Christie Road

She lifted her head after a moment, looking up into the face of the person who had been her inspiration, her comfort, her best--and often only--friend. Inside her chest, her heart fluttered like a caged bird, and no matter how much she wanted to deny that it was because his arms circled her protectively, she knew it was true.

But the girlfriend...that changed everything.

All the tactics she'd learned over the last few years for bottling her feelings and stuffing them into the back of some dark closet came marching into her mind. Like unbidden drill sergeants, they ordered her emotions back to their coffins, commanded her breathing to return to normal, issued a directive for her heartbeat to slow, so that nothing would give her away.

"Thanks, Billie, I really appreciate your keeping these for me. It means more than you'll ever know," she said evenly, trying to keep her voice light.

He hoped the frown of confusion on his face was small enough that she hadn't seen it. Was he imagining it, or had the tiny crack in her sturdy shell just closed over again? Silently, he cursed himself for whatever he must have done to spook her. Maybe he shouldn't have hugged her, or held her hand. After all, they'd never gotten around to discussing whether or not she was involved with someone. He'd probably stepped across some line, unintentionally putting her in the awkward position of having to tell him she was committed.

"Oh, uh, I was glad to do it. No problem," he stammered, releasing her and stuffing his hands into his pockets nervously. "Just glad to be able to help."

Her smile reassured him he hadn't pissed her off, at least. "You seem to do a lot of that for me, don't you?"

"What?"

"Helping me. You've been doing that for as long as I can remember. Don't you think it's time I returned the favor?" she asked. "Look, where were you planning to stay tonight? And don't say a hotel, because I know you've got to be sick of them by now. It's your first night back on home turf, so Days Inn is not even an option."

He tried to think of something convincing, but he was a lousy liar. "Well, I--I thought maybe I'd--" She laid one hand across his mouth, shaking her head 'no' as she leered at him comically.

"You need a place to stay. I have a pull-out sofa. Problem solved. Now get your suitcase and come on in. We'll watch 'Scrubs' before I have to crash."

She didn't even give him time to answer. He stared after her, watching her take the steps two at a time to the landing outside her apartment. Turning toward him, she motioned him over. "Hurry up!" she called, laughing. "Unless you want to sleep in that big assed car and get mugged!"

He pulled the suitcase out of the trunk and up the steps, where she stood holding the door open for him. Inside, she had decorated in mostly lilac and soft green, tiny touches of pale yellow here and there for accent. It was calming and understated, just like her, and he found himself feeling strangely at home.

"You can put your bag over here," she said, pointing to an empty corner at the end of the sofa. "Just a second--I'll get you a pillow and some sheets."

He sank into a chair while she disappeared into the back, and looked around for hints about her life outside the 'zine. There were a few pictures of the Grand Canyon, matted and framed, and one of her with a group of people in front of the Luxor Hotel in Vegas. Chalk up one more zip code on her list of stopovers, he thought.

"Here you go," she said, setting a stack of sweet-smelling linens and a big, fluffy pillow on the end of the couch.

"Jazz, I really feel bad putting you out like this," he said, feeling guilty.

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him. "Look, after all the times I've leaned on you, how do you think it would make me feel to send you off with no place to go? For God's sake, Billie Joe, let me do something so I don't feel like the eternal damsel in distress, okay?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"Good. It's settled. Now what do you like for breakfast? I've got cereal, bagels, and...cereal. I know, so much for variety, but give me a break." She threw her hands in the air, rolling her eyes.

"No, no, that sounds fine! I love bagels!" he said, with more enthusiasm than he meant to.

"Yeah, right, you're a good sport. Anyway, there'll be coffee, too--I can not function without it. And I have to be out of here by 7:30, but you can sleep in. Just be sure to turn the lock when you go out." She looked around and her mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Not that there's much anyone would want to steal..."

"Can I at least give you a lift to work in the morning?" he asked. "Maybe you could sleep in a few extra minutes."

"No, it's okay, I'm really used to the walk. It does me good." She flexed her biceps, puffing out her cheeks, trying to make him laugh. "Seriously, you've done enough. Enough for...well, for forever, I'd say."

He should have left it alone, told her she was welcome, told her it was no trouble. But some insistent thing in the back of his mind just wouldn't let him.

"If I'd done enough, you never would have been out there by yourself," he said softly.

She sat down, curling catlike into the recliner. "What the hell are you talking about, Armstrong? Do you not remember who fed me and put clothes on my back, who kept his mouth shut so my dad wouldn't come dragging me back into that hell hole? What more do you think you could have done? It wasn't up to you to fix everything!"

"I could have come with you, at least until I made sure you had somewhere to live. But I didn't. I left you standing on that fucking sidewalk, and just drove away. You were just a kid, Jazz, and I left you all by yourself. I'll never forgive myself for that." It had to come out of him, it had festered for so long that he had to get it out. He had to ask her forgiveness, even if he couldn't give it to himself.

"You left me there because I lied to you and told you I was staying with my friend. How could you have known that wasn't true?"

"What I should have done was walk you to the door and make damn sure everything was kosher before I left. But I didn't," he said miserably.

"You weren't my guardian, Billie. You were only eighteen, and you had a life of your own."

"And you were only thirteen, and I knew better than to throw you to the dogs. I've relived that afternoon a thousand times, worried sick about what happened to you after that, knowing I might have prevented it."

"You also know what was happening right next door to you, and you did help to stop that," she reminded him. "Now stop beating yourself up, dammit!"

He was tortured despite everything she had said, haunted by something else he couldn't ask. The question was too hard, too cold. But it was tormenting him to madness, and he couldn't let it go.

"Billie, look at me," she pleaded. He raised his green eyes, knowing he was hiding nothing from her. "What do I have to say to you so you'll stop this? It wasn't your fault! Okay?"

He nodded half-heartedly, still looking unhappy. Sighing, she got up and sat down at his feet, reaching for his hands. "What is it? You might as well spill, because I'm going to sit right here until you tell me."

How could he describe the image that had woken him up all those nights, sweating and panting, wanting nothing more than to climb out his bedroom window and charge next door with a baseball bat?

Her pale, innocent eyes stared up at him until he squirmed under her gaze. She held his hands tightly, her thumbs brushing his knuckles reassuringly. "Whatever it is, it's okay," she told him. "Just say it."

His head fell back with a groan. "Jazz, I just---the one thing I was most afraid of, the thing I couldn't stand to think of, was-- God, you were so young, and so sweet, and if he-- If I knew that had happened..."

He tried to pull away from her, ashamed of the fresh pain he felt he had caused her, but she squeezed his hands tight and wouldn't let go. He didn't have to explain any further--she had understood in spite of his fumbling.

"No, Billie. No. That never happened. He flew into rages, he hit me and called me names, he threw me across the room...but not that. Not what you're thinking." She spoke low and steady, sensing how hard it had been for him to ask her this one thing. "Is that what's been eating at you?"

"Yeah. I mean, no, it was everything he did, all of it was horrible. But I just don't think I could bear knowing that that was happening while I was sitting fifty feet away in my room doing absolutely nothing about it. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, it does." She laid her head gently on his knee, closing her eyes. "I do wish one thing, though," she murmured.

"What's that?" he asked, stroking her hair as if he could undo all the pain, all the fear for her.

"I wish I'd known then that you were my guardian angel."