Christie Road

If Ollie was expecting her youngest son to return home full of laughter and triumphant stories of the road, then she was to be somewhat disappointed. After bringing her two loads of laundry to wash, and spending an hour or so dutifully telling her the highlights of the tour (omitting, of course, many of the details that he was certain she would prefer not to know), Billie retreated to his room, the familiar thump of his stereo the only telltale sign that he was home again.

It was almost as if he had never been gone, she thought to herself with amused resignation.

She debated telling him that Lani had called only yesterday. The girl had spoken with Ollie for some time, confiding in her that things had not gone well for them when she joined them on the tour. In her usual, wise way, Ollie reserved judgment, knowing that there would be two versions of the story and that the truth probably lay somewhere between them. But it troubled her to know that Billie Joe had deceived his girlfriend in order to sow his wild oats with someone else, particularly someone he had just met. It wasn't like him to be so cavalier with a girl's feelings, and she wondered what could have happened to change his nature so much.

Lani had asked her when Billie was coming home, and it caught her a little off guard. She supposed it was no secret, but somehow she felt that if she gave the girl information--even something so innocuous as that--she'd be putting herself in the middle of a situation she didn't really know anything about. Still, in the end she had relented, but she compromised by adding that she didn't know how long he would be staying. It was true; he might very well decide that he wanted to spend a few days at Mike's house, comparing notes and catching up on his writing. But she knew her son, and knew that he was most likely to spend the next week sleeping, eating, and listening to music. After all, he was eighteen, and for all his success and bravado, a part of him was still very much a teenager.

Her hands were busy with the hundred motions of preparing dinner when she heard his door squeak open, and a moment later he slid into a chair at their battered kitchen table. She glanced at him over her shoulder, still slicing mushrooms for the lasagna she was making.

"So how does it feel to be back home?" she asked, savoring his presence after the long absence.

"It's good," he replied, popping the top of a soda. "I did miss you guys a lot, but it feels a little strange hanging around without anything to do. I guess it's just weird not being so rushed now, not having to constantly be going somewhere or hauling gear in and out of the van." He chuckled to himself. "Man, I don't care if I never see the inside of that van again!"

"Not exactly the Hilton, was it?" she agreed, and she smiled to herself, thinking of the surprise he had waiting for him. She had worried about his having to sleep on the cold floor for so many nights, and the week before he had come home, she had taken some of her savings and bought a new mattress for his bed, one of the best she could afford. There wasn't a lot she could do for him now that he was reaching adulthood, but she could feed him well, and make sure he was comfortable, and that was enough.

"Definitely," he laughed, and then his face grew more somber. "Hey, I was wondering if anybody had heard from Jasmine yet. When we were home for the break, I figured she'd have come back. I couldn't believe they hadn't even heard from her." His hands cupped the knobby glass salt shaker, turning it round and round on the table absently.

Ollie scooped up the mushrooms and dropped them into the big pan, and wiped her hands. She sighed heavily, and sat down with him at the table. "No, I wish there was better news, but they still don't know exactly where she is. They got a letter from her about two weeks ago, postmarked from La Jolla, and it said that she was living with a family somewhere near San Diego. But she said they were moving in a few days, and didn't say where."

"No return address?"

She shook her head. "We didn't expect one. And of course, they turned the letter over to the police, but there just weren't enough details for them to go on. They have her picture posted on the state police missing persons log, but I think if she doesn't want to be found, then it's pretty likely they won't have much luck."

"You already know what I think about that," Billie offered. "I know you didn't believe what I told you about her dad, but--" He stopped when Ollie held up her hand.

"No, you're right. I didn't want to think it could be true, and neither did Anna. But it was only a few days after you left that Helen came over to ask me if I could give her a ride to the grocery store, and I saw bruises on her arms that I'm sure he put there. He's a monster, Billie, and I shudder to think what that poor child must have been living with, to make her run away."

He gritted his teeth, remembering the frightened, trembling girl he had found in the woods near the tracks. He had tried to help her, to keep her safe, but had it been enough? Leaving for so long, knowing that she had not been truthful with him about where she would be staying--he told himself he had no choice, but in his heart, he felt he had walked away when she needed him most.

And then he had driven Lani away, hurting her and betraying her after she had tried so hard to make him happy. How, he wondered, was he any better than the bastard living next door? He didn't leave marks you could see, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had left scars on both their hearts.

"Billie?" his mother said, laying her hand gently on his arm. She saw the pain in his eyes, and knew there were demons tormenting him that she couldn't see, and might never understand.

"It's okay, Mom, I just think I need to take a walk and clear my head a little." He pushed his chair back, leaning toward her to squeeze her shoulders reassuringly. "I'll be back in a little while."

He was rushing for the front door, and she wanted to stop him, to ask what she could do to help him, but she already knew there was nothing. He had to fight this one out alone.

It had rained yesterday, and his sneakers were soaked through by the time he cleared the woods and came out at the railroad tracks. He squatted down on the rails and shook out a smoke, as he had done so many times before, staring down the gravel slope at nothing in particular. Something had changed, though, and the peace that usually settled over him here was eluding him. He wondered if being away for so long had destroyed the magic somehow, putting a chasm between himself and the refuge that he had always found.

He half expected to see Mike or Tre wander up. Despite all the time they'd been thrown together in such close quarters, they were still drawn to each other like brothers, and he had to think they were going through a sort of adrenaline withdrawal, just as he was.

It would help if there was something urgent that needed to be done, something to distract him from the thoughts that the booze and the girls and the sheer energy had kept at bay. But now there was time, and silence, and those were his enemies. Two faces kept swimming into his mind, both of them with hurt and accusing eyes, and he didn't know where to go to escape them.

His ass was aching from sitting on the rail, and he needed to move to have something to focus on that didn't make him cringe. Aimlessly he wandered back along the path into the woods, and his eyes were drawn to the spot where he had found Jasmine huddled behind the bush, blood trickling down her face from the rock he had angrily thrown into the forest. The memory burned, and he twisted his head away, trying to will the image out of his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he stared vacantly at the lush green undergrowth. He wished there were some way he could know if she were safe. He had resigned himself to the likelihood that he would never get the chance to ask her to forgive him. Maybe he didn't even deserve it. But if he could just be certain she hadn't fallen into a worse hell, at least he might be able to sleep without wondering about her.

His eyes were busy as he thought, and after a moment he realized he was looking at a path through the thick carpet of plants and vines. It had grown over a little, but had definitely been used recently. Following it hesitantly, he pushed aside the thin branches and stepped over roots that seemed to reach up to trip him. At last it curved around a low slope, and he was startled to see a small building, a shack really, that stood slightly off plumb among the trees.

He glanced around, making sure he wasn't trespassing on someone's property, but saw no signs except the diamond-shaped railroad company logo nailed above the door. Taking hold of the rusty handle, he pulled the door open, the hinges squealing protest.

It was dark inside, and motes of dust floated in the beam of light that pierced the dimness. The single room was tiny, but there was almost no dirt on the rough wooden floor or on the windowsills. The pot-bellied stove in the corner had a small stack of branches and twigs beside it, the open door revealing a heap of cinders.

His eye was drawn to the bunk, which was little more than a shallow box attached to the wall, and supported by thick legs. On it lay a grimy, tattered blanket, piled carelessly to one side. At the other end, the stuffed tarantula's legs dangled over the end of the bed, and beside it he saw a photograph, taken at Jasmine's birthday party, of himself, leaning over to kiss her blushing cheek.

The sleeping bag wasn't here. But she had been, and the thought of it made tears prick the corners of his eyes. He tried to imagine the lonely, frightened nights she had spent in this place, and where she might finally have decided to run. And as he stared at the mute evidence of her suffering, he realized two things.

She had left her youth behind with the toy she had loved so much. And then she had decided to leave him, too.