It had been five years since my wife died. I was stuck in a rut. It was as if my life had stalled the day Gina passed away. I was as emotionally healed as I would ever be, yet I lacked the will to go out and start anew. I worked, I came home. I slept, and then I headed back to work again the very next day. My life became a cycle. Rinse and repeat, ad infinitum.

Maybe that’s why I allowed Christie to get so close to me. I told myself I just needed the help, but had I thought it through, I would have realized it was more because I was sick of the silence. I was lonely, and just hearing her lilting laugh brightened my day.

My hands tremble now as recall how all of this began. It seemed so innocent at the time, but I can see now that no one is ever going believe that. I look at her lying next to me, so beautiful, and so serene in her repose. Surely, she doesn't consider what I've done to be so horrible. I will have to hold on to that feeling, and nurture it in her over the coming years. I owe her at least that, and perhaps very much more.

***

It was almost eight that evening when I heard the knock. It was a little late, but the sun doesn’t drop away until almost nine during the warm months, so I wasn’t completely shocked to see my neighbor’s daughter standing there when I opened the door.

“Hi, Mr. Butterfield,” she chirped in her lyrically sweet voice. I remember being instantly charmed by the nervous bounce in her step, and by the way she clasped her hands so tightly behind her back. She was full of energy and could barely contain herself, twisting on her slim hips in that wonderful dance of youth girls her age are so apt to do. Somehow, I doubt they even notice they’re doing it, but I assure you, the boys always do.

Christie was a beautiful girl. Her long, auburn hair hung down the center of her back in a cute French braid that must have been as practical for her as it was alluring to me. Her deep brown eyes were bright, and full of life as she gazed at me with a smile that lit up her face. Loose-fitting blue jeans, with flower patches sewn onto the thighs, covered her slim legs, and her pink blouse offered a delightful innocence by hiding the tender swell of her breasts under its light and billowy fit.

She was a girl at the most tender of ages, that sweet-sixteen, when she was becoming less a little girl and more a young woman with each passing day. Even then, I was taken aback. Women this close to the edge of ripeness usually seem overly child-like to me, but there was just something about her. Something that, despite her budding age, made her seem to be more a woman than a girl.

"Hi, Christie. What can I do for you?" I offered as her gaze met mine. Her brown eyes twinkled as a bashful smile appeared on her angelic face.

“Um, this is kind of embarrassing, but I need your help. Even with my mom working two jobs, things have gotten kind of tight at home. I know you've been alone since your wife passed away, so... I was thinking you might need some help around your place?"

I was silent for a heartbeat, trying to process her intent while her cheeks bunched up in an expectant smile. She was incredibly cute, and I did my best to repress a chuckle.

"What do you have in mind?"

Christie clearly sensed my good humor, and thus encouraged, her words spilled from her lips in a torrent of girlish excitement. "You know, like domestic stuff? I could clean your apartment for you, and do your laundry. I could even make you dinner at night so you'd have a hot meal when you came home. I do all that stuff at home already, so I'm sure you'd be happy with me."

I was surprised by her offer, but then I decided it wasn't much different than a boy offering to wash a car, or mow his neighbor's lawns. Young people tend to use the skills they already possess to make a few extra dollars. The real difference was that this kind of work would require her to be inside my place every day, especially if my dinner was included.

I doubted anyone her age would be willing to put that much effort into this kind of work, and I almost refused her out of hand. It was only the hopeful glint in her eyes that caused me to seriously consider it at all.

I sighed, trying to keep from crushing her high spirits with a condescending tone. "That's going to be a lot of work, Christie." I reasoned. "My apartment won't take much daily care, but just making dinner and straightening up will take time. How often do you plan on coming over?"

Christie nodded excitedly, obviously having fully considered the task. "I could be here for a couple hours after school, every day, Monday through Friday. You probably won't need me on the weekend. I would only ask for ten dollars a day. Please, Mr. Butterfield! I promise, you won't be sorry!"

"Ten dollars a day," I mused as the numbers added up in my head. "That's about two hundred a month, right? Wow. That works out to be a pretty big chunk of money."

"I know, Mr. Butterfield, but I promise I'll earn it. You won't be sorry." Christie pleaded with me, placing her hopes on me in a way I couldn't easily resist.

It was a lot of money for me to commit, but the more I thought about it, I realized that being here every day was a huge commitment for her as well. All things considered, the amount wasn't out of line for what she was offering to do.

It was a big decision, and Christie fidgeted uncomfortably as I thought it over. I honestly didn't think she could keep up her end for long, but even if she did, having her around every day appealed to me in a way I wasn't then ready to admit. Having made up my mind, I smiled at her and nodded my head. "Okay, Christie. It's a deal. When do you want to start?"

And that's how it all began.

***

The next few months passed innocently enough. Christie proved to be very dedicated to her duties and was a surprisingly good cook. This led to a few humorous conversations between us as she insisted I eat a healthier diet, and on her own, she began preparing my lunches for me.

Over those many weeks, I noticed she would not only do my laundry, but lay out my clothes for the next day. She suggested I grow a goatee, and encouraged subtle changes to the way I dressed and even to the cut of my hair. I began to rely on her more than I had on anyone since my wife passed away.

It wasn't until I was looking in the mirror one morning that I realized how much she had changed my life. She gave me something I sorely missed, and I found myself looking forward to coming home to her company, even more than I did the hot meals she prepared.

No, I was simply delighted to have her around. With her mother working nights, it wasn't long before she was having dinner with me, and staying into the evening to do her homework, or just to watch some TV. These nights lasted longer and longer, until she was spending some nights in my guest room.

Her mother was actually okay with all of this. The extra money she earned was a big help to them, and she even thanked me for being there when she couldn't be. She worried that Christie might get into trouble without someone around to look after her.

Well, mothers are always going to be protective. To me, Christie seemed to be a very mature and intelligent girl. It wasn't until months later that she brought up the subject of boys. By then, she and I had become quite comfortable around each other.

To say I felt attracted to her would be a gross understatement, but it wasn't sexual, per se'. Oh, I had noticed how beautiful she was. I mean, laws and society be damned, a healthy and happy sixteen-year-old girl will heat the blood of any man when she's around him enough.

I became enthralled by the subtle curves of her body, and the almost intoxicating grace with which she moved. I spent many hours enjoying the arch of her neck as she tipped her head, or the way her pajamas clung gently to her bottom.

While I couldn't quite make out the shape of her breasts, I could tell they were full and heavy. Knowing she didn't wear a bra under her pj's often had me sneaking a glimpse in hopes that her nipples might become hard enough to protrude through the flannel of her top. All that may have been so, but the thought of actually being sexually intimate with her hadn't truly entered my mind.

It was on just such a night when things began to change. Christie was dressed in her blue-striped, white flannel pajamas, and curled up on the other side of the couch.

She was unusually subdued that night. Not wanting to pry, I said nothing, but by the way she was fidgeting and biting her bottom lip, I could see that something was bothering her. It wasn't until almost ten before she suddenly sat up and crossed her legs. With her hands nestled into the nest created by her calves, she looked over at me with a timid, but equally determined look on her face.

"George, can I talk to you about something personal? I need some advice, and I don't know who else I can trust."

As we had done away with the formalities of our age difference long before, her using my given name didn't raise any alarms. Putting down my book, I looked over and saw a deep frustration and concern in her expressive eyes.

She sounded so serious, in fact, that my heart skipped a beat as I ran over the possibilities. "Sure, Christie," I responded cautiously. "You can ask me anything. What's the matter? You look worried."

Then, I almost gasped as the worst case tumbled through my mind. "Oh, my gosh, Christie! Please tell me you aren't pregnant!"

Christie's face blanched, and her eyes grew wide. "George! Oh, my God, no! I'm only sixteen! How could you even think that?"

"Oh, thank God," I replied with relief. "I'm sorry, really. It's just... Jesus, baby. You'll understand, someday."

Despite her irritation, Christie took a deep breath and seemed to relax.

"Well, I'm not pregnant. It's just the opposite," she finally said. "I've never had more than a kiss from a boy, so you don't need to worry about that happening anytime soon."

While I was relieved, I could see how hard this was for her to talk about. Her whole body seemed to droop, and she was wringing her hands in her lap. I'd already blown my first chance to be comforting, and like most men, I couldn't help doing it again. "Are you having feelings for other girls?"

"What? No! Oh, my God, George! Just stop, will you? You're not helping! Can you please just listen for a minute? I need advice, and I can't ask my mom about something like this."

No one on earth can cast a withering glare like a teenage girl, and I almost felt her annoyance burning a hole right through me. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." I quickly responded. "You just scared me a little. So, what's the problem?

"Really? You're scared I might be a lesbian? Would that really bother you?"

"What? No! That's up to you, I was talking about being pregnant."

"Oh, that, yeah. Well, you don't need to worry about that. I've never had sex. God, I've never even seen a guy's... Ugh! You know!"

Christie looked devastated, and I could see she was really struggling with all of this. Having twice blown my chance to be tactful, I then earned my man-card by doing it yet again.

"I assume you're telling me you are... feeling a need to see one, then? Is it a penis in general you're thinking about, or is there a specific boy connected to the one you're interested in?"

"George! Eww! Of course, I'm talking about a boy! This is totally not going the way I'd hoped! I feel like such an idiot!"

Her frustration was boiling over by then, and I couldn't help but laugh.

Fortunately. Christie was much more annoyed with me than hurt, and I tried my best to regain my composure. "I'm sorry, Christie, really. I shouldn't be laughing. May I ask who the lucky guy is?"

The frown she wore slowly slipped away and then she shook her head. "No, I'm not ready to say, yet. The thing is, I think he wants to have sex with me, I'm just not sure I'm ready for that. I mean, I want to, sure, but I haven't even really been held by a guy yet."

The previous air of humor evaporated as the seriousness of her concerns became apparent. Clearing my voice, I began again, this time with as mature a tone as I could manage.

"My first thought is, I think waiting would be your best choice. Sex is very serious, and rushing into it will only get you hurt. Other than that, I'm probably not the person you should be getting advice from. Can't you talk to your friends, or your mother about this?"

Christie just shook her head. "No. My mom would totally freak, and if I told my friends, it would be all over Facebook by the end of the week. I need a man's advice, and my father..." Her brown eyes began to tear up, and I remembered too late that her dad had left when she was very young. The realization that she truly had no one else to ask made my heart ache for her.

I was trapped, and I took a deep breath, knowing there was no way I could get out of answering her questions. "Okay, I get it. How can I help?"

Christie wiped the tears from her eyes, and then that hopeful smile once again lit up her face. "Do you think I'm pretty enough? I mean, I think he likes me, and I've tried everything to get his attention, but it's like he just won't talk to me the way I want him to."

Oh, God. How many times have I heard of a young woman not realizing how beautiful she was? Seeing her doubt herself like this broke my heart, and I reached out and took her hand in mine. "Oh, baby. You are stunningly beautiful. Never doubt that. If this boy doesn't see it, he's probably gay." Smiling at her, I squeezed her hand. To my relief, she smiled back.

"Thank you, George. Hearing you say that means a lot to me. I just wish I knew what to do. I'm so frustrated. Part of me would love to be with him now, not for sex, but just to know what it felt like to be held all night."

Knowing boys her age, I knew where something like that would probably lead. "That wouldn't be a good idea, sweetie." I told her softly. "Not unless it was with someone you trusted to respect you."

"Yeah, I know, but what if it was with someone I could trust? I mean, it would be okay then, right?"

Christie's excitement was gaining strength again, and I felt like I was walking into a trap as I cautiously answered. "I suppose, it might... if you were sure."

"Well, what if it was with you?"

I thought I'd been as shocked as I could be at the thought of her being pregnant, but this idea just floored me. I was speechless for a moment, but I finally choked out, "No, Christie, I don't think so. That's a really bad idea."

Showing her usual stubborn streak, Christie cast aside my protest. "Why? I'm only talking about sleeping, okay? I just want to know what it feels like to have a man next to me."

"Good lord, Christie." I said in exasperation, "I care for you, and I wish I could, but we can't. I could get into a world of trouble."

"Why? I'm mean, it's not like we're going to do anything, right? I'm not going to be naked, or anything, and if you sleep in the nude, it won't bother me."

"In the nude? Oh, hell no. I'd wear some sweat pants or something. You know, your mother would shit if she found out we were even talking about this."

"I know, but I won't tell. I swear! I just want to know what it's like. Please? Just this once, okay?"

I don't know what came over me. I'd like to think I simply gave in because of how desperate she seemed, but deep down, I knew I couldn't pass up the chance to have her that close to me. With a defeated nod. I agreed. "Fine, but just this one time, and you have to promise me, you'll never tell anyone about this."

Christie's smile beamed brightly, and she jumped up from the couch. "That's great! Thank you, George. You are the best! I'm going to go get ready for bed!"

I shook my head and watched hopelessly as she bounded out of the room. "Fuck, what the hell was I thinking?"

***

I was scared shitless by the time I made it to my bedroom. While it was true that in many states, sixteen is the legal age of consent, it wasn't in California. Here, a girl needed to be eighteen to agree to sex, or even to be seen nude by an adult.

Hell, she could strip naked and paint herself with butter, and I'd still...