The Brink of Destruction

Billie's arm rested across my shoulders as we covered mile after mile of highway. City skylines had begun to give way to snow-blanketed pastures and big white farmhouses with rocking chair porches, smoke trailing from the chimneys. His voice rose and fell softly as he sketched out his dream of taking the band on the road, handing out demos and playing club shows, and as he spoke, his eyes twinkled and danced with excitement. It was as if it was already happening, and he was watching it unfold right in front of him.

The brownies had begun to work their magic, and the grey midday light on the snow shimmered ice blue and shadowy. Billie's voice was a river, carrying me smoothly along as it swept toward some restless ocean, and it seemed that as long as I listened to him talk, there was nothing to worry about, nothing at all. The thought of Mike in his twinkling suit of lights popped into my head, apropos of nothing, and a giggle slipped loose before I could stop it.

Billie glanced down at me, a curious grin lifting the corners of his mouth. "Doin' okay there, sport?"

"Mmm hmmm..." I murmured, snuggling against him. "I'm just really happy for you." And as I said it, I realized it was true. For the moment, it didn't matter what else was happening. It was enough that he was happy, and that we were together.

He lifted my fingers to his lips, and brushed my knuckles gently. "You're amazing," he said, his voice soft and low. "No matter what happens, you're always right there with me, pulling for me. No one's ever cared about me the way you do."

Jackie's haunting eyes floated into my memory. Yes, there was one other, I thought, but you don't know what she gave up for you, do you? But her secret wasn't mine to give away, no matter how much I wished he had known the truth.

The miles and the time slipped past, and soon we were pulling into my parents' driveway. Several other cars were parked haphazardly along the shoulder, and an old Chrysler that I recognized as my grandmother's sat almost defiantly right in front of the garage.

This would be an interesting Christmas, that much was certain.

My grandmother is one of those matriarchal Southern ladies who believe that you are no kind of person at all if you leave dishes in the sink overnight or wear white after Labor Day. Dating, she says, is only acceptable if the boy comes to the house to meet the girl's father first, and then only with another couple until the fifth or sixth date. Napkins go in laps, elbows at the sides, and so on, and so on. It was a classic case of "when worlds collide" in the making.

"Hang on a sec," Billie said. Quickly he ran around the front of the car and opened my door, and reached into the back seat to get both of our bags. I reached for my duffle, but he shot me a knowing look and shook his head, glancing toward the small group gathering on the porch. He was trying so hard, I thought, stifling a smile.

My parents were all open arms and big smiles, and my dad clapped Billie affectionately on the shoulder, taking the bags from him.

"Come on in, Bill, and let's sit down and have a cold one, what'cha say? You'll need it after you meet the family!" he chuckled, winking at me. He leaned close to kiss my cheek as they sidled by on the way inside. "Good to have you home, Peanut!" he grinned.

"Peanut!?" Billie mouthed mutely at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide in mock horror. I shot him a withering glance and stuck my tongue out at him.

My grandmother stood primly a few feet behind my mother, hands folded just so beneath her bosom. The burgundy wool suit and cream blouse she wore matched her conservative inch-heel crocodile pumps perfectly, and a garnet poinsettia brooch sparkled from her lapel, her only concession to festivity. Her thin face wrinkled into a forced smile as Billie held out his hand and introduced himself, but the expression never touched her eyes. She regarded him as if he were some strange insect, lingering over his tattoos, and as she withdrew her hand from his and he turned to make his way into the house, she casually reached into the pocket of her blazer and wiped her palm on a tissue. Nostrils flaring as if she'd caught a faint whiff of fart, she looked over at me, disapproval radiating from her in waves.

"Genesis, how lovely to see you again, darling," she crooned flatly. "And isn't it wonderful that you could bring your...friend with you. Has he any family of his own?"

This had to be a record. Less than two minutes, and my hackles were already up. "Yes, Grandma, he visited his mother last night and they had a wonderful time. Some of his brothers and sisters came home early, so he spent time with them, too. Thank you so much for asking." Why the hell was I even bothering to explain all this to her?

"Some, you say? I see, he must come from quite a large family. What a blessing," she sniffed sarcastically.

My mother sensed the tension building, and her eyes searched mine helplessly. "Mother, why don't we go inside and have some coffee since everyone's here now?" she offered, taking my grandmother's elbow and steering her gingerly toward the door.

"That sounds nice, Brenda. I'll make the coffee for you--yours tends to be a little strong, dear." As Grandma glided into the house like some mummified glamour star from the 1930's, my mom turned back to me, teeth gritted, eyes bulging.

"Two more days," she whispered frantically, "and if I can survive that long without taking an axe to somebody I'll consider it a happy holiday!"

Poor Mom. I hugged her, hard, and patted her back. "I'll cover for you," I told her. "Does she still play gin rummy?"

"Yes, with anyone who's willing to sit still long enough. You'd do that for me?" The relief spilled across her face like a beam of sunlight. It had been a long few days for her.

"I'll even ask her about her trip to Florida!" I suggested brightly, and in my current state of mind, it didn't sound as bad as it should have. Maybe Billie had brought some extra brownies with him and we could talk Grandma into one. Couldn't hurt...

There was a steady hum of conversation in the den, aunts, uncles, and cousins all gathered around Billie and talking to him at once. His eyes darted nervously from one strange face to another, trying to catch names and relations, but it was no use, they were ganging up on him in their excitement. To make things even more confusing, the television was on in the family room to entertain the younger children, and the mind-numbingly cheerful theme music from "Thomas the Tank Engine" drifted insanely through the open door.

He looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Billie?" I called, raising my voice slightly louder than the chaos. "Could you please help me carry the bags upstairs?"

Grateful emerald eyes smiled over at me, and his head jerked upward in acknowledgment. "It's so nice to meet all of you, but if you'll excuse me for a moment, I believe I'm being summoned!" he blurted, slithering through a gap in the wall of relatives and hurrying toward me.

His arm found its way around my waist. "Thanks, babe," he panted. "It was kind of getting scary in there." His forehead was glistening with sweat, and his hand on my side was shaking.

"Are you okay, Billie?" I asked, and I could feel my smile melting.

He nodded, grinning uncertainly. "Why don't I carry our stuff upstairs?" he asked, holding my eyes with his. I followed him to the door of my room, and held it open for him. He set the bags on my bed and wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Sorry about that," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Crowds kind of freak me out unless I'm behind my guitar."

"Don't worry about it. They shouldn't have acted like a flock of vultures."

"It's okay, they all seem really nice," he said kindly.

"Well, except Grandma Phyllis. She's anything but nice. Maybe if she'd leave the flying monkeys at home she'd be less scary. And my cousin Tara--well, you'll know who I'm talking about if you see her staring at you or trying to follow you into the bathroom. She's kind of a pest."

A grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "C'mere," he whispered, pulling me closer. "I want to tell you something. I love your family because I love you. And if they accept me, that'll be great. If not, I'll just sleep in the barn with the damned horses. But there's one thing you need to know. Tonight, after everyone's asleep, I'm gonna sneak into your room, and we're going to finish what we were doing before those idiots interrupted us this morning."

"Oh, you think all my little cousins are going to be sleeping on Christmas Eve, huh? Boy, you really haven't been around kids for a while, have you?" I laughed. "Besides, if Grandma catches you in here, she'll probably have the police haul your ass away!"

"Let 'em," he whispered, and his breath against my ear sent goosebumps down my arm. "It would be worth it." He touched my shoulders, and trailed his fingers lightly, so lightly, down my arms, while those smoldering eyes held mine so fiercely I couldn't look away.

My hand slipped around the back of his neck, almost of its own will, and pulled his face down to mine. As our lips found each other hungrily, I breathed him in like the fragrance of sun and open spaces, as if the warmth of his body were freedom itself. Softly, I moaned against his mouth, and when he pulled away, his eyes were blazing.

"Okay, I think we better take it easy before I forget there's anyone else in the house!" he whispered, his forehead against mine. His eyelids lowered, and he sighed. "You can't imagine how hard it was to say that."

Now that we had no privacy at all, I wanted him more than ever. Like so many things about him, it was dangerous, and he'd taught me how intoxicating danger could be, how addicting. And the high I was feeling had brought with it a delicious sensuality, every inch of my skin alive and craving his touch.

I watched in fascination as my hand slid down his chest, circled lazily on his belly, brushed his hip and curled, like a contented kitten, against the zipper of his jeans, the fabric there tight and hard against the backs of my fingers.

He inhaled sharply, catching my hand gently in his, and I looked up to find his eyes wide with surprise and...something else, something smoky and soft. His lids drifted closed as he pulled me tight against him, kissing my temples. His breath was hot and ragged, whispering into my ear.

"Do that again, and I don't care who sees us, I'm gonna throw you onto that frilly purple bedspread and make you scream so loud the neighbors will call the cops!" He pulled back, smiling down at me. "You really don't understand what you do to me, do you?" he chuckled. "You're driving me crazy, and I'm only human, you know!"

"Hm, I couldn't tell," I smirked, enjoying the frustration on his face just a little. "Okay, have it your way--but don't say I never gave you a chance to make the 'naughty' list!"

"Gen?" A tiny, chirpy voice made me jump, and I turned to see nine-year-old Tara peering around the door.

I looked at Billie, my mouth twisted in exasperation.

"See what I mean?"

"What's up, munchkin?" I said, giving Tara a hug. Her strawberry blond hair smelled like coconut, and she had painted her nails with clear glitter polish. I felt so old, remembering what it was like to be nine, and a surge of affection for her made me squeeze her a little tighter.

"Genny, what's your boyfriend's name?" she asked shyly, glancing around me.

"Tara, this is Billie Joe. Billie, this is my cousin, Tara. My very inquisitive cousin, I might add."

As though he were meeting royalty, he bowed low, took her tiny hand in his, and kissed her knuckles lightly. "Very pleased to meet you, Miss Tara," he said, his green eyes twinkling merrily. "Are you looking forward to anything special from Santa tonight?" he asked, winking at me.

Her shyness melted instantly. "Well, I've asked him for a Bratz doll and a new iPod, but what I'd really like is a puppy. Like a yellow lab, or a golden retriever. Or maybe a weenie dog. I like it when you put little sweaters on weenie dogs, I think it looks cute. And maybe some new boots. Not the ones like Aunt Brenda wears to the barn, but some pretty ones, so I can wear them with my plaid skirt..."

As she chattered on and on, Billie nodded and "hmmm"ed, trying not to laugh. Finally she stopped for a breath, and he took the opportunity to escape.

"Tell you what, Tara, why don't we go downstairs and get some hot chocolate to warm us up?" he suggested.

"Okay! I'll pour it for you!" she squeaked in delight, and her little feet pattered down the stairs.

"You've done it now," I said ominously. "She'll be stuck to you like your shadow until we leave. In fact, you may find her in the trunk of the car when we get home."

"Jealous?" he smirked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Hardly," I said. "Come on, it's time to face the hordes."

Most everyone had gathered in the kitchen, and the counter was spread with pies, candy, cheese, cookies, and every other snack imaginable. The spicy scent of Russian tea warmed the air, mixed with the aromas of hazlenut coffee and hot chocolate. Twenty different conversations were going on all at once, a steady thrum of noise broken occasionally by a shriek of childish laughter. Some kind person had turned off the TV in the family room, and now my mom's favorite Mannheim Steamroller Christmas album was playing from the stereo in the den.

Grandma Phyllis sat alone in the recliner, bony hands folded over her lap. Her eyes, hard and glittering as a crow's, flickered toward Billie and me, and she regarded us as if every thought in our minds was laid bare before her.

"Were you able to get settled, dear?" she asked in her dry-husk voice.

"Yes, Grandma, there wasn't much to carry."

"And where will your young gentleman friend be staying tonight?" she asked, the faintest trace of amusement playing on her lips. My stomach did a slow flip, anticipating trouble. Billie had planned to sleep on the sofa, and keep a lookout for little ones trying to catch Santa in the act, but I knew her judgmental mind would find some wrong in even that.

My mother's voice from behind me came as a blissful relief. "He's going to stay here, Mother, so he can keep the kids out of the presents until in the morning. It was so nice of him to volunteer for guard duty, don't you think?"

The old lady stared coolly at Billie for a moment. "Why yes, how gallant of him." Sarcasm dripped acid from her voice. "And perhaps he'll be able to avoid the temptation to unwrap any of the presents himself, hmm?"

Bitch.

Billie, in a rare display of self-control, took the remark in stride. "No worries there, Grandma Phyllis!" he said brightly. "I take pride in keeping Genny safe from harm, and I'm happy to do the same for your family. No Grinches allowed tonight!"

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be quite the picture of chivalry." She hooked withered fingers through the handle of her china coffee cup, and the thin lips pursed to take a careful sip. She looked like a fucking camel.

"Come on, let's put our presents under the tree," I whispered, tugging at his elbow. Out of earshot, I apologized profusely. "I don't know what her problem is, but please don't take her seriously. She's always been like this, to everyone in our family. It isn't you, I promise."

He snickered, clearly not the least bit upset. "Damn, I was hoping it was. I kind of like the idea that I might scare little old ladies."

"You might not want to tangle with this one. She can be vicious when you cross her, trust me." I tucked the last of the packages under the fragrant green branches and stood, wiping my hands on my jeans.

"I have no intention of crossing her. But I also won't have her treating the girl I love badly. And if she does, then I just might have to introduce her to a big bucket of water."

The mental picture was too sweet for words.