The Right Time (12 page)

“I think I’d recall,” she said dryly. “But, no. By my own choice, I never have.”

“Why?”

The warm, moist wind blew her inky black hair off her shoulders. Damned nice shoulders. Square and just the right width for her body. “Mainly because I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone from Beaufort.”

“What’s Beaufort?”

“My hometown. It’s a lovely place, in the heart of South Carolina, if you hadn’t guessed.”

Townsend reached over, grabbed her shoulder, and shook her. “Come on. You’ve really never been with anyone? Male or female?” A foxy smile curled her lips. Wherever Beaufort was, it was filled with blind people. Hennessy had to be the best looking girl in her school. Who wouldn’t try to bang her?

“Never. I come with a lot of baggage. No one of any quality would be caught dead with a Boudreaux, and I’m not gonna be with somebody who isn’t my equal.”

Again with the bullshit. Townsend noticed she didn’t say a thing about women, but she let that pass. The Chief obviously wasn’t going to spill the beans tonight. “But how do you deal with the need? You do have needs, don’t you?”

“Everyone has needs, but we’re not going to discuss how I handle mine. That’s your bailiwick. I’m sure your next essay will be an in-depth look at your masturbatory habits.”

Townsend slapped at the little table with the flat of her hand. “Ah hah! You do masturbate!”

“I said
you
did. That is, when you’re not picking up grimy-fingered, gasoline-scented women in bars.”

Her tone was teasing, and her smile gentle, but Hennessy’s words cut through Townsend like a scalpel. It felt like a cold wind had blown through, even though it was as hot and humid as it was every damned night. She tried to brush it off, but she couldn’t conceal her hurt. Hennessy was, as usual, ridiculously perceptive. Those big, blue eyes searched hers. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Biting her lip, Townsend nodded quickly, tears leaking out of her eyes.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
She didn’t want to let Hennessy see how easy it was to get inside to land a devastating punch.

Chafing her hand between her own, Hennessy soothed, “I’m sorry, Townsend. I was only teasing.”

“I know,” she sniffed. Then everything started to come out. Like a river that had overflowed its banks. No way to stop it. “It just…it makes me sick to think of doing that. If I hadn’t been drunk, I never would have let someone do that to me.” She lay her head down on the table and sobbed, all of her defenses obliterated. “I’m such a whore. No decent woman will ever want me. There’s not one virgin part of me left. I’ve been used up, and I’m not even seventeen.”

Stroking her back, Hennessy scooted close and whispered in her ear. “Have you ever truly been in love?”

“N…no. Never.”

“Then you’ll have something very, very special to share with someone someday. You’ll be able to give the woman you fall in love with your heart.”

She couldn’t pick her head up. There was no way she wanted to see the caring, sympathetic look Hennessy sometimes fixed her with. The words she spoke were probably total crap, but it felt so good to have her sitting close, her breast pressing against Townsend’s arm, sending electric zaps up and down her skin. Hennessy was a decent woman. Exactly the kind of person who’d rather cut off her hand than dirty it on her skanky self.

Townsend got it together and sat up. Longing for people like Hennessy was a huge waste of time. The best she’d ever do was another misfit like herself—broken and battered but good in bed. You had to go with your strengths. At least fucked-up women were usually good lays.

That annoyingly empathetic expression covered Hennessy’s face. “Want to get going?”

What she really meant was, “Want to have all of these people who are trying to appear normal stop staring at you?” but Townsend appreciated the offer.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

They walked back to the van in silence. A fairly tense silence while they tried to act like everything was normal. Back at the van, Townsend realized she wouldn’t be able to stand going all the way home just listening to the clock tick, so she yanked a question off her long list of things she wanted to know about Hennessy. She picked her spots, doling her questions out at a slow rate, not wanting to show how interested she really was. “You know, I’ve never asked what you’re going to do after camp’s over. I assume you’re going to college?”

“Yep. Sure am.”

“Where are you going?”

“Boston…well, Cambridge.”

“No fucking way!” She started to laugh. “You probably don’t know this, but only assholes say Cambridge. You’ve got to gut it up and tell the world you’re going to Harvard, Chief.”

Hennessy turned and gave her a slow smile. It was the first time she’d ever looked proud of herself. “Don’t act so surprised. Behind this syrupy Southern accent is a pretty sharp mind.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’re such a Southern girl it’s hard to picture you in New England. But, other than that, I can’t believe you’ll be in my home town!” A stab of longing hit her. “Of course, I’m there for about two weeks a year.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“I am
persona non grata
in Massachusetts, so I’m stuck in Vermont. I hate it, but all of the good private schools share their little bits of gossip and they’ve blackballed me.”

“They do that?”

“Yeah, they do.” Her skin prickled with heat, and she knew her cheeks were pink. No sense in hiding stuff now. This was clearly not the worst thing she’d ever admitted. “I’m not at a regular school.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying. What…?”

Looking down, Townsend quietly said, “I go to a therapeutic school. Reform school for rich kids.”

Hennessy blinked slowly, obviously not familiar with the concept.

“Everybody at my school is fucked up in one way or another. Drugs, alcohol, rage. Whatever would make a regular school throw you out.”

“Damn. That must be…”

“Yeah, it’s that. At least I’ll have AA meetings right on campus. I’ve been forced to go to ’em ever since I got there.” She let out a wicked laugh. “It’s gonna be weird going to one when I’m actually sober.”

A few seconds passed, with Hennessy fidgeting nervously in her seat. She clearly had something on her mind, but was having a hell of a time getting it out. Finally, she spoke quietly. “I hope you’re still sober then.”

Townsend reached over and slapped her on the leg. “Don’t be such a buzz kill. This is easier…a lot easier than I thought it’d be. One more year of reform school and I’m free. No more locked doors and nightly room inspections for me.”

The tiny smile she forced onto her face was the kind of look you gave a tone-deaf kid who said she wanted to be an opera singer. Such a fucking pessimist. “Do you want to go back to Boston when you graduate?”

“Oh, yeah. I love Boston. Vermont’s good for one thing—maple syrup.”

Townsend could see Hennessy’s confidence build back up. When she was making a pitch, she sat up taller and spoke with a remarkably charming amount of enthusiasm. “Then make that a goal. Impress the people at your current school so they’ll write you a good recommendation. Gossip goes both ways, you know.”

“I’m not familiar with that concept,” Townsend chuckled. “Besides, my mom would have to donate a dozen new buildings to get Harvard to let me in.”

“There are other schools in Boston. And no, I don’t mean MIT. You’re going to have to set some realistic goals. You know, my whole life revolves around goals, and they’ve given me the structure that I’ve needed to mature. I’m where I am today because of goals I set when I was fourteen.”

“Yeah, well, I do better free-stylin’.”

Glumly, her posture back to its normal affect, she said quietly, “Life happens to you. If you don’t try to make things go your way, you’re buffeted by the fates.”

“I’ll give that some serious thought, Hennessy. First chance I get.”

They parked near the admin bungalow, then started the longish walk back to Sandpiper. Hennessy took her walkie-talkie off her belt to tell Destiny they were back. What good did it do to be a model prisoner if you still had a bunch of people looking over your shoulder every minute?

Talking about her school and having to admit it was damned close to a minimum security prison had Townsend feeling pretty raw. She couldn’t let Hennessy know that, though. She’d spend an hour giving her a pep talk—and Townsend just didn’t have the stomach for many more of those.

The lights in the cabin were dim. It wasn’t even nine yet, and everyone was probably over in the rec bungalow watching TV. Townsend started to veer off to join them, but Hennessy said, “Come back to Sandpiper with me for a minute. I want to talk to you about something.”

She almost refused. You could only listen to so many “You can do anything you put your mind to” talks before you jumped off a bridge. But Hennessy was so damned kind it was impossible to refuse. If she wanted to waste her time feeding you bullshit, the least you could do was act like you were gobbling it down. She had a funny look on her face when they got to the door, like she couldn’t contain her excitement. As Townsend entered, all of her cabin mates jumped up and yelled, “Surprise!”

Hennessy was right at her side, beaming like a madman. “We’re a day early, but we wanted to celebrate our first birthday of the summer in style.” Her hand landed on Townsend’s shoulder and she pushed her gently. “Our little June Bug turns seventeen tomorrow.”

Stunned, Townsend looked at the table, where a homemade cake blazed with seventeen candles. Her name was written, inelegantly, in frosting—probably courtesy of her annoyingly thoughtful cabin leader. That damned Hennessy was beaming and the other girls were smiling and hugging her and wishing her a happy birthday.

It had been at least three years since anyone had gone out of their way to make a big deal about her birthday, and she was stuck for a few moments, not sure how to react. But everyone else looked so damned happy, so proud of themselves for organizing the party, that she just mimicked them. When she pasted a smile on her face, they all looked even happier. Maybe that was all you had to do to be—or at least look—normal. See what the most normal person around you did and copy them. That seemed too simple. But it couldn’t hurt to try, could it?

Living with alcoholics made
Hennessy as sensitive to mood changes as a farmer to the first signs of threatening weather. A dark cloud on the horizon might be nothing at all—or the start of a crop-killing storm.

When they left for the AA meeting that night, Townsend seemed…odd. Nervous or jumpy for sure. But also annoyed. Traffic was almost always bad at that time of night, and as car after car squeezed in front of them, Townsend demanded, “Will you hold your goddamned place? If you keep letting people in, we’ll be here forever.”

Hennessy gave her a quick look, seeing her face scrunched up in a sour snarl. Deciding to ignore the crack, she concentrated on her driving, hoping Townsend was just getting her period or something.

The usual crowd was at the meeting, now a core group of ten, with newcomers often dropping by to sample and see if it was right for them. Everyone was college aged or younger, but each kid was deep into the disease, with several of them at the meetings to satisfy some judicial decree.

Townsend had been using her own name for weeks now, even conforming to the first name only convention. Tonight, when it was her turn, she stood up, but kept her eyes to the floor. After nervously clearing her throat, she quietly said, “I’m Townsend, and I’m an alcoholic.”

Despite having claimed the disease in private, Townsend had been very reticent to speak those words at the meetings. She’d tossed off the statement a couple of times, but Hennessy’d thought she’d done it to blend in. It had never seemed sincere. Today, it was.

“I started drinking when I was fourteen, and haven’t stopped. It started off slow.” She stopped, shook her head and corrected herself. “That’s not true. It was like a freight train, quickly building up speed until it could have blown through a brick wall.” She took in a long breath, with Hennessy’s heart starting to beat faster. Townsend had never been this honest about her drinking. Not even close.

“By the time I was fifteen, I was drinking every day after school. Then before school. Then during school. Nothing slowed me down. Not pills, not grass. Nothing took the place of alcohol.

“I’d be hanging out, with everyone getting fucked up on Oxy, or Perks. Everyone else would be out—drooling. But I still had to have a few drinks to get that”—her features were composed, but she seemed to struggle for the right word—”release.” Now she showed a faint smile. “I had to get that release.”

Hennessy’s stomach was doing flip-turns. Even though she’d known it was bad, she’d not truly known how bad it was.

“Last summer, my mother finally had enough. We summer on a small island, and she talked…or had her people talk to every shopkeeper and store. They all agreed to be on the lookout and not sell me alcohol, even if I could show ID.” Grimacing, she continued, “That was a mistake. Once I couldn’t buy my own, I had to beg, borrow, or steal.”

A fierce glower had transformed her face, making her look like the kind of person who could kill to get her fix. But that only lasted for a second. The facade was crumbling as soon as it was constructed.

“You don’t meet the nicest people while standing outside of a tourist bar at three a.m., but most of them are happy to get a sixteen-year-old girl lit if you offer them something they can’t refuse.”

Hennessy wanted to get up and take her in her arms. To soothe away the pain, the shame that suffused her features. But Townsend didn’t cry. Her voice didn’t even falter. It was rock-steady.

“I’m not sure why that was the trigger, but sinking that low ramped everything up. By the end of the summer, I’d hooked up with some local guys who kept me supplied. My mother didn’t notice I was shit-faced every single fucking day, but she finally paid attention when I gulped down a handful of pills one of the guys had stolen from a house he was supposed to be watching.” She paused. “You’ve really gotta be careful what sort of trash you let into your house.” After shaking her head, like she had to get herself back on track, she said, “Anyway, I didn’t know what kinda pills they were, but it turned out they were toxic when you took them with a shitload of vodka.” She’d been rolling along, like she was telling a story about a stranger. But slowly her voice grew quiet, and Hennessy saw every other person in the room lean forward to catch every word.