The Right Time (2 page)

The camp, set in one of the last unspoiled parts of Hilton Head Island, housed the campers in a number of spacious cabins, each designed to hold six girls and a cabin leader. They were typical for Hilton Head, with cedar siding and roofs that sloped down over the eaves. Each was set into stands of live oak, each tree tall, and old and draped with Spanish moss. The paths were lined with bark, and her steps made the damp cedar smell float up to her. When you mixed the scent with the swamp gas from low tide… She smiled, so happy to have that particular perfume tickling her nose, she would have skipped if she could have. But she didn’t want to get dirty after spending all that time trying to get clean.

When she rounded the bend, she spied Mary Ann, the owner of The Academy, talking with an elegant-looking woman. Mary Ann Harrison had been Hennessy’s biggest supporter since the day they’d met. She was good people, any way you looked at it.

Wealthy, independent and civic-minded, she’d inherited the acreage from her father, who’d gotten it from his father, who’d probably swindled it away from the Gullah people—whose ancestors, largely because of their isolation, had retained their language and customs much longer than any other slave community. She hated to think of the elder Mr. Harrison as a scoundrel, but the island had been a dirt-poor backwater until a few white folks had snatched up the land a couple of generations back and made it into a golfing resort. There were still black people on the island, of course, but nearly every one of them was cleaning houses or working in the restaurants. Her gramma always said land didn’t have any worth at all until a rich white man wanted it, and Hennessy had yet to see anything to make her doubt that.

But not all rich people were thieves, and Mary Ann was testament to that. She could have easily sat on her butt up in Charleston, her winter home. But she worked like a dog to keep The Academy perking all summer, always making sure a good portion of the spots were reserved for kids like Hennessy.

Mary Ann spotted her, and a big smile covered her face when she waved. Hennessy loped over and stood there for a second, always unsure if she should try to hug her. Luckily, Mary Ann wasn’t as unsure of herself, and she wrapped her in an embrace, then gave her a fond pat on the cheek. “Have you grown another foot?”

“Just a couple inches,” Hennessy said. “I think I’m finished now.”

Mary Ann put her arm around Hennessy and said, “Ms. Bartley, let me introduce you to the young woman who’ll be Townsend’s cabin leader. This is Hennessy Boudreaux.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hennessy said, sticking out her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” the woman said, her accent giving her away as being a Northeasterner. “Mary Ann assures me you can help get my limo back.” She took her chirping phone from her purse and scowled at it. “I have to leave in the next ten minutes or I’ll never make my flight.”

Instinctively, Hennessy stepped back, never one to jump into a situation she didn’t have figured out.

“We’ll be right back,” Mary Ann said, leading Hennessy toward the side of the building. When they were alone, she gentled her voice as she took another look towards the impatient woman. “I hate to dump this on you, but we’ve been trying to get Ms. Bartley’s girl out of the limo for a while now. I could have security drag her out, but that’s not the best way to start a good camp experience.”

Hennessy peered around the corner, seeing a big, black limo parked near the front of the building, the car running. “What’s going on? Why doesn’t the kid want to get out?”

“Other than the fact she doesn’t want to be here, I have no idea. She won’t talk—to me, at least. Are you up for using a little Southern charm on our guest?”

“Me?” Hennessy wanted to step back again, but the building prevented that. “If her own mother can’t talk her into it—”

“My guess is that Townsend would listen to a rock before her mother. Will you give it a try?”

“Well, I guess I can do better than a rock,” Hennessy said, peeking around the corner again. “It sure wouldn’t look good to have security drag her out.” She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I feel like Daniel going into the lion’s den, but I’ll take a stab at it.”

“Good girl,” Mary Ann said, patting her on the back. “I hope you can establish some kind of rapport with her, since she’s going to be in your cabin.”

Smiling, Hennessy said, “And here I was worried that kids would be so anxious to start they’d be scratching at the door already.”

“That’s the fun of camp,” Mary Ann said with false enthusiasm. “You never know what’s going to happen next.”

Townsend watched the limo driver flinch when she lit another match. The sulfur burned her nose, but she much preferred a match to a lighter. The whole experience of striking it to the pack and watching it flame dangerously hot for a few seconds gave her a very cheap thrill.

The driver looked like a smoker, too, but there was no way he could join her if she’d offered him one—which she wouldn’t, because he was a prick. A soft knock on the window made her turn to see the tall, skinny girl her mother and the warden had been talking to. Now that she was standing close, Townsend saw that she was really nice looking. Black hair, light eyes, and skin so dark someone should have barred her from the tanning salon. Oh, well, something had to kill you.

A motor buzzed softly as the window slid down. “Yes?” Townsend asked, trying to sound sweet.

“Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure. Come on in.” She flipped a switch and the doors all clicked open.

The girl slid in and sat there for a second as her pale eyes quickly scanned the car. “Your mom wants security to drag you out. They will, you know.”

“Let ’em. I’m not voluntarily walking into a prison.”

“Prison? You haven’t been to too many prisons if you think they look like this.”

“What’s your name?” She extended her hand. “I’m Townsend.”

“Hennessy. Hennessy Boudreaux.”

“Cute name. Sounds like something out of Faulkner.”

“Not hardly,” she said, smiling. “We’ve got about seven minutes. Sure I can’t talk you into going with me? Voluntarily?”

“I like to make an entrance.” Townsend took a long drag on her cigarette. “Want one?” She extended the pack.

“No, thanks.” She looked a little put-off, but Townsend could tell she was consciously trying to keep her expression neutral. The kid was obviously a narc. She probably got a few bucks for doing the warden’s dirty work. “What do you say? You’re going to be here for eight weeks. Do you really want to be the camper who everybody talks about the whole summer?”

“I will be anyway,” she said, trying to sound like she didn’t care. She cared a fuck-load, but she didn’t have any control over that. Once the other prisoners learned who her birth mother was they’d be all over her, asking the usual stupid questions about the books and the friggin’ movie.

“You don’t know that. Come on,” Hennessy said, her Southern accent so soft and sweet it was like she took a big lick off a hunk of cotton candy before she spoke. “Let’s go before any of the other campers get here.”

Townsend took a long drag and politely turned her head before she blew it out. Her eyes caught the driver’s, his gaze positively hateful. “Close the privacy window,” she demanded sharply. She continued to glare at him as he slowly toggled the switch, making the window close at a snail’s pace. He knew damned well she wasn’t going to be the one to tip him. “Prick,” she grumbled.

When she turned back, Hennessy’s eyes were nearly out of her head. Another sap. Too bad. It would have been nice to have had someone on her side. “Look,” she said, suddenly feeling very tired. “I’m not staying here. As soon as my birth mother takes off, that woman over there is going to sprain something trying to get me off this island. Trust me,” she said, leaning forward to gaze into Hennessy’s strikingly pretty eyes. Too bad she wasn’t up for partying. They could have had some fun until the next limo came to take her back to the airport. It’d be funny if her mom was still there. Townsend had this image of gliding past as her mother stood beyond the security checkpoint—unable to do a thing to stop her from going right back to Boston.

“I don’t know why you don’t want to be here, but I’m sure you have your reasons. If you’re going to leave, why not let your mom go and get this over with? The sooner she goes, the sooner you can, too.”

Townsend assessed her for a moment. She did have a decent point. Staying in the limo now was only annoying her mom, and she’d probably done enough of that for one day. “Okay. Do they sell cigarettes here?”

“Unless things have changed, there’s no camp store. Even if there was, they wouldn’t sell cigarettes.”

“Mmm. They should look into that. They could make a mint.” She grabbed her backpack, tapped on the window and blew the driver a kiss, then followed Hennessy out of the car.

Her mother walked over at a quick pace. Her meds must have been wearing off. “Happy?” she demanded. “You’ve embarrassed me, as usual, and almost made me late.”

“I’m reasonably happy.” She dropped the cigarette butt and ground it out with her foot. “Where should these fine people ship my dyke ass when they’re sick of me? Which should be in about…” She narrowed her eyes and did the math. “Two hours, give or take.”

Her mother looked to the warden, who’d averted her eyes, like she couldn’t stand to watch. Hennessy’d found something on the ground that caught her interest too. Wimps.

“I don’t know,” renowned writer and sub-par mother Miranda Bartley said, showing signs of defeat. “You certainly can’t be trusted in Boston, and the Martha’s Vineyard neighborhood association would put up blockades to keep you out.”

“Maybe I’ll follow you around Europe.”

Lines had formed around Miranda’s eyes. She looked tired too, or maybe she really did need a pill. “That sounds like a tremendous amount of fun, but I’ll pass. I suppose you’ll have to call your father to fetch you. It’s his turn.” She grasped the warden’s hand, shook it quickly, then started for the limo. “I’m very sorry for…everything,” she said before getting inside and closing the door. The car silently slipped away, sending up tiny clouds of dust as it drove out of sight.

“Now what?” Townsend asked.

“I need a minute with Hennessy,” the warden said, slipping an arm around the girl’s waist as she led her away.

Townsend watched them walk into the building, seeing how friendly they were. The damn warden and some gangly kid showed each other more affection than she ever got from her own mother. She took out another cigarette and lit it, sucking in a deep drag. The warden was probably a pedophile. Why else would you voluntarily hang out with a bunch of kids?

Mary Ann walked into her office, opened the small refrigerator by her desk and took out a bottle of sweet tea. “Would you like one?”

“I would.” Hennessy accepted the bottle, opened it and took a long slug. It wasn’t as good as Gramma made, but not many things were.

Mary Ann sat down behind her desk, a nice, old one her father had used. Watching her adjust her chair, then fussily reposition the desk set, made Hennessy feel like she’d come home.

The building was both the camp office and Mary Ann’s cabin. Hennessy had never seen a rich person’s summer lodge, but this was what she supposed one would look like. Rough-hewn walls and floors, braided rugs, a large red plaid sofa and a supple leather easy chair filled the main room, where they’d often sat and talked about camp and life. There were doors leading to a bedroom and bath, but Hennessy’d never seen those private spaces. Then there was this office, probably intended as a second bedroom—a place she’d rarely been. Being here now showed this wasn’t a social call. “Guess what I want to talk about?”

As always, Mary Ann was direct. Her hazel eyes were wide open, guileless. But they were also kind. Hennessy had never been afraid to tell her the truth, or to show her fears.

“Mmm…the weather?” She tried not to fidget, but it was tough to sit still when Mary Ann fixed you with her penetrating gaze.

“Right,” she said, laughing. “That little storm cloud out in the driveway.” Mary Ann took a sip of her drink, then frowned as she looked at the bottle. “My mother would be ashamed to know I paid good money for sweet tea that bad.”