Resurrection

by Karina Bliss

  “I’ll come too,” Seth offered. “Moss, take the hound for a run when you get home.”

  “Sure, but have I got time to pick up coffee and donuts first?”

  “I took the dog for a walk before I left,” Lily said.

  “In that case,” said Seth, “she’ll be good for another hour, if you two want to stop for breakfast somewhere.”

  “Takeout’s fine,” Moss said at the same time she blurted,

  “I’ve eaten.” And that wasn’t awkward at all.

  “Okay, then.” In battle mode, Dimity didn’t pick up the undercurrents. “We’ll see you guys later.”

  “What was the problem with the interview?” Lily asked when she’d locked the car and she and Moss were walking two blocks to the waterfront eateries.

  “The DJ was pissy we didn’t throw ourselves on Rage’s funeral pyre. He insulted us every way he could, and then told us T-Minus 6’s music was derivative crap. We did a walkout.”

  She shot him a sideways glance. “And you’re smiling?”

  “It had its moments.” As he recounted some of Seth and Jared’s one-liners, the constraint between them eased, only returning when they walked past a familiar beachfront restaurant. They’d eaten here after she’d farewelled the Spencer-Flemings.

  “The dog’s waiting,” she blurted, in case he was going to suggest stopping.

  “Didn’t you say you ate already?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Okay, then.”

  In silence, they continued to a coffee cart. She was filling the conversational void with inane observations about the weather as they retraced their steps to the car when Moss abruptly detoured down some concrete steps to the beach.

  “Fine, you talk,” she muttered, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. He was heading toward a bundle of towels partially hidden in the shadow of the pier. To her amazement, the bundle unfurled and stretched and became a person. How had he spotted that?

  From this distance, she couldn’t tell if they were male or female, young or old. Moss stopped a few feet away and began a conversation. She remembered he’d paid for their order, digging in his pocket for coins. Removing a twenty from her wallet, Lily followed him. She was fifty yards away when Moss went forward and offered his takeout coffee. The vagrant took it and threw it violently in his direction. The lid flew off, amber liquid arced across the sand. Showing his palms in a gesture of conciliation, Moss backed off.

  Okay, this was getting scary. Lily stopped. She was close enough now to see a scowling young face and long hair below the beanie, but couldn’t tell if the person was male or female.

  Catching sight of her, Moss walked over.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked.

  Ruefully, he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’m not the most trustworthy-looking guy.” The stitches and black eye combined with his leather jacket and boots made him look like a gang member. “She thinks the coffee is drugged.”

  A girl. Who was shrugging off the blanket and bundling her belongings as fast as she could. As she bent to tighten the strap, her baggy sweatshirt tightened over her belly and Lily suffered a shock. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Yeah,” said Moss grimly.

  “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know, she won’t talk to me. I offered her a ride to a drop-in center that can help her but all I’ve done is freak her out. She might accept cash if you have any.”

  “Yes.” She showed him the twenty.

  “I’m only spooking her so I’ll go stand on the boardwalk. Give her this business card with the money. It has the drop-in center’s details. And take these.” He held out his bag of donuts.

  Swapping them for her half-empty paper cup, Lily walked toward the girl, who was eyeing her with fear and suspicion.

  “Fuck off and leave me alone, bitch.”

  Lily stooped to pick up Moss’s empty takeout cup, which was rolling across the sand. “You heard of the band Rage?” she said as an opener. The band had been famous for twenty years.

  “What?”

  “Rage. That guy,” she pointed to Moss’s retreating back, “was on Zander Freedman’s reality show to find new musicians. He was chosen as the lead guitarist.”

  The girl looked after him, her expression intrigued, then shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I only want to give you cash and these donuts.” She held up the bag to show the coffee stand’s logo. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The girl scowled. “I have a knife, no one can hurt me.”

  “Good.” Lily tried again. “When is your baby due?”

  “None of your fucking business.” Viciously, she scratched her head under the hat. Lily felt her scalp prickle in sympathy. When had this child last had access to a shower?

  “What’s he doing, calling the cops while you keep me talking?” The girl returned to bundling her stuff, frantic now.

  Lily turned. “Moss,” she hollered. “Put your hands up where she can see them.”

  He obeyed without question.

  “That’s the guitarist’s name,” the girl conceded grudgingly.

  Thank God. She’d heard of him. “He was a teenage runaway too. He says there’s a drop-in center not far from here. You could have a shower,” she looked at the thin frame, “get a meal.”

  But the girl wasn’t listening. Face ashen, she dropped her bundle, staggered two steps toward the pier, doubled over and threw up.

  In seconds, Lily had dropped the empty cup and bag of donuts and was by her side, holding back her hair and murmuring reassurances. “A lot of women—” God, this child having a child “—have morning sickness. I’m sure this is scary, but it will be less scary if you let us help you.”

  The girl pushed her off and crawled under the pier. Moss had returned and stood a few feet away.

  “I know the people running the drop-in center,” he said calmly. “They don’t judge and they won’t turn you in. The same place helped me when I was running.”

  The girl spat a last mouthful into the sand. “You think I’m stupid? I’m not getting into a car with you.”

  “Good,” he approved, picking up the empty cup and donuts. “You’re thinking smart. What if Lily drove you and I stayed here?” He looked at Lily and she nodded. “She has a card for the drop-in center. You can watch her load the address into the GPS and see she’s going the right way.”

  The girl eased onto her haunches and stared out to sea. Instinct told Lily to stay very still. “Whatever,” she croaked at last.

  Moss retied her dropped bundle with a skill that verified his credentials, more than words ever could. Lily thought the girl relaxed her guard a little, watching him. Leaving it on the sand, he moved clear. Surely he could have carried it? But watching the teen clutch it to her slight frame as they trudged to the car, Lily understood. The bundle of belongings was the only security this teenager had.

  “What’s your name?” she asked tentatively.

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “Mine’s Lily.”

  Her new friend stood sullenly outside the car until Lily keyed their destination into her GPS, carefully checking it against the address on the card before climbing into the passenger seat.

  Moss said to the girl. “Ask for Kathy.” To Lily he added, “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you here.” He gestured to the bench seat fifty yards along the waterfront.

  She nodded.

  Her passenger spent the journey with her eyes glued to the GPS. Five minutes into the drive, Lily had to open the windows. “It’s hot today.”

  The girl scratched her head. “I know I stink.”

  “There’s a notepad and pen in the console.” Diplomatically, Lily changed the subject. “Rip out a sheet and I’ll give you my phone number.”

  “What, you think a ride makes you my friend or something? It doesn’t.”

  “I’m not doing this to be your friend. I’m doing it because i
n your situation I’d want someone doing it for me.”

  “Whatever.” But there was less hostility in her tone.

  “How long have you been living this way?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She got tenser as the ride progressed and so did Lily. What would she do if the girl ordered her to pull over? She couldn’t leave her now. Her mind raced with questions she knew better than to ask. What happened that you’re living rough? Why aren’t you living with your parents? What will you do when the baby comes?

  At last they reached their destination, a nondescript building notable only for its distant backdrop of the Hollywood sign.

  “You want me to come in with you?”

  “Whatever.”

  Lily got out of the car. A woman with a reassuring smile walked out to meet them when they were halfway to the entrance. “Moss phoned ahead. I’m Kathy,” she told Lily’s reluctant companion. “We’re not answerable to any governmental organization, nor do we have any obligation to notify them of your arrival. You’re safe here.”

  She received a jerk of the head in response.

  Kathy touched Lily’s elbow. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.” She led the way into the building, not looking to see if the teen followed. She did.

  Lily called, “Good luck,” but the girl didn’t glance back.

  Returning to the car she sat quietly for a moment, trying to process. Dee Dee’s parenting had been haphazard at best, but Lily and her sisters had food and shelter. Physical, if not emotional, security. Enough at least to give her the confidence to work toward a better life. To expect one.

  Moss had done that without encouragement of any kind.

  She was ashamed suddenly of her disappointment in him, of expecting him to give up all his secrets as though they were casual things. Telling him to trust his friends wouldn’t be enough to open doors he’d been forced to lock and bolt to survive. She’d looked at his rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle and dismissed it as immature, as selfish. Like Zander had once been, like Travis still was. With all Moss had been through he was just doing the best he could, learning as he went along. Like I am. Shaken, she returned to pick him up.

  When he climbed into the passenger seat, he took one look at her face and said quietly, “They know what they’re doing. If she’s ready to come in, they’ll help her.”

  She blinked hard, but tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. “I tried to give her my number but she wouldn’t take it.”

  “Gaining trust is a slow process.” With his thumb, he wiped away her tears. “You did great.”

  She resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his hand. “I didn’t know… At least, I knew, but I always think of homeless people as adults.” She gave a short, ragged laugh. “As though that makes their situation any less dire. But she was a kid, Moss.” Same as you were.

  “Yeah.” As if unable to help himself, he stroked her cheek, his fingers callused and incredibly gentle. Comforting.

  “You’re sure they’ll help her?”

  “Yeah, I send a lot—” He paused, dropped his hand. “You’re double-parked. Let’s go before we’re ticketed.”

  A hundred neurons fired in her brain at the same time. Drugs had nothing to do with his nighttime ramblings. “Is that what you do at night…go on patrol?”

  Clipping in his seatbelt, he said irritably, “It’s not a patrol. I walk around a couple nights a week, when I’m out clubbing anyway.”

  Her glasses had fogged up from her tears; she took them off and dried them. “Funny how all the clubs you go to are in areas where the homeless gather.”

  “I’m no saint,” he warned, “so get that idea right out of your head. You’ve picked me up drunk, and with women, all the time.”

  “You only pick up women after gigs,” she said, distracted. “It’s a reward system.”

  “What?”

  “Something you’ve earned,” she added impatiently. “People with our backgrounds find it hard to accept we’re lovable without working for it.” She’d read a lot of psych books this past year.

  “That’s bullshit.”

  But she wasn’t listening. “The black eye,” she exclaimed, as she put on her glasses. “Did that happen on patrol?”

  “Stop calling it a patrol,” he ordered. “There was a kid raging on methamphetamine.” Unconsciously he massaged around his eye. “He was a lot stronger than he looked.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me…and Dimity and Seth?”

  “Because it’s none of their business. It’s none of yours either.” An unfortunate side effect of the swelling going down was the return of his frown. “And they were right to be pissed. I shouldn’t have been caught unaware.”

  With her new understanding of his pathological reluctance to let anyone care about him, she said, “Whatever,” in the girl’s dismissive tone.

  His lips twitched. “I’ll phone the center later, see how she’s doing.”

  “Thank you.” She wanted to tease that smile wider. “So, are we like Batman and Robin now?”

  He did smile then, but wryly. “Sure, Robin. I noticed she was scratching her head a lot. Best stop at a drugstore on the way home. You’ll need lice shampoo and a nit comb.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maybe it was using the nit comb for a few days that made Lily look more closely in the mirror and decide she needed a trip to the hairdressers.

  “Are you taking your usual two hours?” she asked Moss, the next time she dropped him outside the gym. “I’m hoping to get a haircut across the road.” Because she was saving money, she hadn’t asked Dimity to recommend a stylist, and she’d always liked Solace’s breezy sandwich board: Yes, we can fit you in!

  Shouldering his gym bag, Moss glanced toward the salon. “Is this the nit thing?”

  A passing gym bunny detoured to give Lily a wider berth, checking Moss out at the same time. The swelling around his eye had gone down and the color had faded enough to simply make him look interesting.

  “No. And keep your voice down!”

  Two days after they’d picked up the runaway they knew her name was Tania and she was staying in the transitional housing facility attached to the drop-in center. Which was good, Moss reassured Lily. She was letting people help her. But not them. She was adamant she didn’t want visitors.

  “If it’s not nits,” his inside voice was loud enough to be heard in Topeka, “I’m guessing I don’t have to brace myself for a buzz cut?”

  “No buzz cut.”

  “Good, you have such pretty hair.” He looked uncomfortable after saying it, which made her self-conscious. She resisted the urge to clasp her hands together and toe the sidewalk with her sneaker.

  “Don’t feel you have to hurry,” he added. “I’ll wait.” He disappeared into the gym before she could thank him.

  Something had changed since their encounter with the teenage runaway, she thought as she crossed the road, and it wasn’t Moss. If anything his wariness had increased, despite her assurance that she’d say nothing of his night patrols to the others.

  Respect had crept into her liking for him. A lot of respect. She’d written him off as a player, and discovered there was more to his club-hopping than hedonism. She felt a tremendous relief that her reluctant attraction wasn’t as self-destructive as she’d feared.

  If she’d still been Stormy Hagen, with a taste for complex, difficult men, she might even have been interested in dating him. But if she’d learned anything over the past year it was that the emotional security she needed to thrive didn’t lie in hookups with rock stars.

  The salon was busy, but the receptionist assured her she’d be attended to within fifteen minutes and settled her on a squishy couch with a cappuccino. The clientele ranged in age from a tot clearly getting her first haircut while her mom tried to distract her with a picture book to an elderly lady having her hair ‘set’.

  Lily sipped her coffee and enjoyed the conversational hum of women temporarily released from their re
sponsibilities. She’d missed this.

  Once she was in the chair, the vivacious African-American manager, Gloria, came over for a consult. She suggested foils and caramel blond highlights.

  “As long as the base color’s brown, go for it,” Lily said.

  Thirty minutes later, a junior had folded her hair into a cascade of silver foils, and left her to ‘cook,’ with a stack of magazines to keep her entertained. She didn’t immediately open them, preferring to listen to the de facto counseling being offered by the stylists, which ranged from how best to cook pork ribs (long and slow was the consensus), to choosing the best telco (service beat price), and motivating a deadbeat boyfriend (don’t waste your energy. Move on).

  It had been almost a month since the scandal broke and she’d lifted her ban on print media after Dimity confirmed the press pack had moved on. But she’d forgotten that old magazines retired to hair salons and doctor’s offices to die.

  Discarding the first—a dieting periodical—she glanced at the second and met the lizard-eyed stare of Travis Calvert. The headline across his groin asked: “Is this guy the sleaziest man in rock?” Her horrified gaze stalled on an inset shot—a still from the sex tape. Taken from behind, it showed her kneeling naked before Travis, who sat on the bed, legs spread and a lascivious grin on his face, waiting for her mouth on him. The subheading sneered: “And is this the dumbest woman?”

  Instinctively she shoved it off her lap and the other magazines went with it, slithering onto the floor. But the image was an abomination burned into her brain. The salon chatter stopped.

  “Something wrong, honey?” Gloria called over the blowdryers. She was removing rollers from the gray curls of the elderly lady.

  Lily realized she’d risen to her feet. “My scalp is starting to burn a little.” She wanted to run out the door but she couldn’t. Her hair was a porcupine of foils.

  “Loretta,” Gloria chastised the junior. “Are you overcooking this woman?”

  “No, she has another five minutes.”

  “Are you allergic to chemicals, honey?”

  “I haven’t been.”

  “Let’s get it off now if you’re having trouble.”