay; Brenda's nightmares were terrifying to witness.

"I'll talk to her again when she gets home, and this time I won't take 'I'm fine' for an answer," Clay continued.

"Where is she?" asked Fritz.

"Out shopping with Charlie. They went to breakfast and then to the mall. Those two have been inseparable this summer."

Fritz hoped Brenda didn't come back to LA with a pot habit.

"Good luck talking to her, Mr. Johnson," Fritz said, standing up and walking toward the duplex. His sweat-soaked clothes had grown clammy and uncomfortable against his skin, and he was eager to hop in the shower.

"Thanks," Clay said. And then softer, "hey Fritz?"

"Yeah?" Fritz was almost at his front door and impatient to get Clay off the phone.

"I'm sorry for what I said. Brenda couldn't have a better husband."

...

Fritz tossed his running clothes in the hamper and took a quick shower. Wrapped in a towel, he sat down on the bed, picked up the phone, and called Brenda's cell.

"Hey honey, why are you callin' so early?" Brenda's Southern accent had grown even thicker during her time home, and the sweet molasses quality of it always made him smile.

Before he could answer, he heard her say, "Charlie, you try those on, this is Fritz callin', I'll be right outside the dressin' room." Mumbles in the background, and Brenda again. "Charlie says hi. You at work already?"

"No, I just got back from my morning run. Which ended with a phone call from your father."

"What? Why did Daddy call you?"

Fritz was getting irritated. Either Brenda was clueless or she was covering up.

"He called me because he's freaking out over the intense nightmare you had last night. He said he's seen enough PTSD in soldiers to recognize trauma, and he demanded to know what happened to you."

He could hear her breathing rapidly on the other end. "Oh no. Oh no. He didn't."

"Yea, he did. And Brenda, why did you lie to me? I thought you were done with that. You promised you were going to start being honest. For once." He knew that was a cheap shot, but was worried as he was for her, he was also irritated that, despite all of Brenda's professing that she wanted to change, she was still lying to him.

"I have been, Fritzy, I have, why-"

"I asked you specifically about the nightmares, Brenda. And you told me they had stopped."

"They got better," she said weakly. He huffed.

"No really Fritz, I hadn't had one that bad since my first few days in Atlanta. And I know I shouldn't have lied to you, cuz yea, I still have them, just they haven't been as bad as the one last night, but what was the point? You aren't here to comfort me, to wake me up and to help me get back to sleep, so all that's gonna happen is you are gonna feel bad for not bein' here for me. And there's no point to that. Bein' apart has been hard enough."

She had a point.

"Don't lie to me, Brenda," he said, softer. "I am so tired of it. Please. I can handle whatever you throw at me, as long as it's the truth."

"Okay, okay. Wait one sec." He heard her hand covering the mouthpiece, yet could make out her voice yelling something about looking thinner.

"Charlie," she said, as an apology. "She's tryin' on like a billion pair of jeans, and I have to weigh in on each one." She attempted to laugh, but it fell flat. Fritz didn't respond, waiting silently on the line for her to explain herself.

"What did you tell Daddy, Fritz? Did you tell him about Stroh? Please tell me you didn't." She sounded worried.

Fritz ran his hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. He was running very late for work. Yet again, Brenda-drama was interfering with his job. He stood up and began to gather his clothes one-handed.

"I told him that he had to talk to you. I wasn't about to break your trust and talk about you behind your back. He accused me of not caring about your well-being, and I have to admit, I kind of yelled at him for that. But Brenda, you have to tell him the truth. He knows something happened to you, and he's going to keep at both of us until he finds out what it is."

"But you agreed with me that tellin' him about Stroh was a bad idea." She sounded desperate. "It would be too hard on him to know that he almost lost his daughter two weeks after his wife died."

Fritz stood inside the closet and sagged against the frame. Every time he thought about how close to dying Brenda had come that night, he felt like his heart was being ripped out.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," Brenda whispered, correctly interpreting his silence. "I know you don't like to think of...it. Just imagine how Daddy would take the news."

Fritz righted himself and reached in the closet for a suit. "I'm not going to argue with you, Brenda. You know what you need to do. You father knows something happened, something traumatic, and he will work on you until he finds out what that is. Oh, I take that back, he will work on both of us until he finds out. So why don't you do me a big favor and just come out and tell him what happened? I think your father is tougher than you think."

"Maybe," she said, sadness weighing down each word. "Question is, am I?"

...

Brenda's nightly phone call came early that evening. Fritz had just gotten home from an AA meeting and was just finishing some leftover Indian food when the phone rang. He grabbed it on the way to the bedroom, loosening his tie as he walked.

"Hey Brenda, you're early tonight," he said cautiously. He was never sure of her moods on these evening calls. The events of the day, her father's mercurial temper, and the erratic ebb and flow of grief all influenced how light or dark Brenda was for their long nightly discussions. Fritz always tested the waters first, gauging her disposition before saying too much. Having an idea of her emotional state and proceeding cautiously served him well during not only this difficult separation, but pretty much their entire relationship.

"Missed you," she said simply. Fritz noticed she was slurring her words. He reached the bedroom and one-handedly began to shed his work clothes.

"Brenda, did you have a few glasses of Merlot tonight?" He tried to sound casual. If she thought for a second he was judging her, well, there could be trouble.

She laughed, a dry, hollow laugh. "You don't honestly think," she said, her speech stilted, "that I was gonna be able to tell Daddy about Stroh attackin' me stone cold sober?" More empty laughter. "Nope, nope, nope. Good thing is, Daddy always has whiskey in the house."

Fritz had never seen Brenda drink whiskey before. An occasional gin & tonic, Cosmos and Appletinis when they went out sometimes, but never whiskey. "How much did you have?"

"Not nearly enough," she answered. "In fact, I don't think there is such a thing as enough whiskey to get you through tellin' your Daddy you were almost raped and murdered in your own house right after your Mama died. Although, I think it might have helped if I poured Daddy a stiff one before I started talkin.'" Her voice became sad.

Fritz pulled on an old tee shirt and boxers and collapsed on the bed. Just what Brenda needed, a drinking problem. He sighed.

"How did it go?" he asked softly.

"Oh, just great, Fritz, just swell." Her words were still slurred, but now had an acerbic quality. "It was great bondin' between my Daddy and me, let me tell you. In fact, it was so fun watchin' his face turn purple with anger one minute, and then his eyes get all teary the next, that I wish I'd told him sooner!" Fritz heard a choking sob through the phone.

"Oh Brenda," Fritz breathed. "Honey, cut the sarcasm, okay? It just pushes me away, like the alcohol does. I'm so sorry you had to go through this, I really am, and I'm sorry your dad had to hear it."

Silence at the other end. He let it stretch out one minute, than two, figuring Brenda was gathering her thoughts. Finally, he called out her name. Nothing. He yelled again. No response. Finally, after a few more tries, the distinct sound of the phone being dropped played in his ear.

"Oopsy," Brenda mumbled.

"What happened? Jesus Brenda, you scared me!" He was angry.

"I wasn't tryin' to scare you, Fritzy, I wasn't. I was lyin' here, and I closed my eyes, and I guess I fell asleep for a minute or two. I'm so sorry."

He sighed. "It's okay, Brenda. Why don't we call it a night? You've been drinking, and honestly, you need to sleep it off before we can have a real conversation." He was heavy-hearted at the thought of cutting short their nightly chats, the highlight of his day, but he knew from experience that conversations with drunk people were exercises in frustration and futility.

"Yea," Brenda mumbled, sounding as if her face was buried in a pillow. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I know baby," he whispered into the phone, any anger he had toward her for turning to a bottle instead of him to deal with her pain dissipating. "Go to sleep. You sound so tired. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Silence for a few moments. Fritz thought she had fallen asleep, then, "hey Fritzy?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been tired for over a year. I'm tired down to my bones." He could hear the tears in her voice, breaking through the whiskey.

"I know, Brenda, I know." He leaned his head into his hand and closed his eyes.

"Fritzy?" she sniffed.

"Yea Brenda."

"What if I forget how to feel any other way?"

---

Returning to the apartment had been rough, especially after the 24 hour reprieve given to them by Fritz's romantic welcome home gift. They spent an hour at the new house after leaving the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel, discussing paint colors and furniture placement. When the owner, Eric, was beginning to give them looks hinting that they had overstayed, Brenda then thought of excuse after excuse to prolong returning to the duplex: a trip to the drug store, a visit to her favorite bakery for the cookies she missed desperately while in Atlanta, an early dinner. Fritz knew what she was doing, but finally pointed out that Joel needed to be fed. Brenda put on her "resolve" face and he headed home.

Brenda gasped when Fritz opened the door to their apartment, his arms loaded with suitcases. "The whole place is practically packed up, Fritz!" she said, maneuvering around boxes as she walked further into the apartment.

After signing the Purchase and Sales agreement, Fritz immediately went to work on moving prep. Packing up their things served several purposes, so he settled into the task with great gusto. It gave him something to do to get his mind off Brenda, and at the same time it was an action, a movement of their lives away from the chaos and pain of the past year. Throwing away old books, dishes, clothes and other detritus felt like a purge. Most importantly, though, having boxes strewn around the duplex and familiar items packed away made the entire place looked different. And Fritz hoped that if it looked different, it may seem a little less frightening to Brenda, as it would no longer exactly resemble the tableau of her nightmares.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," he said. "I know it doesn't make for a great welcome home. But I had some free time, and since we're moving in two weeks, I thought I'd get started with the packing. I figured, the more I did when you were gone, the less we'd need to do when we're together."

Brenda waved her hand. "I don't mind the mess, honey. I'm the one who lived out of boxes for months, remember? It's nice that you did all this work. I had planned on doin' some packin' next week, but I guess I can just focus on my own stuff." She turned around and kissed him on the cheek, and continued through the maze of packed items to the bedroom.

They put in a Netflix movie and cuddled on the couch with Joel, whose attempts to punish Brenda for her absence by ignoring her lasted all of ten minutes. Fritz was relieved with how relaxed Brenda seemed, and congratulated himself on his "moving mess" scheme. Making the apartment look different, almost impersonal, seemed to have eased some of her anxiety. At first.

She started to fidget about an hour into the movie. At first he thought she couldn't get comfortable, so he took his arm around her shoulder until she adjusted herself. But then she kept squirming, and the look on her face showed that something wasn't right.

Finally, he had enough of her tossing and turning. Fritz grabbed the remote and hit "Pause," then turned to face Brenda, her face wrinkled in confusion and… was she in pain?

"Brenda, what is up with you? I've seen two-year-olds who are better at sitting still than you are right now. Are you okay?"

She looked away. "I'm fine. It's just…" she trailed off.

"It's just what?"

She crossed her legs and stared down at her hands. "It's stupid, Fritz. I'm just bein' stupid."

He was losing his patience. "Brenda, what's going on? I'd really like to finish the movie."

Brenda chewed her lip. "Well, I was kinda hopin', maybe, that you'd need to, um, pee sometime soon." She buried her face in her hands.

Why in the world does she care about my bladder? What the—oh. It hit Fritz like a ton of bricks. How could he have been so insensitive?

He reached out and laid an open palm on her back. "I'm so sorry, Brenda. We should have gone and inspected the bathroom together when we got home. I wasn't thinking."

She shook her head violently. "I'm bein' silly, just plain silly. I know Stroh's in jail, and here I am, actin' like a little girl, my bladder ready to burst cuz I'm afraid to go into my own bathroom…" She drifted off, still not meeting his eyes.

"You don't sound like a little girl to me," he said softly. "You sound like a traumatized person returning to the scene of the crime. Which in a perfect world, you would never have to do. So here—" he stood up and held out his hand for her—" let's go check out the bathroom and have you pee before your back teeth start floating." She managed a weak smile before standing and accepting his hand.

Together, they inspected the window and confirmed that it was shut and locked, something they did each morning and evening after the attack. Fritz opened the shower door and they looked. No Stroh. Brenda sighed. "I feel like we're checkin' for monsters under the bed, for heaven's sake!"

"We are," he said sadly. "Luckily, this monster is locked up in prison."

As she shooed him out of the bathroom, he heard her whisper, "he's not locked up in my nightmares."

And he clearly wasn't.

...

Fritz woke the before Brenda did, the bright August sun inescapable in its morning enthusiasm despite his burying his head in his pillow. He finally relented and opened his eyes a crack, and found Brenda spooned tightly against him, her hand resting gently on the arm he had around her waist. She was breathing deeply, undisturbed by the brightness of the day. He raised his head and peered over at her. She always looked younger when she slept, her face unlined, and there was no trace of last night's turmoil, for which Fritz was glad. He reached out with his free hand and gently stroked her hair. He wished he could somehow take away the pain within her, wipe away the memories that performed a terrifying play in the darkest part of night. Tabula rasa. A new job, a new house, and a mind scrubbed free of Philip Stroh. Was that too much to ask?

After waking her last night, Fritz walked her to the bathroom for a drink of water and to fully rouse her from the dream's clutches. The simple cotton tee shirt she had thrown on after they had made love was soaked with sweat, so Brenda took it off and threw on the short robe hanging on the back of the door. She almost made it back to the bed before her tears started. He took her in his arms, and she collapsed into him.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked softly. Not that he needed a plot summary. He knew what her dreams consisted of. A cut out screen. Stroh in the kitchen. Brenda, without her gun. An attack by Stroh that didn't end with him shot, but had a much, much worse outcome.

She shook her head, pulled away from him, and wiped her face. "No, no. It's just more of the same." She forced a smile. "I have the best timin,' don't I? Here I am, back home, and I'm havin' nightmares. You probably don't believe me that they got better in Atlanta. I mean, after Daddy called you. I only had a couple after that."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You telling the truth?"

She grunted in frustration. "Yes! I told you I wouldn't lie about them anymore, didn't I? Besides, I found an intervention that seemed to help." She walked to the bed and crawled in. He followed and settled into his side.

"Intervention?" He asked. "Please tell me this intervention didn't come from Charlie."

"Yea Fritz, I was tokin' up in my old bedroom every night after we got off the phone," she said sarcastically. "Somehow, I don't think pot would help keep these dreams from happenin."

"Just checking, honey. If not drugs, what did you use?"

"Well," she said, scooting down and rolling over to face him, "I started sleeping with Vickie."

Fritz laughed. "You started sleeping with the dog? That was your big treatment for your nightmares?"

She reached out and lightly smacked him. "Well, it helped. See, Vickie's not supposed to be up on the beds, so she was all kinds of affectionate when I let her sleep with me. And I think havin' someone, an animal-someone, I mean, helped somehow." She paused. "Vickie was kind of a substitute for you."

Fritz tried to look offended. "Did you really just say I was replaced by a golden retriever? Really? Can I tell you how hurt I am?" He stuck out his lower lip, which Brenda leaned over and kissed.

"No honey. Vickie couldn't spoon me and she has terrible breath. But she was nice and warm in bed, and that was better than nothin.'"

The last vestiges of fear and frustration had drained from Brenda's voice when she started yawning. Heavy-lidded, Fritz helped her settle back into bed, then wrapped his arms tightly around her. "You gonna stay with me?" Brenda asked, in a voice so hesitant and tender it nearly broke his heart.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else." He whispered, rhythmically stroking her hair. Before long her body became lax, and breathing slowed and deepened. Fritz forced himself to stay awake until Brenda drifted off, as if he could ward off the dreams himself, like a valiant knight slays a dragon. When he was satisfied she was no longer awake, he slowly started to relax, the tension of the past couple of hours forced out of his body by sheer exhaustion. At last he was able to disconnect from the world, and .joined Brenda in a several hours of unmarred sleep.

...

He watched her sleep in the morning light like he had so many times before, but found himself unable to enjoy the rare peace, the vulnerability of her beautiful face like he had so many other mornings. The bad dream from the night before refused to be ignored, and banged on the door like a demanding child who doesn't allow its parents a moment's peace. In the month she had been gone, he had almost forgotten how awful her nightmares were, how being torn from sleep by her wails and somnolent fright made his heart nearly explode from his chest and the tang of fear appear on the back of his tongue. Her eyes…as long as I live, I will never forget the look in her eyes… when he first tried to wake her up, her body was in his bed but her mind was on the kitchen floor with Philip Stroh. Eyes wide open that should be seeing a loving husband were shuttered to anything but the film of her mind, one too horrible for Fritz to even imagine. Don't go there, he told himself, and yanked his thoughts back like a dog on a leash every time he started to wander down the path of "what if?" What if Brenda wasn't able to reach her gun? What if she missed Stroh when she shot him? What if Stroh killed Rusty and went for Brenda next? What if, what if, what if… He squeezed his eyes tight and ordered himself to stop his disobedient thoughts. He lay there for a few minutes counting Brenda's breaths, until he felt calmer. As he leaned over and kissed Brenda on the top of her head, the question that had been niggling at him surfaced. What if she isn't okay? Everyone expected Brenda to be superwoman, because she was in the CIA, because she was the Chief, because she's, well, Brenda. But she's also human, very much so, and most people would have some degree of post-traumatic stress after a violent attack. Clay Johnson saw that in Brenda when he had witnessed a nightmare in Atlanta. And that meant she needed professional help.

He brought this up to her a couple of days before she left for Atlanta. Since she had resigned from the LAPD, she could ignore the order to see Dr. Leonard, the department psychiatrist, for evaluation. And ignore she did. Over coffee while discussing when he would drive her to the airport, Fritz tentatively suggested that Brenda arrange to talk to someone when she came back from her trip, to process not only Stroh's attack but all the other proceeding stressers. Brenda put down her steaming mug and appeared to be considering what he was saying for a moment, with pursed lips and a tilted head.

And then she went nuts. With a red face and wild gesticulations, her voice grew louder and her accent thicker. Fritz was so thunderstruck by her indignation that he only caught tidbits of her rant—just because I'm a woman, trained by the CIA, not breakable, took care of myself, didn't I. When she had sufficiently expressed her fury she dumped her coffee in the sink and stormed out the door, leaving Fritz frozen in place at the kitchen table. She was like the cartoon of the Tasmanian Devil he used to watch on Saturday mornings, all ferocity and speed, whipping around everyone else and stirring up dust in her wake. He wondered if Brenda was so fast she could outrun her own ghosts.

In an hour or so, Brenda stirred and opened her eyes. "Hey sleepyhead. How are you feeling?" He kissed her nose.

She yawned. "I'm fine,' she said, in the tone that told him she didn't want to talk about the previous night's drama. .She pulled herself upright on the bed and began to climb over him. He tried to grab her around the waist but she slithered out of his grasp. She headed to the bathroom and shut the door.

He was worried that she was upset at him, but a minute later she poked her head out and asked him to join her in the shower. She resisted his attempts at seduction , teasing him to save some for later and let her recover, and they were able to both get clean before the hot water ran out. Laughing, they spilled out into the bedroom, and then into the kitchen for pancakes enjoyed over the Sunday paper, and Fritz's unease lightened a bit..

Brenda was furiously working on the crossword puzzle when Fritz had a thought. "Honey, we should give Lily a call and set up a time to go to her house for dinner. It seemed like Alexis would be really disappointed if she didn't get to see you before she left LA." He rifled through the stack of newspaper pages for the Sports section.

"Hmmmm?" she said, ensconced in her puzzle.

"Dinner. With Lily and Alexis. We should call them."

Brenda looked up and took off her glasses. She squinted at him. "Dinner with whom?"

"You know, Alexis, the girl you sat next to on the plane. I met her grandmother waiting for you at the airport, and we got to know each other a bit. She seems like a really nice person, and Alexis thought you were very cool."

"Okay," Brenda said. "I remember now. But why are we havin' dinner with them?"

He shook his head in frustration. He should have known Brenda was going to be difficult about this. She wasn't a big fan of socializing. "Because they asked us over to dinner, that's why. And they gave us Lily's contact information. Alexis is only in LA for two weeks and she really wants to see you again. I enjoyed meeting Lily and wouldn't mind getting to know her better."

Brenda set down her crossword puzzle and pencil. "So you are tellin' me," she started, in her Deputy Chief voice, "that we are gonna go over to a complete stranger's house and have dinner with them? Really, Fritz? Are we that desperate for friends?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"They are not complete strangers. We met them, remember?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh, yea, at the airport." She said it like one would deride meeting a person at a brothel or in prison.

He felt his temper rise. Why did she have to be difficult over the smallest things? "Brenda, to answer your question, I'm not desperate for friends. I have friends. You, on the other hand, come up a little empty in the friends department, so you should be grateful someone invited you to dinner."

He knew he went too far by the look on her face. The smug superiority was wiped away and replaced by a haunted visage that reminded him of the girls in high school who blushed when he walked by and spent all their spare time in the library. The confidence that clung to her fine features melted into insecurity and self-loathing, her frank brown eyes no longer meeting his gaze but now jumping nervously at items around the kitchen. The metamorphosis was remarkable. I did that to her, he thought, hating himself.

"Brenda, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to put his hand over hers, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "That was a stupid thing to say, and I didn't mean it. Forgive me." He redirected and touched her knee instead. She flinched.

"Yes you did," she said. "You did so mean it. I'm not Mr. Popularity like you are, Fritz. I know that. I guess you think I'm just a big loser." She folded her arms over her chest.

Oh crap, it's going to be one of those arguments where she pulls out all her insecurities and dumps them out for him to pick through. Well, he wasn't going to play this time. They were changing their marriage, and it was going to start with this.

"Listen to me, Brenda. I am not going to fight with you less than 48 hours after you have come home. We're still in that gooey honeymoon phase, and I'm not going to give that up. I was getting irritated by you being reluctant about making dinner plans with Alexis and Lily, so I said something hurtful, and I'm really sorry. You know I didn't mean it. Let's not snip at each other, honey. After today we only have one full day together before I have to go back to work. I can think of many better ways to spend it than fighting with each other. You said you want to work on changing our marriage, so let's start with this. Please forgive me for saying something completely stupid and hurting your feelings. I'm hoping you can be the bigger person here and accept my apology, and we can move on and have a good day together."

She was chewing her lower lip, and Fritz could see the tears in her eyes. When had she become so fragile? Since her life fell apart and then a maniac tried to murder her. His earlier self-talk about Brenda's mental state and how he wished she would get professional help echoed in his subconscious.

"You're right, Fritzy," she said, her voice wavering. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Yea, I've never had a lot of friends clamorin' around me. I don't know why that should be botherin' me now." She laughed dryly to herself and stood up. "Let me clear these dishes." She picked up his plate and cup and put them on top of hers and, after grabbing their mugs with her other hand, disappeared hastily into the kitchen.

When she didn't come back in five minutes, Fritz went to find her. She was standing at the counter, clutching the edge and staring into the sink like it held the secrets of the Universe. She was so entranced that she didn't hear him enter.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Brenda spun around and put a hand on her chest. "Shoot!" she yelled, bending over and breathing hard. "Fritz, you scared me. Don't do that!" She put her hands on her knees and bent over, eyes closed.

It's like she's shell-shocked, he thought. Aloud, he said, "I didn't mean to startle you, Brenda. I just wondered why you never came back. Are you okay? You look really upset."

She had stopped gulping air and was standing straight. "It's nothin', really. I'm just jumpy in the kitchen is all." She turned from him and grabbed a dirty plate to put in the dish washer.

He reached out and took the plate from her, wrapping her hand in his. "Don't say it's nothing, Brenda. You're clearly upset. The whole 'I'm fine' thing was supposed to be taken out to the garbage, wasn't it?"

She nodded.

"Okay, so why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" He took her hand and led her to the kitchen table.

She sat down heavily. "It sounds stupid," she mumbled.

"Nothing that comes from your heart sounds stupid," he said, squeezing her hand.

She looked at him, than away. "More emotional stuff. I'd think by now you would get sick of hearin' about all my drama."

"It's not drama, Brenda," Fritz said. "It's personal things, and I'm honored that you share them with me."

She waved an errant hand in the air. "Whatever. So, I know I told you how I was when I was in high school, that I was kind of wild? My boyfriend was a dropout who drove a Harley, which 'bout sent Daddy 'round the bend. I hung out with a few other guys, but I didn't have any girlfriends. I didn't have any use for high school girls, who I thought were all just silly, with their perfect Gap outfits and legwarmers and all that crap. I couldn't be bothered with any of them. Anyways, the day before I flew back here, I went to Starbucks near Daddy's house, and I saw three of the popular girls from school, well, women my age now, of course, sittin' there havin' coffee. I couldn't believe it, 25 years after high school, and still hangin' out with each other. Well, since I've been turnin' over this new leaf and all, I decided to go over and say hi. I even remembered their names. When I was done with my little friendly Southern greetin', one of them looked at the others and said, 'who are you?'"

"Ouch," Fritz said.

"Yea. So I had to stand there in the middle of Starbucks and explain to them we went to high school together, and in fact, one of the women I went to school with since first grade! And they had no idea who I was. They were nice about it and all, and apologized for not recognizin' me, and were askin' all kinds of questions to try and place me like, 'what clubs were you in,' 'what sports did you play,' and 'who were your friends?' And my answer was 'wasn't in any clubs' and 'didn't play any sports' and 'didn't have any friends.' I was so embarrassed I made up some excuse and got out of there as fast as I could." She sniffed.

Fritz wasn't really sure that this story had to do with her outburst this morning. Brenda didn't care about not having friends. Did she? He gave a generic comforting answer. "That must have been awful, honey," he said, trying to sound soothing.

She shook her head. "Getting sued was awful. Having Mama die with somethin' important to tell me was awful. Runnin' in to three housewives who never had enough ambition to get themselves out of Georgia wasn't awful. It just kind of drove home a point I was workin' out on my own." She looked at him. "That's the funny thing with all this navel gazin', Fritz. I start off thinkin' hard on one topic, like maybe I'm out for a run and remembering things about Mama. And then a whole other bunch of stuff comes up, an entirely different part of my life presents itself for some problem-solvin', and I find myself gettin' all these insights on things I didn't start out workin' on." She frowned. "It's a little annoyin', actually."

Fritz nodded. "When you start to look inward, Brenda, issues don't take a number and stand neatly in line. You can be in tears over one thing and a horrible memory of something completely different comes over you. It's like once you tap into yourself, you never know what's going to come out." He put his hand on hers, and she didn't pull away.

"I find it highly annoyin', and I'd like to state for the record that the unexamined life is definitely a lot easier to live," she said. "But anyway, I had been thinkin', for some reason or another, about how I've hardly ever had any friends. I had a few at Georgetown, and you and I were friends at Metro, but I never had a best girlfriend, the kind you tell your secrets to. And it kind of hit me. I've always depended on the men in my life to not only be my boyfriends, but to also be my girlfriends. They end up bein' the only person I have a connection to. So when we break up, it's so much harder for me than it is for them, because I also just lost my only friend too." The sad look on her face made Fritz's throat tighten.

"I've put that burden on you, Fritz, although I think it's a lot healthier than in my other relationships, because we are, well, we are us. But Mama was always after me to make friends, and I always ignored her. Seems like so many things, I've only realized she was probably right after she died." Brenda's voice cracked.

"I always thought the best couples were not only lovers, but best friends too," Fritz said. "So I love that you think of me as your best friend. But I can't be everything to you, as much as I want to be. A woman needs girlfriends. And since finding a friend or two sounds like it's on your list for things you want to do in the near future, well, our move couldn't be better timed."

"What do you mean?"

"Honey, isn't it obvious? Our new neighbor is going to be Sharon Raydor. Since you two have stopped hating each other, this is a great opportunity for you to become friends."

Brenda looked at him blankly for a second, and then burst out laughing.

---

The day flew by quickly, filled with everything and nothing. Boring domestic chores, such as laundry and making dinner, were a pleasure to Fritz, because he was doing them with Brenda. He had been so lonely without her around that the previously hollow duplex was now filled to bursting with her energy. She seemed more relaxed to be in the home than the day before. She sought him out frequently for a quick hug or kiss, always causing him to grab her around the waist and make her show of affection a little less brief than intended. She didn't even complain when she tripped over the numerous boxes scattered throughout the apartment; she just gracefully righted herself and mumbled that she was counting the days until they moved. So was he.

Despite his joy in the day, a small, niggling dread grew steadily: what if she has another nightmare tonight? He decided that if she did have another bad dream, two nights in a row, he was going to sit her down and have a serious talk about seeing someone. No temper tantrums or storming off this time, because he was going to drive home the point that her trauma wasn't just about her; it was about them. Fritz was touched that Brenda thought of him as her best friend, but wasn't so amused that "therapist" seem to have been added to his list of roles. As happy as he was that she was finally opening up to him, he knew he couldn't fix her. He also knew he was the type of person who tried desperately to make things right for the people he loved, and he absorbed, as much as he could, their suffering. Other people's pain became his pain, and although it made him feel special, like he was a good person, it also made him run to the bottle. He shook his head, thinking back on his past relationships where he was nothing but a Sherpa for the other person's problems. He already did too much caretaking for Brenda; he couldn't take on her psychic wounds too. He thought about her terrified expression the night before and shuddered. I can't heal her, as much as I want to, he thought. I can only throw her the life saver and step back, or she'll pull me in and we will both drown. So he decided that if she had another nightmare tonight, she was off to therapy. Even if he had to truss her and lock her in the trunk of his car just to get her there. If her mind was quiet and lets her sleep, well, he'd see how she was doing overall before addressing her mental health.

His anxiety about bedtime was alleviated somewhat that evening when Brenda climbed on top of him and started to unbutton his shirt. After a few minutes of wrestling on the too-narrow couch, he scooped up his giggling wife and took her to the bedroom, where he proceeded to kiss every square inch of her perfect body until she begged to have him inside of her. Happy to oblige, they made love for what seemed like hours, changing positions and fighting over who got to pleasure whom. Joel, who was glued to Brenda after his initial snub, jumped back up on the bed right after they came for the last time, seemingly grateful that he bed stopped moving and the humans quieted down, happy to partake in the afterglow. Brenda slowly reached out to pet him, then drew her hand in and rolled on top of Fritz, burying her face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back, her skin still hot from arousal.

"Fritz?" she mumbled against his neck.

"Yea honey," he answered, fingers lightly tracing the curves of her ass.

She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. "What if I have another nightmare again?" She had her "worried face" on.

Then I'm dragging your butt to see a therapist, he thought. Out loud, he said, "let's concentrate on you not having one, okay?"

Her frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He rolled her to his side, then propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at her. Brenda did the same. "Well, I've been thinking, and I decided that we need to be proactive with your nightmares. We should try filling your head with as many nice thoughts as possible before you go to sleep and see if that helps."

A smile danced across her lips. "We just made love for two hours. I'd say I'm goin' to sleep with plenty of nice thoughts. And some naughty ones, too."

He reached down and pulled the sheet over them. "Well, there's that. But I thought I'd add some other thoughts too, so your brain will be in a big soup of happiness when you go off to sleep."

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "'A big soup of happiness?'"

He grinned. "Okay, that was really corny. I'm just going to fill your head with a bunch of pleasantness as you drift off and see if that wards off the bad dreams. Are you willing to give this a try?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Bring on the love."

"And cut out the sarcasm. Now are you settled in and all ready to go to sleep?"

She sat up and fussed with her pillows for a minute, than lay back down, pulling a light blanket over the sheet and burrowing down in both. "All set."

"Okay," he said, "Now close your eyes. And no talking, just listen."

For once, she obeyed.

Fritz was suddenly at a loss for words. This sounded like such a good idea this afternoon when the idea had come to him, but now, when it was show time, his tongue froze. He wanted to evoke memories of them falling in love, so she would feel safe and cocooned in his devotion as she lost consciousness, as if his love would be a talisman against Philip Stroh. But what to say? There were so many amazing moments in their time together, so much powerful emotion shared. Where would he begin?

At the beginning, of course.

An old college professor of his taught him about Occam's Razor, that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Although with Brenda, he found that frequently the least expected and most convoluted solution was the way to go. Johnson's Razor, he thought.

He got comfortable and closed his eyes, allowing his memory to crawl on its hands and knees over his past, picking up shiny bits and holding them up for his consideration.

"I remember when I first met you," he said softly, stroking her hair. "Way back at Metro in DC. I thought you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Still do. And the most brilliant. Since you made it clear you didn't date people at work, I tried my hardest to be your friend, and that was okay. Just being around you was good enough. I used to stare at you when you weren't looking and wonder what it would be like to run my hands through your hair, your beautiful hair, or to kiss you." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She smiled but kept her eyes closed.

"One night in DC, I think it was about a year after you started working there, we went to an Ethiopian restaurant in Georgetown, not far from your apartment. You had just finished working on this huge case and were celebrating, and me, well, I don't know why you chose to celebrate with me, but I wasn't going to complain. You wore a black dress that was low cut and lacy in the front, and your hair was really curly and pulled to the side in a barrette kinda thing." She smiled at his inadequate description of her hair accessory. "You looked so hot. You had a lot of wine that night, and you wanted to walk the two miles home to your apartment along the Tow Path, so we did. You were laughing the whole way—I don't think I'd ever heard you laugh that much—and you were telling me all these funny stories about growing up in the South. I still can't get over the fact that you actually went to Charm School. I hope your parents' got their money back. Hey, ow! Anyways, you invited me up to your place for a nightcap, and then you asked me about my family life, and I didn't want to ruin the fun mood by sharing anything about myself, and I was able to get the topic steered back to you. After another glass of Merlot you told me all these wild things you did in high school, and I think I pulled a muscle in my gut laughing so hard. I finally left at 3AM, and when you walked me to the door, I sensed you wanted me to kiss you. And oh, I wanted to kiss you so bad. But not like that, when you were buzzed. I told myself that some day my turn would come, and I'd get to kiss you all I want, and until then, I'd just be patient. I went home and spent the next several years wondering if I was right."

He realized he had drifted off to the serious, so he quickly refocused. "One of the best days of my life was the day I found out that you had moved to LA. I wasted no time bribing anyone I had to find out what hotel you were staying at so I could bring you those ballistic results. When you walked down the stairs, Brenda, I swear, I stopped breathing and my heart nearly beat out of my chest, both at the same time. You had gotten even more beautiful than before. Sitting across from you in that hotel bar, hearing you talk about your cases with all that energy you have, well, I feel like someone had jumpstarted me, and I didn't even know I was stalled. Just being around you makes me feel more alive, Brenda. It's an incredible feeling, and I thought of you nonstop, even though you kept blowing off our dates. But the ones you kept were fabulous. Remember when you just had a few hours to spare on a Sunday, so I drove you up the Pacific Coast Highway, and we brought a picnic? We've done that several times since, but this was the first time. You hadn't had the chance to see the ocean since moving to LA, and I'll tell you, you looked like a little kid. It was the most amazing thing to see. Your mouth was hanging open, and it was like you had never seen the ocean before. I could barely get you to eat anything, you were so caught up in watching the waves. And that is the thing that amazes me, whenever we do anything near a beach. You, the one person who can never sit still, suddenly becomes quiet and peaceful. It's like you turn inward and a peace falls over you for awhile. It's quite a transformation."

He shifted his position so he could look down on her. She was awake, but very relaxed. Her breaths were slow and deep, her face almost slack. He kept going.

"I think we dated about two months before we kissed, and it was you who kissed me. And what a kiss it was. You yanked me into you, and your lips were every bit as sweet as I thought they would be, and you were, shall we say, eager. And then Sergeant Gabriel showed up and things ground to a screeching halt and I had to wait two whole days before I got to taste those lips again." Fritz felt his body react from the 8-year-old memory of their first time. They had had tons of great sex since then, but there is something about sleeping with the woman you had been fantasizing about for years that makes for a memorable life experience. He continued: "I went over to your house that night not thinking anything was going to happen. But once I kissed you, and the way you kissed me back, well, I knew the attraction was very, very mutual. It took all my willpower to slow down, because I wanted to touch you everywhere at once, hell, I wanted to do everything to you at once! You finding that wire in your bra put the brakes on, for sure. Sometimes I wonder if there was anyone on the other end listening to us. I sure hope not. Anyways, I'm not sure how we made it into your bedroom, but the next morning there was a trail of our clothes throughout your house. Undressing you was like undressing a goddess, because I had spent a lot of time picturing you naked, and nothing I imagined came remotely close to the real thing. "

She smiled. So she was still awake.

"I just remember thinking that night that if I died right there and then, it would be okay, because I had made love to you, which was the most amazing experience I could ever hope for. I had no idea sex could be like that with anyone, ever. I knew that night I was falling in love, and I was falling hard.

"A few months later, there was a period when we went a few weeks and hardly saw each other. You cancelled every date we made because of your cases, and I was getting more than a little impatient. I knew you felt bad, but I missed being with you so much. Finally, when your big case was solved, you called me and told me to come over on Friday evening and to bring a bag with enough clothes to last the weekend. I was skeptical that this would actually happen and didn't let myself get excited about it, because the prospect of spending an entire weekend with you, well, that was incredible. I assumed you'd be called out on a murder and if I was lucky you would remember to call me an cancel. What I didn't know was that you did all kinds of wheeling and dealing to get coverage for your division, even letting Taylor take a case if one came up, so you would only be called in a real emergency. I was so touched when you told me that. Anyways, Friday came and you texted me to remind me to come over at 7, so I stopped and got a big bouquet of flowers, still a little amazed I was at least going to have one night with you. I got to your place and it was all lit up with candles and there was soft music playing. And I didn't think you had a romantic bone in your body! You had on this incredibly sexy red dress, and your hair was down and curly, the way I like it. You met me at the door and gave me this really deep, long kiss, and I wanted to drag you to the bedroom then and there, but I could tell you had other plans. You had picked up dinner from a really nice Italian restaurant, and we ate by candlelight. The food was good, but I could barely take my eyes off of you. I had missed you so much. When we were done eating you asked me to do the dishes and disappeared. When I finished cleaning up I found you in the bedroom, also filled with candles, and oh my god, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. You were lying on the bed, wearing lingerie. Really, really revealing lingerie, fishnet hose, heels, everything. We hadn't been sleeping together too long and I had never seen you in lingerie before, and my eyes nearly fell out of my head. Apparently you liked my reaction because you got this wicked smile on your face, and I will never forget what you said after that. You got up and walked over to me, that really sexy walk you do, and whispered in my ear in your low, come do me tone, 'Fritz, I'm goin' to spend the weekend dispellin' any idea you have that I'm a sweet Southern Belle. ' I nearly melted. You grabbed me by the tie and pulled me down and kissed me hard, and after that the rest of the night is a blur. All I know is that it was hot, really hot, and any reservations we had with each other because we were new lovers went right out the window." Brenda looked like she'd dozed off, but he thought he would continue just in case. "One particular memory from that weekend sticks in my mind—and that was a weekend full of incredible memories, believe me—is that, in the midst of this nonstop sexfest, where we barely dragged ourselves out of bed long enough to get food, I happened to mention a dairy not that far outside the city that sells ice cream. You would have thought I told you I found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You hopped out of bed and demanded we go right there and then. We showered and headed out, and the look of bliss when you started in on your triple scoop cone of chocolate whatever, well, I was a little jealous, because it was close to the look I had been putting on your face all weekend. But it was so funny, you were this total seductress in hot lingerie, , practically giving me a heart attack one minute, and the next you are standing in a tee shirt and jeans in a ponytail, eating an ice cream cone like a 10-year-old. I love that you have so many different sides to you, Brenda. I love each and every one of them."

Yup, she was sound asleep.

Fritz rolled over and turned off the light on the bedside table and listened to make sure her rhythmic breathing was uninterrupted. Here's hoping for an uneventful night of sleep, he thought, tossing his wish out to no one in particular.

...

Brenda was granted a nightmare-free night on not only Sunday, but Monday night. Tuesday morning Fritz awoke, grateful for the preceding restful eight hours, but depressed at the idea of having to go back to work and leaving Brenda. After he hit the Snooze button a third time he reluctantly pulled back the arm he had draped over her waist he got out of bed and headed to the shower.

Brenda was awake when he came out of the bathroom, but was curled up in bed looking very comfortable.

"Morning, honey," he said, swooping down for a kiss. She tugged playfully at the towel around his waist and he swatted her hand away. "Stop that! Didn't I give you enough last night?" He nipped at her lip.

"You can never give me enough," she said, her voice rough with sleep. "You sure you have to go back to work today, Fritz? Cuz I'm gonna be awful lonely today." She let the sheets slip down to give him a glimpse of her naked body. Fritz swallowed hard.

"Don't play dirty," he said, using all his willpower and turning toward the closet. "Now that you have a normal job and we can take vacations like normal people, I'm trying to save up my vacation time. I have to take a day or two to move, and I'm sure you are going to want me to go to Atlanta with you every once in a while." He grabbed a white shirt and his favorite suit. "And I'm not sure Major Crimes can function without it's FBI liaison." Brenda snorted.

"Besides, didn't you tell me you had things to do to get ready to start your job?" he prodded.

Brenda sighed and sat up. "Yea. I made a hair appointment for tomorrow. I'm gonna go through my clothes today and give some stuff away, and then do some shoppin' this week, maybe get a new suit or two." She sighed. "I hate shoppin', but there are a couple of good vintage stores I found out about, and I do like vintage. All the clothes are small like me."

"Just don't show up to your new job looking like Lucy Ricardo," he joked.

"Huh?" She looked adorable, with her frizzy bedhead, and confused look on her face.

"From 'I Love Lucy.' It was just a joke, honey."

She frowned. "Ha ha. I'll have you know vintage is really in, and I already have a lot of vintage. Several of my suits belonged to my Grandma Anna. I had them fixed up and tailored for me a few years ago. Cost a fortune but I always get complements on them." She crossed her arms and blew out a puff of air, her face red with anger.

Fritz knew when he said the wrong thing. Or more accurately, he knew when Brenda was upset and was looking for Fritz to say something she could pretend was the wrong thing and blow up. He learned a long time ago that this was one of her ways of dealing with emotions she didn't understand.

He sat down next to her on the bed. "Brenda, what's really bothering you?"

She looked at him blankly. "What do you mean? Besides you tellin' me I dress like a 1950s housewife in a sitcom, I'm just fine." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

He reached out and grabbed her hand and pulled it toward him. "That's not what I said and you know it. And that's not why you're upset. Remember what you are trying to do, honey. You are trying to be more honest with yourself. So take a minute and figure out what's really bothering you. Is it me going back to work?"

Brenda pursed her lips and lay her chin on her knee. She was silent for a minute.

"Noooo," she finally answered. "I mean, of course I'm sad you're goin' back to work. I much rather be havin' fun with you than packin' or shoppin'. But I think havin' you around is a great way for me to avoid havin' to think of anythin' serious, you know? And now you're gonna be at work for the next few days, I'll be alone with my thoughts, and I guess that scares me." She chewed on her lip and looked at him.

He was impressed with her insight. Who was this woman? "Any thought in particular you are running from?" he asked.

She was silent for a minute. Finally, in a soft voice, "I think I'm nervous about my new job. That's silly though, isn't it? I'm just bein' silly." She hopped up and walked over to the chair and picked up the robe that was draped over the arm. She threw it on, and then began to pick up the clothing strewn on the floor.

"It's not silly at all, Brenda. Who wouldn't be nervous when starting a new job?" She didn't turn and look at him, just continued her task. He got off the bed and walked over to her. "Brenda, hey—" he gently took her upper arm and turned her to him. "Stop cleaning for a second. You don't need to be embarrassed in front of me for feeling something that's completely normal."

"I know, it's just that, well, Fritz, the DA's all hate me!" He could see her eyes start to shine.

"No they don't, Brenda." Yes they do. "DDA Hobbes doesn't hate you. And Andrea is a really nice woman. You laughed your head off at the idea of becoming friends with Sharon Raydor. But what about Andrea Hobbs? It might be nice to have a friend and ally at work."

She paused as if considering this. "She did ask me out to lunch once," she said softly.

"Did you go?"

She shook her head. "No, I was too busy. As usual."

"Well, why don't you ask her out to lunch next week to return the invitation, and to let her know you want to be friends. That could be a nice way to start out your week at the DA's office."

Brenda considered this for a minute, and smiled. "I think that's a good idea, Fritz. You're right, I do have one person on my side, and that's one more than I had when I started the LAPD." Fritz noticed that Pope had retroactively been demoted and was secretly thrilled.

He gave her a squeeze and let her go. "And now, honey, if I don't get going, only one of us is going to have a job. You okay now?" He looked at her closely.

She smiled back at him. "Yea Fritz, I think I'm okay. Go to work already, will you?"

---

It was close to 1PM before he had the chance to fish out the small piece of paper handed to him at the airport and call Lily Powers. She answered after several rings with a breathless, "hello?"

"Ah, hello Lily, this is Fritz Howard. From the airport?" He suddenly felt silly. It was highly possible that Lily had only extended an invitation to dinner to placate her over-eager teen granddaughter, with the expectation that Fritz wouldn't actually call. Maybe Brenda was right; they really were strangers.

"Oh Fritz, of course! I am so glad to hear from you!" Her voice became somewhat muffled, as if she had her hand over the phone. "It's Fritz, Brenda's husband. See, I told you they'd call."

"I hope I didn't catch you in the middle of anything."

"Oh no, Alexis and I were just out for a walk. Right now she's bouncing up and down with excitement that you're on the phone. She's been giving me a hard time ever since we met for not asking for your contact information. In fact, I have had to hold her back from calling he LAPD and asking for, as Alexis put it, a 'pretty blonde cop who used to work there named Brenda.' I pointed out the flaw in her plan that Brenda is no longer employed by the LAPD, calling them with this very accurate description wouldn't be very useful, but teenagers don't readily embrace logic." Fritz heard a very indignant "hey!" in the background.

"Brenda and I needed a few days to ourselves," he said, tempted to use Alexis's vernacular and say they were having "sexy time." "And I just got back to work this morning."

"Well, it really is nice of you to follow up on our invitation then, Fritz. It's clear you and Brenda have a lot going on in your lives right now. Alexis and I are pretty flexible, but we were wondering if you would like to come to dinner at my house next Friday or Saturday night?"

Fritz thought for a minute. He would like to take Brenda out somewhere on Friday night, since she would have spent a few days in the apartment by herself, and it will be his first chance to spend time with her. "How about Saturday night?"

"You sure the two of you don't have anything better to do on a Saturday night in LA than have dinner with an old lady and a teenage girl with questionable manners?" Fritz again heard protests from Alexis in the background.

"You are not old, Lily, and Alexis seems like a great kid. Why don't you give me directions, and tell me what to bring. And I can't think of anything better than to get to know both of you." And it was true: there was something about Lily that Fritz instantly liked, something soft and gentle in her that was attractive and comforting to him. I think my mother would have been a lot like Lily if she wasn't worn down by being married to an abusive alcoholic, he thought. Maybe that's why he's so drawn to Lily. I'm missing Willie Rae too, and I'm looking for another substitute. While writing down Lily's address, he wondered, do we ever outgrow our need for mothering?

---

Saturday was hot, and Fritz was warm in his khakis and cotton shirt. Brenda looked more comfortable than him in a green flowered halter dress with her hair pulled back in a bun.

She sat on the passenger's side of the car, occasionally looking down at the address Fritz had written down on a piece of paper and squinting at the numbers on the houses they were passing.

"We're 'bout a block away, I expect," she said.

"Don't worry about it," Fritz said. "Tara will tell us."

Brenda turned toward him and slid her sunglasses down her nose. "Who?"

Fritz rolled his eyes at Brenda's hit and miss memory. "Tara. It's the name of my GPS."

Brenda regarded the screen in the dashboard. "You named your GPS?"

"Yes, you knew that. Ever since my first one, I've called them all Tara."

She gave him her "I'm married to a madman" look. "Okay, I can understand—wait, understand is too strong a word—I get it that you name a piece of equipment. But Fritz, the GPS is now built in to your car. Did you name your steerin' wheel, too?" She sat back in her seat with a smug expression on her face.

He didn't really know what to say to that.

"In 200 yards you will reach your destination," Tara said in her cool, even voice.

"And why 'Tara'?" Brenda asked. "Is Tara the name of your first girlfriend? Your favorite porn star? The Playboy centerfold you liked the most as a teenager? What?"

My favorite porn star? Where does she come up with these things? "No Brenda, 'Tara' is just the voice I chose on my very first GPS. Each voice has a name, I think yours is called 'Tim.'" The GPS in this car has a different voice, but I've been calling it Tara for so long that it just kind of stuck."

She seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to balancing two bottles of Merlot in her lap.

"You have reached your destination," Tara announced without a hint of emotion. Brenda compared the number on the house to the one written down, and nodded, squinting out the window toward Lily's house.

"My, we most certainly have arrived. I had heard Hancock Park was nice. Fritz, why aren't we moving into a house like that?"

The house was a classic Spanish revival, two stories, and large. After all the house-hunting he had done he had gotten pretty good at determining house size. He guessed the house had at least six bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a pool. Her house is over three times the size of our new house, he thought. Fritz had his hand on the car door handle, eager to greet his hostess and see the inside of her home when Brenda grabbed his wrist. "Hey Fritz," she said, sounding unsure. "What exactly are we supposed to talk to Daisy about? I mean, we don't know her."

"First of all, her name is Lily," he corrected for the third time that day. "And talk about whatever you want, honey. I guess that's the good thing about not knowing someone very well. You don't have to worry about repeating stories."

"But Fritz…" She was starting to whine, and he was getting impatient. "You know how bad I am at social things. I never know what to say or do." She chewed her lower lip. "And we don't even know this woman, so we can't talk about work things. What do I—" Fritz cut her off.

"Brenda, will you stop worrying, will you? It won't kill you to obtain an social skill or two." He leaned over to kiss her cheek, then exited the car before she could stop him. She followed him. "Besides," he said, as they started up the walkway, "when all else fails, be yourself. That alone is a great ice breaker."

She didn't look amused.

The house sat up on a small hill, and the path leading to the house was lined with perfectly trimmed bushes. Small trees and a carefully tended garden were standard in this neighborhood, but Fritz noticed that in between the requisite landscaping were stone statues: he saw one of Buddha, another of Ganesh, the elephant-headed God, and a third, the Hindu god with all the arms whose name he couldn't remember. He nudged Brenda and pointed. "Who's that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I got a B in Comparative Religions. And I wouldn't have guessed Ms. Prim and Proper for hippie, would you?"

He put his arm around her and kissed her ear. "All those years as an interrogator, and you didn't learn that people wear more than one face?"

He had barely knocked on the heavy oak door when he heard a young voice yell, "they're here!" and the sound of approaching footsteps. Alexis threw open the door and grinned at them. Her long red hair was styled in a braid down her back, and a small gold ring replaced the diamond in her nose. She wore a black tank top and capris, flip-flops completing her casual outfit.

"Hey!" she said. "I can't believe you guys actually came over! I mean, I know we invited you and all, and I really wanted you to come, but the way you were going at it in the airport, I wasn't sure you would even remember us!"

Brenda stifled an embarrassed laugh at Alexis's bluntness.

From behind her and growing closer, Lily could be heard. "For heaven's sake, young lady, don't leave them on the porch! Show some manners!" Lily reached the door and put a hand on Alexis' s shoulder, gently pushing her aside. "Fritz, Brenda, please forgive me. I really do need to hire better help." She mock-glared at her granddaughter as she moved aside and gestured for them to enter.

As Fritz walked through the door, he couldn't help but marvel at the how different Lily looked than when they first met. Her thick grey hair, worn previously in an elegant knot hung loosely around her face, which had minimal makeup on it. She had traded in her designer suit for jeans, and now wore a short sleeve purple linen top decorated with Chinese characters. She was as attractive as she was at the airport, casual yet still put together. The grace she exuded hadn't changed with her wardrobe.

"Welcome to my home, Fritz and Brenda. And thanks again for coming." She noticed the wine in Brenda's hand and glanced at Fritz questioningly. "I told Fritz you didn't have to bring anything, but can I take those from you?" Brenda handed the bottles and in turn Lily gave them to Alexis with instructions for their placement.

His attention was immediately taken by the beauty of the house, mainly the grand, twisting stairwell covered in Mexican tile that opened up right in front of him. It was breathtaking, and at the top of the stairwell he could see several rooms through arched doorways. His eyes were drawn back to the perfect elegance of the stairwell. He could just imagine Brenda walking down it, dressed in something gorgeous, all grace and sexiness, making a grand entrance.

"I see you like my stairwell," Lily said. "Quite striking, isn't it? It's my favorite part of the house."

"Me too!" piped in Alexis, who had ran up to them, apparently having delivered the wine to its designation relay style. "Ever since I was a little girl I would slide down it. I'll show you later, it's really awesome."

"Oh no you won't," Lily said, with the weariness affected only by mothers. "Your Aunt Penny broke her arm doing that. So please spare me any trips to the ER, dear. It will really put a damper on your visit. And I would think that by age 17 you would have outgrown the lure of my stairs by now." She reached out and wiped a stay stand of hair out of her granddaughter's eyes.

"And although I will also have to ask you, Fritz, to refrain from trying to slide down the banister, because you have a look in your eye that's scaring me, please come in and make my home your home." She took Brenda by the elbow. "We've been looking forward to your visit all week. I do hope you like Moroccan. I made Chicken and Beef Tagine." She wrinkled her forehead. "You do eat meat, don't you? I didn't think to ask."

"Oh yes," Brenda said. "We aren't the bean sprout and tofu-eatin' type of Californians."

"Especially not Brenda," Fritz said. "She thinks chocolate is a fifth food group."

"Oh!" Alexis bounced up and down, clapping her hands, red braid bouncing behind her. "You are going to love dessert. We've been working on it since early this morning." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "One drawback of staying here is Gigi wakes me up at 6AM to meditate with her. She's a Buddhist. First thing in the morning Gigi's all 'Namaste' and I'm all 'where's the nearest Starbucks.'" Fritz saw Brenda had a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.

"Ahem, 'Gigi' is right here," Lily said, looking amused. "Alexis, why don't you show our guests to the sunporch for some appetizers while I finish in the kitchen?"

"Gigi, I can't, no, remember what I told you about the interview? Now is the perfect time." Instead of addressing her grandmother's obvious confusion, she turned to Brenda. "I was thinking about you and all the cool stuff you did as head of—let me think—yeah, Major Crimes of the LAPD, that's it, and how amazing it was for a woman to be that high up in the police department. And then I remembered that for one of the classes I'll be taking fall term, Gender Studies, we're supposed to interview a woman who is a pioneer in her field. And I thought, hey, if Brenda actually shows, I'm gonna interview her, because hello, a cop would be really different. Then when you called, I texted my friend Natalie, who's a senior and took the class last year, and she gave me the teacher's e-mail, and Ms. Polk told me what questions I need to ask for the assignment. So is it okay, Brenda, if I interview you?" Alexis looked so earnest that Fritz didn't think even Provenza could say no to her.

"Alexis!" Lily said. "I told you after dinner! Let our guest sit down and have something to eat and drink first. Try and be a good hostess. I'm sure there will be time after we eat."

"GeeeGeee…." the elongated whine belied the girl still existing in the young woman's body. "Everyone will be tired after dinner. And old people get sleepy after they eat, and Brenda and Fritz will want to go home, and I'll never get my interview!" She all but stamped her foot.

"That's the right approach, Alexis," Lily said coolly, "insult the person you are asking a favor of by calling them old. See how far that gets you in life."

Fritz and Brenda hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. Finally Brenda, laughing, held up her hand. "Am I gonna have to charge you with felony whinin', Alexis? I'd be more than happy to have you interview me. In fact, I'm flattered. And no offense, Lily, but I think Alexis is right. I'm probably sharper now than I will be stuffed with chocolate dessert and a couple glasses of wine."

Alexis stuck her tongue out at her grandmother.

"Such a gracious winner," she sighed. "That's fine, that's fine. Dinner won't be ready for another 45 minutes. But we are all going out the sun porch and fill our plates with Hors d'oeuvres and get something to drink, I insist. Don't starve Brenda while you interview her."

Alexis bounded away and the others followed through several large rooms, all brightly painted and tastefully decorated, to a large sunporch filled with huge potted plants and comfortable chairs. A long tile table was set with several appetizers, and Fritz filled his plate with hummus and pita, chips and salsa, small spinach pies, baked brie and apricots, crackers, fresh bread, and crudité. Pitchers of lemonade and ice tea awaited him, along with Brenda's wine. Brenda filled up a plate too, and poured herself a glass of Merlot. She smiled at him, all traces of her previous discomfort gone, and followed Alexis down the hall. Make Brenda the center of someone's attention and she's as happy as a clam, he thought fondly.

Lily poured herself a glass of wine and turned to Fritz. "I guess it's just you and me then, Fritz," she said. "My mother would be horrified to see me taking a guest into the kitchen to entertain them, but my Tagine needs my attention. I hope you don't mind." She gestured towards the door with her wine glass and began to leave the sunporch.

"Of course I don't mind, Lily. Don't most parties end up in the kitchen anyways?"

"Yes, they do. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Close proximity to the food. At least that's my reason for hanging out in the kitchen."

A few turns later they came to the kitchen of Fritz' s dreams. He stopped at the entrance and took it all in. It was large and painted a welcoming yellow, with the counters a matching cheery Mexican tile of blue and orange. A huge double window behind the sink overlooked the front yard, filling the kitchen with light. The counters stretched the length of the sizable room, forming an "L" when they hit the far wall. They were covered with every kitchen appliance one could need: a mixer, blender, ricer, slow cooker, and a few Fritz couldn't recognize. On the opposite wall from the sink was a built in desk and a second window, complete with a bench. But oh, it was the island that made Fritz want to weep with envy. It was covered with the same tile as the counters, and it easily could have seated eight people, although there were only four chairs, two on each side. In the middle of the island was a small second sink. He mind flitted to the horrible dated kitchen in their new house and he allowed himself a moment of self-pity.

"Lily, this kitchen is amazing!" Fritz walked around and looked at the built-in bookcase that was next to a doorway in the back of the kitchen. "I doubt Julia Child's kitchen was this nice."

Lily had sat down her wine, and was stirring the contents of one of the many large pots on the stove . She turned around smiled at him.

"Why, thank you, Fritz. I walk in here and think this place is beautiful because of all the memories I associate with it. It's nice to see it through a new friend's eyes." Her stirring done, she walked over to the magnificent island and sat down, picked up a knife, and pulled a cutting board covered with vegetables close to her. She stopped, her hand poised to pick up a cucumber, and got a puzzled look on her face.

"Fritz, do you mind if I ask you something?" she said, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the chairs opposite her.

"Go right ahead, please."

"You told me at the airport at that are a recovering alcoholic. And yet you brought wine tonight. I find that odd."

Fritz took a bite of cheese and crackers. "Brenda loves her Merlot. And it doesn't bother me in the least that she has it in the house or that she drinks it. Wine was never my beverage of choice. I always went for Scotch."

"Ahhh," Lily said, and picked up the cucumber. "It's just that I don't know a lot of people in recovery that can have any type of alcohol in their house."

Fritz shrugged. "It's never bothered me. Brenda has offered many times to only drink when we're out, or to stop drinking in front of me all together, but I've had times when the urge to drink has hit me pretty hard, and Brenda's wine hasn't appealed to me in the least. Now if she had bottles of Dewars all over the house, I'd be in trouble."

Lily started chopping the cucumber with vigor and they sat in a comfortable silence, Fritz fantasizing about what he could do with a kitchen like this. All that cabinet space! I could finally unpack the full Calphalon set the Johnson extended family got us for our wedding but we never had room for. He was mentally arranging a similar kitchen for all of Brenda and Fritz's kitchen gadgets when Lily interrupted his thoughts.

"I have this strange sort of entitlement, Fritz, and you really shouldn't let me get away with it. But I feel that since you're in my home, I can ask you questions with impunity. Isn't that awful?" She had stopped chopping and was looking him, a bemused expression on her face.

"I think that's very fair," he answered. "It's like doing a background check on a person you let into your home." He looked at the salad fixings she was working on. "Can I help you with that? I got an 'A' in Home Ec.'"

She reached under the island and opened a cabinet and pulled out a small cutting board, then grabbed a knife from a wooden block on the counter. "Yet another thing that would give my very proper mother a heart attack. Putting a dinner guest to work." She got Fritz set up with a few vegetables and returned to her own work.

"Where was I? Oh yes, professing my supposed guilt for prying." Her lips turned up at the corners. "I was just wondering if you and Brenda were newlyweds. The way you greeted each other at the airport made me think that you are."

Fritz paused for a second. "I guess that depends on the definition of newlywed, Lily, but I don't think we fit the bill. We got married over four years ago." He can't believe they were getting ready to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. At times he still felt as flummoxed and lovestruck by her as he did when they were first dating.

"Oh, I would definitely call that a newlywed," Lily said. "I was married for 30 years, and five years in we were still fighting over how to hang the toilet paper." They both laughed.

"At least your husband replaced it. That's more than Brenda seems capable of." He noticed a shadow crossed over her face when he mentioned her husband, but her lovely face returned to its warm countenance so quickly that he wondered if he imagined it.

"My rude prodding continues," she said, tearing lettuce into small pieces and putting into a wooden bowl. "You haven't mentioned any kids. I'm going to assume, which one should never do of course, that this is a second marriage for one or both of you." Fritz nodded his head. "Any children from a past marriage, or do you have a little one that you forgot to mention?"

Now it was Fritz's turn to feel bad. He wanted kids, he really did. He wanted the chance to be a better father than the one he had, and he wanted it so badly he ignored Brenda's not-so-subtle hints that she wasn't interested. Two years ago, when he made what he thought was an innocuous comment about the pitter-patter of little feet, Brenda turned around and faced him, fury in her eyes. With a slow, deliberate glacial chill in her voice, she said, "Take the hint, Fritz. I. Do. Not. Want. Kids." She turned on her heels and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut, and they hadn't talked about it since.

He shook his head. "No, no kids from our first marriages. And we were a little long in the tooth to start a family when we got married." A little white lie, thanks to the miracle of modern science half of LA has babies in their 40's.

Lily looked at him, wise eyes probing hidden parts of him. "You're disappointed," she said softly. "I'm sorry about that."

Fritz shrugged. He was sorry too, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He had repeated the Serenity prayer thousands of times over his years in AA, and slowly, he became a more peaceful and accepting man who realized there are some things he just had to take as they are. Brenda Leigh Johnson is one of those immutable forces he had to just accept.

"You know, Fritz, there are a lot of ways to be a parent in this world besides reproducing," Lily said. "There are a lot of kids in desperate need of love and guidance with biological parents who can't give it to them."

"I guess," he said, and attacked a radish with more enthusiasm than needed.

Lily sighed. "My middle daughter tells me I do this. Jump into therapist mode and offend people. It seems like she's right."

"You didn't offend me, Lily. Wait, are you a therapist?"

She nodded. "I'm a licensed clinical social worker. I'm mostly retired now. I just run a couple of therapy groups and provide supervision for colleagues. But for 40 years I worked with kids, mostly teenagers."

"I can't imagine what a hard job that must be," Fritz said. "When Brenda was Chief of Major Crimes, she met some of the worst parents anyone could imagine. And of course, kids with terrible home lives turn to gangs and ended up in Brenda's interrogation room for committing some horrible violent crime. The 19-year-old brother of a detective in her Squad was shot and killed by a fourteen-year-old. Only fourteen!"

Lily shook her head. "That's heartbreaking. For Brenda's detective and for the boy, whose life is basically over before it really started."

"It must have been so hard, to see kids like that, and then come home to your own. Do you just have the one daughter?" Fritz put his sliced radishes in the salad bowl. "See, I can be nosy too."

"Ah, but what woman doesn't want to brag about her children?" Lily said. She walked over to the desk and picked up a framed picture and handed it to Fritz. It was of Lily and three other women who bore a strong family resemblance, standing in front of the Grand Canyon.

"That was a mother-daughter trip my girls dragged me on two years ago, after my husband died." Fritz heard a note of melancholy in her voice. Lily pointed to a tall woman with red hair. "That's Savannah, my oldest daughter, and Alexis's mother. She's a heavy hitter in a prestigious corporate law firm in Boston. Savannah was offered the job four years ago and left LA with her family. Nearly broke my heart not to have Alexis close to me anymore. Oh, and my daughter, of course," she said quickly. "It's just that Alexis and I are two peas in a pod, and I miss her terribly. She plans to come to California for college, and I'm thrilled." She turned back to the picture and pointed to a woman with short dark hair and Lily's warm smile. "This is Penny. She lives in the Napa Valley with her wife, and they run the loveliest Bed and Breakfast. She and Karen just adopted a baby girl from China a few months ago." She pointed to the final woman in the photo. "And last but not least is my youngest, Violet. Violet is a PhD student at UCLA in Microbiology." Violet had waist-length auburn hair and had to be a doppelganger for her mother's younger self.

"Does everyone tell you she looks like you?"

"Oh yes," Lily said in mock exasperation. "And Violet believes because of our resemblance, and that we are both named after flowers, she is my self-appointed keeper. She lives a few miles away and stops by constantly. I really wish she would get a boyfriend or perhaps a dog so she would have someone else to focus on. You think her dissertation would keep her out of my hair, but it doesn't." Fritz looked at the pretty young woman, who appeared to be in her early 30's. He was surprised she didn't have men lined up.

"What a beautiful family," Fritz said. "How did you find time to raise three girls and work a demanding job at the same time?"

Lily slowly sat down in the chair opposite Fritz. She busied herself arranging vegetables on the cutting board in front of her. "That's quite a story, Fritz. You've been so forthcoming, so I have no problem sharing my tale of woe with you, if you truly want to hear it. Wanting a 'background check' on your hostess makes perfectly good sense. After all, I am cooking for you." She took a sip of her wine, her lips twisted in a small smile.

"I'm not too worried about poisoning." Fritz lowered his voice. "I shouldn't say this, but I'm pretty convinced some of Brenda's cooking could be considered a biohazard." Lily shook her head disapprovingly at him. Fritz was honestly curious about her, this elegant woman with a large streak of hippie, a Buddhist who lived in a large beautiful home. She exuded a sense of calm that pervaded everything. Fritz felt like being around her was akin to taking a deep breath after jogging, especially after being surrounded by Brenda's frenetic energy. He sensed she was no stranger to struggle and loss, and was one of those rare people who knew how to engulf their sorrow and make it part of themselves, yet continue living. He again was reminded of his beautiful mother, who was swallowed whole by his father's drinking, loving him despite of it, so much so that she died only a year after him. A familiar "if only," appeared in his thoughts, but like so many other things that flitted through his mind, he brushed the thought away.

"I'd love to hear more about your life, Lily, but only if you're comfortable sharing," he said.

She shrugged and set down her knife. " I always told my clients that talking about the painful things in life takes away a little bit of their power over you each time you share. But I guess you know that, being in AA." Fritz nodded. She laced her fingers together and took a deep breath. "Let me see, where to start. Well, like so many people my age, I was an idealistic child of the 60's, and I was determined to change the world, but I was also a bit of a romantic. I fell in love married way too young, too stupid to know better, and had the three girls. Somehow I managed to finish graduate school between babies, no thanks to my first husband. He wasn't much help with the kids." She bowed her head and looked and her interwoven fingers. "He was an alcoholic. It took me a long time to realize it, because it was the early 70's and everyone did drugs and drank heavily. But when he lost his job and crashed our car with Savannah in it I couldn't afford to be in denial anymore." An old weariness seemed to fill her body, as if she were reliving the experience. "Luckily, Savannah only broke her leg, but I had had enough. I told Jim to leave, and that if he wanted to save our marriage he had to get help for his drinking."

"Did he?" Fritz prompted. He so wanted this story to have a happy ending. Alcoholics who hurt others and never sought help made him angry. As superficial as it sounded, he felt that they made him look bad; when people heard he was an alcoholic, they would think he was like this guy, not a man in recovery with stable life. But deep down he knew this snobbery was just covering up his worst fears. Therefore but the grace of god go I.

Lily shook her head slowly. "No, Jim didn't get any help. Instead, he just disappeared. He up and left without ever saying goodbye to the girls, and leaving me in a terrible financial situation."

"No one knew where he was?"

"If they did, they did an excellent job lying to me. And believe me, I went around and asked everyone, family, friends, coworkers. No one had seen him. I needed him, needed what little money he had. I had no idea how I was going to support three kids on a social worker's salary." Her voice had an edge of panic, as if this time in her life was never quite as far in the past as she would like it to be.

"The bank foreclosed on our house. I had to move us to a two-bedroom apartment. The girls were miserable and missed their dad. I was so broke, on the weekends I worked in a bookstore for extra cash. My parents had to give me money to survive. As my Buddhist friends would say, it was a time in my life full of opportunities, for immense personal growth." She spoke the last few words with a twinge of sarcasm in her voice.

"I guess that's one way of looking at things when your life falls apart."

"Meditation teaches me not to get upset at things I can't change. Unfortunately, I've had to learn this lesson more than once."

"Always, about two years after Jim left, I met this nice doctor when visiting one of my patients in the hospital. I liked him instantly, but the very last thing I wanted was a man in my life. But he was incredibly persistent. Here I was, barely able to afford to feed my kids, and I had an apartment full of red roses from Walter. That was his name." Again, a shadow marred her lovely features. "From the first date on, we were inseparable. I wasn't sure I believed in soul mates until I met Walter, and then I knew I had found mine." Her eyes glistened, but Fritz suspected the dignified woman was not going to let herself cry in front of him.

"I never believed in fate until it brought Brenda to me," he said softly. "If you can, go ahead. I love to hear love stories."

She cleared her throat. "A love story. I like that. Walter would have too. Let's see, where was I before I decided that having an emotional outburst is an excellent way to make a guest feel comfortable…oh yes. Walter was ten years older than me, and he had never been married before. Since I couldn't find my husband, I claimed abandonment and got a divorce without him present. We got married a month after that was final, on the beach, just our immediate families. It was so magical." Fritz could tell by the way her eyes had glazed over that she was far away, standing next to Walter on that long-ago night, risking her heart for a fresh start.

"This was my wedding present," she said, waving her arms around, indicating the house. "Walter had a nice little bachelor pad, but not big enough for four additional people. And I could hardly wait to get out of our cramped apartment. So a couple of weeks before we got married we went to look at houses. He told me there was one not listed, and he drove here. I stood outside and said it was beautiful, but much too expensive, and then he handed me the keys."

"You know, men like him make the rest of us look bad."

"That's just the kind of guy he was. He loved to spoil me and the girls. They really loved him. They were wary, of course, since their father abandoned them. But he was patient, and slowly they came to see he wasn't going to leave. He adopted them a few years later, so he was their legal father."

She stood up went to the stove to fuss with the pots. "My kids hint that I should sell this place now that Walter's gone and get a smaller one. But I don't want to. I love this house and all the memories that live here. I'm not leaving until I am well into my dotage." She pulled out a bag of what looked like rice out of the cabinet and began to measure it.

Her back to Fritz, she said softly, "I'm sure you can figure out the rest of this story for yourself, Fritz, seeing that you have yet to meet Walter wandering around." She sighed, a deep sigh full of old, dusty pain, and turned around, leaning on the counter as she looked at him.

"Walter died two years ago, from pancreatic cancer. He only lived six months after he was diagnosed. By the time I accepted the idea he was sick, he was gone." Her voice quivered. Ibit. But he knew from experience that when you feel like a mess, pretend you have everything together, and eventually you find you aren't acting.

"I miss him terribly," she said softly, struggling to regain control of her voice. She looked at Fritz again. "You told me Brenda's mother had just passed, and she was in Atlanta comforting her father, is that correct?"

He nodded. He didn't know what to say in the face of such dignified grief.

Lily shook her head slowly. "I wish I could tell Brenda that it was going to get easier for her father, that she just needed to give him time. But that would be a lie. It just gets harder and harder, and the grief never seems to recede." She forced a smile. "Good thing for you, Fritz, is that you and Brenda are many decades away from having to go through that. I shouldn't be burdening you with an old person's grief you won't know, god willing, for a very long time." She turned to the sink and filled a pot with boiling water.

"I came close, Lily," Fritz said, his voice rough and barely recognizable to his own ears. His eyes became unfocused as those feelings of horror, the ones he tried to keep locked up, broke free of their prison. "Very recently, I almost lost Brenda." Her friendly kitchen suddenly felt cold.

Lily turned around at the change in his tone and silently rejoined him at the island. The grieving widow was gone, and was replaced by the therapist. "Fritz, what happened?"

And just like at the airport, he found himself spilling everything about Phillip Stroh and the night he almost took Brenda away. The more he spoke, the more horrified Lily looked. When he finished, she had both hands over her mouth, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Oh, Fritz, I am so sorry…I heard about that man on the news, I didn't realize…" she reached over and took a large sip of her wine. Just that moment, Alexis's high-pitched laughter, accompanied by Brenda's lower one, spilled into the kitchen from parts unknown. Lily turned her head towards and cocked her head. .

"Fritz, I don't mean to pry, but she seems so…together. She must be seeing someone to work through the trauma of this."

Fritz shook his head. "Nope. She absolutely refuses. I talked to her about it before she went to Atlanta and she went nuts. No offense, but Brenda doesn't like therapists."

"Why in the world not? Doesn't she realize she's most likely suffering from some PTSD from what happened?"

Fritz picked up a baby carrot destined for the salad and ate it. "Lily, if I tried to explain Brenda to you, we would be here all week. She is a very intense, complicated woman. She is also extremely private, and not terribly introspective. "

"So…she's fine?"

"Oh no, I didn't say that. She can barely stand to be in the apartment. Luckily, we're moving in ten days. When we come home I have to check the bathroom to make sure no one has crawled through the window. And the nightmares…" He rubbed his face with his hands, hating to even think about those late night visitors. "They are the most horrific things I've ever seen. The entire bed shakes, she practically screams, her arms and legs flying everywhere…" His stomach turned over at the memory. "I feel so sorry for her, because she's just terrified. It takes me five minutes to wake her up. So no, to answer your question, she's not fine." He hadn't meant to rant like that, but it felt so good to have someone to talk to. Jerry was sympathetic up to a point, but he had heard about Stroh so many times. He was not a big fan of Brenda to begin with. Fritz didn't think Jerry would really care to hear all the details about Brenda's tortured nights, or Fritz's concern about them. Male friendship does have its limits.

"I'm not surprised at all that she's having nightmares," Lily said. "We have to process terrifying experiences one way or another, and if she won't do it in her waking hours, her subconscious is going to do it when she's asleep." Lily stood up. "But this is something I actually think I can help with. Follow me."

She turned and walked through the doorway at the end of the kitchen, which Fritz had noticed and assumed it led to a pantry. It might have been a pantry at one time, or in a snowy climate it could have been a mud room, but Lily had turned it into something very different. It was about a quarter the size of the kitchen, with thick curtains over the windows to make the room dark. There were a few cabinets in the walls, and a low counter ran along one side of the room. In the center was a small square beat-up maple table with a mortar and pestle on it, along with several old-fashioned dark brown medicine bottles in various sizes.

The most fascinating thing about the small room, though, was that a couple dozen dried herbs were bundled and hung upside down from the ceiling. The effect made Fritz think of what an Elizabethan apothecary would have looked like. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the mingling of all the different dried herbs as they interwove in his nose.

"Lily, what is this room? And do you have a cauldron?"

"Of course Fritz, she answered mildly. "It's over there with my pointy hat and black cap." She slowly looked around her. "As you have probably deduced, being an FBI agent, this is my herb room." She walked over to one of the cabinets and opened it. Rows and rows of neatly labeled jars, all filled with various shades of plant material, were inside. "I've studied herbalism for, let's see, about twenty years now." She pulled out a mason jar, then moved to the next cupboard over and retrieved a couple more.

"You're an herbalist too? What did your husband think about that, being a doctor?"

One at a time, she sat the mason jars on the table and went to the other side of the room. "First of all, I don't consider myself an 'herbalist.' I don't practice. I just make things for myself and family and friends. And as far was Walter was concerned, he didn't care, because I'm not one of those people who believe Western medicine is some evil institution only out to make money, and you should use herbs and nothing else. That is utterly ridiculous. Herbs, and essential oils, as I am going to show you in a minute, do a very nice job fitting into crevices where Western medicine just can't reach. I like the term 'complementary medicine' best." She squatted in front of a small brown set of drawers and was pulling out tiny brown bottles.

"Now here is the part where you decide I am a batty old lady and you could have done something much more interesting with your Saturday." Her eyes sparkled as she started to unscrew the mason jar lids.

"Not if you tell me what you're doing."

She stopped and put her hands on the table. "You said Brenda is having nightmares, but won't get help. I have some great herbs that work really well for nightmares. A cup of tea before bedtime and this should keep the monsters at bay."

"Really?" Something natural that could ward off the monsters, it sounded perfect. Could he get Brenda to drink it? Out loud, he asked, "Are these safe?"

Lily nodded. "I am going to write down all the ingredients on the bag, so feel free to research the herbs and see for yourself." She pulled a measuring cup and bowl close to her. "I use…" she named each one as she scooped some out of the jar and into the bowl…"Hops, Passionflower, Skullcap, and, oh brace yourself, this one stinks, a pinch of Valerian."

"Yuk! Does it taste as bad as it smells?"

"Valerian couldn't possibly taste as bad as it smells. But none of these herbs taste good. That's why I add orange peel and cinnamon, to make the tea more or less palatable."

Fritz looked at the large amount of herbs in the bowl, and then at the marble mortar and pestle. "Are you going to grind all of those up using that?" he asked. "Because we might be here all night."

She shook her head. "Oh heaven's no. I'm not one of the witches from Macbeth, no 'boil, boil, toil and trouble' or me." She walked over to a cluttered area on the counter and came back with a large stainless steel coffee grinder. "This is so much more efficient."

"This room is like—" Fritz tried to think of the best way to describe it—"an 18th century apothecary meets the Food Network."

Lily stopped what she was doing and let loose with a deep, resonant laugh, similar to the way she guffawed at the airport when he told the story about Brenda eating Charlie's pot brownies. "Oh Fritz," she said after a few moments, gathering herself together, "I really needed that. These days I need regular reminders that despite the heartbreak in our lives, there are always wonderful things in the world." She picked up a jar of herbs and unscrewed the lid. "Like manic granddaughters. And new friends. And borderline sarcastic comments about your beloved herb room."

"But I wasn't …"

"Hush," Lily said. "Don't diminish a perfectly good chuckle by not letting me tease you."

"Alright then. Perfect moments are few and far between. Tease away."

...

"I don't think I've ever had Moroccan before," Brenda said, helping herself to more cous cous with roasted vegetables. "It's delicious, Lily. Is there any more beef tagine left and if so, do y'all mind passin' it?" Brenda eagerly held out her hand as Alexis passed a large covered dish.

"Oh, there's plenty, Brenda. I still cook like there are four other people in the house. Just make sure to leave room for dessert, or Alex will feel all her hard work went to waste," Lily said.

"Don't worry about that," Fritz answered, noticing Brenda's mouth was too full of spicy food to speak. "For Brenda, there's always room for dessert."

They were sitting on the back porch around a large glass table under a wooden overhang covered in vines. Although the evening had cooled off considerably, the large pool next to them still looked inviting.

"Alexis, your grandmother said you're going to come to California to college, is that right?" The girl had grown on Fritz, and her teenage enthusiasm seemed to enliven Brenda. She came out of Alexis' "interview" with cheeks glowing from laughter. She was in much better spirits than when he had dragged her out the door to drive to Lily's, when she acted like a tantruming child.

Alexis nodded eagerly. "Oh, for sure. Boston has tons of good colleges but I like LA soooo much better. Plus, I get to live with Gigi." With that, she shoved a sizable amount of food into her mouth, smirking.

Lily set down her fork, and with the universal expression one wears when preparing to have the same conversation for the thousandth time, said in a soft but firm voice, "Alexis, I am tired of discussing this with you. You are not going to live here."

Alexis swallowed her food and rested her chin on her fist, looking up at the sky, appearing bored. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. It's somehow really important for my personal development to live in a dorm room the size of a closet and have a roommate who will probably have her boyfriend spend the night all the time. Yeah, no thanks."

"Alexis, making friends in college is a huge part of the experience," Lily said. "It won't be the same if you're a commuter student. Trust me. The best time in my life was in college, mainly because of the people I met there."

"Gigi, do you want me to end up living in a commune stoned out of my brains most of the time and having bad acid trips as weekend entertainment? Cuz Gigi, you didn't make that sound like all that much fun." Alexis played with her braid and kept her eyes skyward, a smug look on her face. Fritz thought that Alexis was being very disrespectful. If I had spoken to my grandmother like that, he thought, I would have a red handprint on my cheek.

"Alexis Powers-Rosenthal! Watch your mouth in front of guests." Lily's voice was soft and slow, but with unmistakable hint of anger. "We will table this discussion until you get accepted into a college around here, in a year and a half. Until then, be polite!" Lily picked up her fork and resumed eating, but never took her steely gaze off her granddaughter.

"Sorry, Gigi," Alexis answered, eyes downcast. It was a testimony to how much the girl loved her grandmother that just a few sharp words could take the winds out of her sails.

Hoping to end the uncomfortable silence that followed, Fritz asked a subdued Alexis, "Do you have any idea what you're going to study when you go to college?"

Alexis straightened up and her usual eager expression reappeared. "Oh, yeah. I'm going do a double major in Graphic Design and Art. See, I'd rather just study Art, cuz that's what I'm good at and it's what I love, but my mother, Miss-hotshot-corporate-lawyer, keeps telling me I have to have something practical to fall back on. I'm really good with computers and have played around with designing websites, so it's all good."

"What kind of art?" Brenda asked. "Paintin'? Sculpture? Tell me it's not that weird performance art." Brenda sipped her wine and shuttered. "Cuz that's just awful."

"Nah, that's not real art," Alexis said. "I'm really good at drawing, and I've taking a couple painting classes and really got into it, and I want to learn more." She leaned in toward Brenda and Fritz, and whispered theatrically, "If I get to live here, I'm gonna ask Gigi if I can turn that old guesthouse—" she nodded towards a small, rundown building on the other side of the pool—"into a studio. Wouldn't that be cool?" She smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Whether out of surrender or out of graciousness toward her guests, Lily pretended not to hear.

"I guess some day can say we knew you when," Fritz teased.

Alexis got a look on her face like someone had just handed her keys to a Porsche. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and slapped her hand down on the table. Fritz noticed Brenda jumped at the noise.

"I can't believe I almost forgot!" Alexis said, pushing her chair back and almost knocking it over as she turned toward the house. "Wait here!"

Fritz wasn't sure where else they would go.

"Honey, we're in the middle of dinner, will you please…" Lily started, but Alexis was already back in the house. She turned to Brenda and Fritz. "I really don't know why I bother."

Brenda smiled. "She's adorable, and she loves you so much. It's sweet."

"It is sweet," Lily said. "She just drives me a little crazy sometimes."

"I was real close to my grandma too," Brenda said. "I spent almost every day at her house until I left for college. She understood me like no one else did. "

"There's something really nice about being a grandparent," Lily said. "You almost get a second chance to be a better parent with your grandkids, but you don't have all the burdens and responsibilities you did the first time around."

Alexis came trotting out through the sliding glass door, holding something flat in her hands, a few sizes bigger than a piece of paper. She walked over to Brenda and Fritz.

She placed the object, which Fritz now saw was two thin pieces of cardboard, on an empty space on the table.

"This," she said, with flourish, "is for you two." She took off the top piece of cardboard.

It was a drawing of Brenda and Fritz in the airport. They were holding each other Brenda's arms around Fritz's neck, staring intently. The likeness was remarkable. They were the center of the drawing and were in vivid colors; the maroon of Fritz's shirt blended with Brenda's red dress. Immediately around them, faces and bodies of fellow passengers can be seen, but the farther out from the center of the picture, the more indistinct and blurry the other people become, until they are only black and white squiggles. It looked like Brenda and Fritz had drawn all the attention from the artist and focused it on themselves, like a vortex.

It was magnificent.

"Alexis, did you do this?" Fritz asked, and then realizing he had just asked for a sarcastic teenage response, quickly added, "Of course you did. I'm just speechless. You have so much talent for someone your age. This is amazing!"

Brenda couldn't stop staring at the picture. "You drew us?" she said softly. "What made you want to draw us?" She finally dragged her eyes away from the artwork and looked the young girl.

Alexis shrugged. "Not to get all mushy or anything, and by the way this for you to keep, so I'm glad you like it, but I guess I drew you guys because I couldn't get you out of my mind. I kinda had to draw you." She looked embarrassed.

Fritz looked at Lily, who had her hands crossed and was watching the entire exchange with a knowing curiosity.

"What do you mean, 'you couldn't get us out of your mind?'" Asked Brenda. "Was that cuz we embarrassed ourselves by our public display of affection?"

"Nooo," Alexis answered, shrugging, and then like a snake sheds its skin, batted away her embarrassment and looked Fritz in the eye. "It's just that I never saw two people so into each other before."

---

"Shiva!" Fritz heard Brenda exclaim as he walked into the bedroom, holding a cup of Lily's tea. Brenda was lying on top of the bed in a tank top and underwear. He stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame, admiring her.

"Yes?"

"Remember the statue in Lily's yard, the guy with all the arms? The name just came to me. Shiva. The Destroyer." Brenda leaned back against the pillows and looked very pleased with herself.

"I don't think I would want a statue of 'the Destroyer' in my front lawn," he answered. "Seems like bad luck."

"You know what's real good luck?" she said. "Feedin' me four types of desserts. Givin' me offerin's of chocolate is a very, very good thing." She stretched, looking happy and relaxed.

"You're not a goddess," he said teasingly.

She pouted. " I could be," she said. "Especially if I ate desert like that every day. Yeah, I'd be feelin' pretty holy with all those sweets in me." She rolled over on her back and rubbed her tummy.

It indeed had been a wonderful dessert at Lily's. After dinner, Alexis had gone into the house to set up dessert in the dining room while Brenda helped Lily clear the table. Fritz enjoyed the twilight until Brenda's squeal of delight drew him inside.

Alexis stood at the head of a large rectangular dining room table, looking pleased. "Brenda, you mentioned tons of times on the plane you were all about chocolate, and when you took that Hershey's bar out of your purse, I thought you were gonna have a—" she caught her grandmother's glare and stopped herself. "Well, you just really seemed to be into chocolate. I like to bake, so I made a few different things. I hope you like."

Brenda liked. Generous leftovers of chocolate pie, peanut butter and chocolate brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and toffee bars with chocolate drizzles on top sat in their kitchen.

Now on their bed, Fritz could tell by the faraway look in Brenda's eyes that she was thinking about all those chocolate treats, laid out on Lily's beautiful china. Finally her unfocused eyes cleared and she looked at Fritz.

"Hey, whatchya got there?" she asked, nodding to the mug in Fritz's hand. He walked toward the bed and sat down next to her. She sat up.

"Tea," he said, "for you." He wondered if he could possibly spin Lily's tea this so Brenda would try it.

"Honey, I didn't ask you for any tea. Thanks, but I'm stuffed." She sniffed the mug in his hand. "What kind of tea is it? I don't recognize the smell."

Here goes nothing, Fritz thought. "Brenda, I need you to be as open-minded as possible. Can you try that for me?"

Brenda was instantly wary. She looked back and forth between the tea and Fritz. "Depends," she answered. "What am I openin' my mind to?"

"Something a little different." She shrugged and furrowed her brow, clearly confused. "Hear me out, will please?" She nodded slowly.

He set the mug on the side table. "Lily is an herbalist. Well, she doesn't call herself that because she doesn't treat people or have a business, but she's been studying herbs for 20 years."

"Good for her," Brenda said.

"Anyways," he said, ignoring her, "I mentioned to her you were having nightmares, and she…"

"Whoa," Brenda interrupted, holding out her hand in a "stop" gesture. "You told her about my bad dreams? Fritz, that is incredibly personal! Why in the world would you do that!" She was getting angry.

Deep cleansing breath. "I didn't mean to betray any trust, Brenda, but Lily's a therapist, and…"

"I don't care if she's the queen of England, Fritz, that's my personal business," Brenda snapped. "I can't believe you!" She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away from him.

Fritz shifted so he could see her better. She wasn't going to dodge him so easily. "Will you, for once, hear me out? Please Brenda?"

She frowned and said nothing. Fritz, realizing she wasn't going to engage him, said, "Lily took me into her herb room and mixed up a special tea for you, made out of herbs that ward off nightmares. I just Googled all of them, and they are completely safe, and have been used for sleep problems for a long time." Brenda just glowered.

"It's worth a try, Brenda. The herbs are safe, and at the very worst they will just make you sleepy." She still wouldn't look at him. "And she sent me home with a few other things too." Feeling a little desperate, he got up and walked to the chair where he draped the pants he had been wearing. He grabbed them and rooted through the pockets, pulling out a small brown bottle and a larger blue one. He walked back over to his wife.

"I think you'll like these," he said, trying to sound casual. She still wouldn't look at him, but now her face had taken on a reddish tinge, which usually indicated the buildup to an emotional explosion. Maybe if I keep talking she'll calm down, he thought.

"Lily made a couple thing with what she called essential oils. I guess it's what you get out of a plant when you crush it, and they're supposed to be helpful in a lot of conditions." He was rambling, but he didn't care. "This one," he held up the larger bottle, "is lavender. She said to spray it on your pillow and around the room before you go to bed." He shook the bottle and pumped the atomizer, and a fine mist came out. Maybe the lavender will bring Brenda down a notch before she explodes. "That smells nice," he said.

Nothing. Except now she was biting her lower lip. He continued.

"This other one has, let me see—" he squinted at the label— "has sandalwood, thyme, and lemon." He opened the smaller of the two bottles and sniffed. "I like the way this one smells too. Kind of woodsy, but like a lamb roast too." He got no response to his joke. "Lily said you rub a little bit of this under your nose and on your wrists before you got to bed. I gotta warn you, honey, I won't be responsible if I bite you again." He put his hand on her knee and she jerked away. He was starting to lose his patience. "Brenda, come on, look at me."

She turned her head and glared at him. "Did you tell Lily about Stroh?" she said, low and deadly.

He paused, toying with the truth, but deciding to practice what he preached. "Yeah, I did," he answered.

Brenda abruptly rolled over to the opposite side of the bed where Fritz wasn't sitting and crawled out. She turned to glare at him from across the room. "You had no right," she hissed. "That—event-was from my personal, private life. My life. Where do you get off—"

In a rising tide of anger, he cut her off. He stood up, pulse racing. "Our life, Brenda. Our life. When are you going to get it through your head that we what happens to you affects both of us?"

"Give me a break," she snapped. "You weren't the one Phillip Stroh attacked, Fritz. It wasn't you who was almost murdered six weeks ago. It was me. Not you. Me." A sob caught in her throat.

"And whose there with you in the middle of the night when you're freaking out, Brenda?" His heart started pounding. "Who's there with you when you relive Stroh's attack in your dreams, and you refuse to get any professional help? As usual, you just expect me to be there for you, to take care of you. Do you have any idea at all how terrifying your nightmares are to me?" His breathing was growing faster, and an ugly truth slipped out before he could stop it. "A small part of me was glad you went to Atlanta, because it meant I finally got to sleep without worrying if you were going to wake me up, screaming."

Brenda was looking at him now, the anger from earlier replace with a mixture of hurt and shame. "Oh," she said. "I, I didn't know you felt that way."

He realized he had said too much. His temper had gotten the best of him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that—"

She shook her head and interrupted him, the fury of a few minutes before drained from her "Tell me the truth, Fritz. Are you glad I'm back?" She looked at him tentatively, child-Brenda having chased off woman-Brenda.

He wanted to take back what he said, remove any insecurity he may have caused, but she needed to hear this. He ran his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "Oh Brenda, you know I am. I don't know how I could have made it clearer that I wanted you home. My point is that Philip Stroh happened to me too. He almost killed the person I love more than anything, and I take that very personally. And he's been affecting our marriage since you first became obsessed with him. Now I have a huge interest in addressing your nightmares, Brenda, because the place you go, the hell he takes you to-" he closed his eyes—"I have to go into that darkness and drag you back. And it's time to get creative, because I don't know how long either one of us can take this."

Brenda nodded slowly, her expression having morphed from righteous indignation to hurt to resolve, and she walked around the bed toward him. She didn't embrace him, though, as he had hoped, but instead reached over to the nightstand. She picked up the mug with one hand, it's contents lukewarm by now. She closed her eyes and took several large gulps.

"Holy crap, that tastes bad," she rasped, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "Thanks for all the honey you put in it, but jeez, it tastes like lawn clippings." Before he could answer, she swallowed the rest like a shot of hard liquor. She shuttered and set down he mug.

He was shocked. He stood there, watching her. "You drank it," he said," his voice questioning.

"Yup," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "I guess it was the least I could do." She crawled into bed, her face neutral. She looked down and saw the small bottles he had pulled out of his pocket lying next to her. "Now, which one of these so I rub on my skin, Fritz?"

Clearly knowing her the answer to her own question, she picked up the smaller of the two and opened it, smelling it cautiously. She grunted in approval and dabbed a bit of the contents on her wrists and under her nose. "Smells nice," she murmured with a yawn, then placed the bottles in her bedside drawer and settled under the blankets.

He remained standing, still watching her in wonder. He knew if he were waiting for an acknowledgement of her fragile mental state, or for her to admit she needed help, he would be there for a long, long time. Apologies were given out judiciously, and tonight one was unlikely. He learned he couldn't go into an argument with Brenda and expect to leave with any certain victories, like spoils from a war. You were grateful for what you got.

But she drank the tea. As awful as it must have tasted, as big a leap of faith it was for Brenda to hope a bunch of herbs could be a match for Stroh's nightly attacks, she drank the tea. She drank it to make him happy, yes, but mostly, he thought, it was her way of saying, "I'm trying."

He turned off the light got into bed next to her, noticing her eyes were already closed, and she pressed her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, finding her body warm and relaxed. She mumbled something unintelligible to him as he buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply the erotic woodiness of sandalwood, the innocence of the lavender, and the tang of the other herbs. Lily's scents must have captured him in their web, too, because he was asleep before he had a chance for start worrying, as he did nightly, if their sleep would be interrupted.

The next morning the air was hazy, and without the blinding morning sunlight he didn't wake up until almost 10am. He rolled over to check on Brenda, who was still sound asleep, lying on her stomach, a small pool of drool on her pillow.

Nine precious hours of sleep, pristine, unmolested sleep, was a gift beyond measure. Fritz smiled, quietly got out of bed, and went to his dresser in search of running clothes, feeling more well rested than he had in a long time. Whether it was Lily's concoctions, finally confronting Brenda about how her attack was affecting him, or a sense that maybe, just maybe, she had turned a corner, Fritz felt a wave of optimism he hadn't felt in quite a while. It had been so long I almost forgot what hope was, he thought. And I don't want to be that kind of person.

Sneaking quietly out of the bedroom and heading to the front door for his run, he thought, things really are going to get better. I feel it in my bones.

26 Days Earlier

Fritz was losing. Something was intent on dragging him from his dreams, and he was intent on staying where he was. It was a battle of wills, but the annoying noise finally forced Fritz into semi-consciousness. He grunted in irritation, but the mosquito-like buzz just grew louder, refusing to be swatted away.

Brenda's damn cell phone.

Like he had a hundred nights before, he swung an arm over to Brenda' side of the bed to wake her, disappointment bleeding into his mental fog. Like Pavlov's bell, the buzz of the cell phone induced a summons to a crime scene, then Brenda's disappearance for days, accompanied by an empty apartment and a heavy heart. An irrational thought formed in Fritz's brain: If I crushed the cell phone, she would never leave me. He was enjoying the mental image as his arm skimmed cool sheets where his wife's body should have been. She wasn't there.

The phone stopped for a minute, then started up again, indicating tenacious caller. In the pocket of those few seconds of silence, he realized it was his phone was ringing, not Brenda's. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and fumbled for his cell. He looked around his dark bedroom and his memory returned. Brenda doesn't work for Major Crimes any more, she's in Atlanta, and there's no crime scene. But who's call calling me at…he looked at the clock...five in the morning?

He squinted at the caller ID. For the second time in as many days, the call was coming from the Johnson's home in Atlanta. Fritz had no doubt who it was this time.

"Clay," he rasped, his voice rough with sleep. "Tell me Brenda's okay."

"Don't worry, she's fine, son." Clay sounded as tired as Fritz felt.

"Then why are you calling me at 5AM?" He made no attempt to hide his irritation.

"No, it's almost eight, oh, shoot, I forgot about the three hour time difference between Atlanta and LA." Clay sighed. "I'm sorry, Fritz. I didn't mean to wake you."

Fritz really hoped these morning calls from Clay were not going to become a habit.

"Brenda," Fritz said brusquely. "When we talked last night, she was really drunk. Did you happen to see her after 9 o'clock? I just want to know she's alright."

Clay sounded like he had aged 20 years since yesterday. "Oh, I saw her. Been checkin' on her all night long. I knew she was drunk, and I was so worried she'd have one of those horrible nightmares and fall out of bed and hurt herself or some such thing. I stuck my head in her room every couple of hours or so." He paused. "Damndest thing. I kept catching that dog of mine lying in bed next to her like she belonged there. Maybe Vickie scared off some demons, though, or it was the Jack Daniels, because Brenda slept like a baby."

"Oh good," Fritz breathed. "But if you don't mind we asking, if Brenda is fine, then why are you calling?" Hey lay back down, holding the phone to his ear. If I get Clay off the phone soon, he thought, I'll have two hours to sleep before I have to get up for work.

Clay cleared his throat. "She told me—" his voice faltered. "She told me what that man tried to do to her." Clay sounded like he could barely force the words out.

Fritz's irritation was replaced with sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Clay."

Surprisingly, he agreed. "So am I," he said. "But that's not what I called to talk to this morning, Fritz. I called to ask you something."

Fritz pulled a pillow over his head. "Clay, I told you yesterday, if you have questions you have to ask Brenda…"

"No, no, nothing like that," Clay said hurriedly. This is more man to man. I just have to know something, Fritz. How did you ever let her go?"

Now he had Fritz's attention. He took the pillow off of his head, surrendering fantasies of holding it over his face until he passed out just to end this phone call. "What do you mean, 'let her go?' And no one 'lets' Brenda do anything, she makes her own decisions."

Clay chuckled. "You're right son, Brenda would rip off my head if she heard me saying something like that. What I meant was—" Fritz heard him clearing his throat several times, and knew the older man was trying to hide his emotions. "How could you stand to have her out of your sight after what that man almost did to her?" His voice broke at the end.

Fritz sat up and crossed his legs. Now he understood what Clay was asking.

"I don't know, Clay," Fritz answered. "She practically had to use a crow bar to get out of my arms. I held on to her so tight after Stroh's attack."

"But you did," Clay prodded. "She came here a little over a week after that monster tried to kill her." His voice grew thin and tight when he said the word "kill." "And she's here for an entire month. How could you stand let her get on that plane? If it were Willie Rae…" Clay's voice faded off.

"It was so hard," Fritz said, with an honesty and vulnerability he never though he'd share with Clay. "It's still hard, every day, without her. I miss her so much, and I can't stop thinking about what could have happened. But the thing is, Clay, she wanted to spend time with you. She feels guilty for not having visited enough with Willie Rae, and she doesn't want to make the same mistake with you. And she's between jobs, so now's the time to do it. It's what she wanted, so as hard as it was to drive her to the airport three weeks ago, I kept telling myself being with you made her happy, and that mattered more than anything."

Clay was silent for a very long time, so long that Fritz started to drift off. Clay coughed and he jerked awake.

"Fritz Howard, you are a much better man than I am," Clay said softy. "And I hope Brenda knows that."

Fritz couldn't help but smile.

END CHAPTER 4

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