The Right Time (41 page)

“Sorry. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me grumbling to myself. Sharon was no help at all.”

“What happened?”

“She thinks I should talk to Art before I bother looking for anyone else. She’s certain that he’s the right kind of guy for me, but I can’t stand him. He irritates the shit out of me!”

“I wonder why she’s so sure he’s the right guy?”

“She probably doesn’t know anyone else.”

“Do you have his number?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you call him and talk to him? Maybe there’s a good reason Sharon’s urging you to try him out.”

Townsend rolled her eyes. “I knew that’s what you’d say, and I already did. We’re meeting at three o’clock. He said you should come, too.”

“I love a woman who can read my mind,” Hennessy said, smiling brightly.

“I can’t read your mind. You’re just totally predictable, and that’s not something you should be so damned proud of.”

When they walked into the same quiet diner Hennessy had chosen for breakfast, Townsend gave an unenthusiastic wave to a bearded, bespectacled, silver-haired, beret-wearing man who was sitting at a booth near the back. When they approached, Townsend said, “Hi, Art. This is Hennessy. Hennessy–Art.”

Hennessy extended her hand, and it was quickly enveloped in a large, muscular, callused one. “Hi, Hennessy. Have a seat.” Maybe Townsend hadn’t been kidding about people having a Vermont accent. Art definitely had one going, and it was very different from what she was used to hearing around Cambridge.

Art was probably in his fifties, although Hennessy couldn’t be sure. He looked quite a bit like a beatnik, or what Hennessy guessed a beatnik would look like from the pictures she’d seen of the Beat Generation writers. He also seemed like the kind of guy who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, something Townsend needed, but undoubtedly didn’t like.

A server, just as quick-moving as the one from that morning, came over and said, “Coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Hennessy said.

“How about a chocolate milkshake,” Townsend said. As the server left, she said, “I’ve been craving sugar all day.”

Art didn’t comment, he just stirred his coffee, carefully observing Townsend.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” she said. “I’ve had a bad week, and I need to get back on track.”

He gave her a neutral look. “I don’t want to talk about anything too personal right now. If I decide I can work with you, then we’ll go into detail. But right now, I want to get to know you a little bit. I want to see how serious you are about being sober.”

Hennessy could see Townsend’s hackles start to rise, but she didn’t say a word. There was nothing she could do to make this any easier, so she bided her time and sat back to observe.

“I’m very serious about staying sober,” Townsend said, her face turning a shade darker. “I’ve been sober for eight months. Or…I had been.” Her voice started to shake, and Hennessy could see her composure crumble. “I guess now I should say I’ve been sober for two days.”

“Uh-huh,” Art said, tossing his mostly gray ponytail over his shoulder. “I take it you had a slip.”

“A big one,” Townsend admitted, staring at the table.

“All right.” Turning to Hennessy, he asked, “How do you fit in here?”

“I’m Townsend’s…” She pressed her lips together, unsure of how to refer to them as a couple. Maybe that was the best term. “We’re a couple.”

“A couple, huh?” His mouth quirked into a grin, making one side of his mustache rise. “How long have you been together?”

“We met last June, and we’ve been…getting closer since August.”

“Forgive me for being blunt, but what does that mean? Are you lovers?”

“We’re courting,” Townsend said, giving Hennessy a fond glance. “We were waiting to have sex until I’ve been sober for a year…which I just fucked up.”

Art furrowed his brow, still gazing at Hennessy. “Math isn’t my thing, but doesn’t that mean you’ve been together ever since Townsend stopped…or tried to stop…drinking?”

“It does. We were together when she stopped.”

“Hennessy helped me stop,” Townsend said. “She’s the only good influence I’ve ever had in my life.”

Art gave Townsend a half-smile. “I guess everyone deserves one.”

“Hennessy’s mine,” Townsend said, a defiant tone to her voice.

“Uh-huh. Tell me something about yourself, Hennessy.”

“Well, I’m from South Carolina, and I’m in Boston going to school.”

“Do you have much experience in dealing with alcoholics?”

“Too much. Both of my parents are alcoholics. Neither has ever been in recovery.”

“Uh-huh. How about your past relationships? What kind of people have you been with?”

Clearly irritated, Townsend interjected, “Is Hennessy the one looking for a sponsor?”

“No,” Art said, his patient, laid-back demeanor obviously driving Townsend mad. “I need to see the whole picture.”

“I don’t mind talking about this,” Hennessy said. “Townsend’s the first person I’ve ever even kissed.”

This revelation didn’t seem to surprise Art, but then, nothing did. “So, a girl from an alcoholic home chooses an alcoholic to partner with. That’s a first.”

“Look,” Hennessy said, trying to stop her voice from sounding more like she was begging than chatting. “I know it looks like I’m following the usual pattern, but I’ve spent a lot of time in Al-Anon, and I’ve gotten back into it recently. I’m working with a sponsor now, and I think I can maintain my boundaries.”

Art took a sip of his coffee, waiting for their server to deliver tea and a milkshake. When she left, he leaned over and spoke quietly. “Everyone thinks that. Not many can, but everyone thinks they can.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Hennessy admitted, hating to be reminded of that fact.

“Now let’s talk about you,” Art said, turning to Townsend. “I’ve seen you at a lot of meetings, and I know you’ve heard the warning about not getting involved with anyone during your first year of sobriety. What makes you think you’re exempt?”

“I’m not exempt,” she snapped. “Hennessy and I knew each other while I was still drinking. It was a natural evolution. I didn’t get involved with her after I stopped—it was concurrent.”

“That doesn’t make it right, and that doesn’t make it good for you,” Art said bluntly.

“Yes, it does,” Townsend said. “I could never stay sober without her.”

Art was quiet for a moment. Then he looked from one woman to the other. “Good move. You were addicted to booze, now you’re addicted to her.”

“That’s ridiculous! Hennessy supports me. She’s always there for me, and she always urges me to do the right thing.”

“That would be fantastic if that was her role. If she was your sponsor or a counselor. But she’s not. She’s your girlfriend. And if you two break up—and you
will
—your sobriety goes with her. Does anything about that seem intelligent?”

“No,” Hennessy answered quietly.

“How could you say that?” Townsend glared at Hennessy for a second, before bursting into tears, sobbing so loudly that the only other patron, an older man who looked like he just wanted to be left alone, got up and took his bill to the cash register, stopping to give Townsend a sour look before he pushed on the door and exited.

Hennessy put her arm around her and murmured into her ear, “Art’s right. We shouldn’t have gotten involved when we did. I blame myself for that. I knew better—but I couldn’t resist.”

It was awfully tough to understand her while she was sobbing, but Hennessy thought she said, “So you regret being with me?”

“Of course I don’t. But we can’t act like this is an ideal situation. It’s not. I’m only trying to be honest. We have to be honest.”

“Do you love me?” Townsend asked, her voice shaking.

“I do. I always will,” Hennessy promised. “But that doesn’t mean everything will be smooth and easy. It’s going to be hard for us—and harder for you to stay sober because we’re together.”

Townsend buried her face against Hennessy’s shoulder and cried quietly while Art spoke. “You two have set this up in a pretty shitty way, but that doesn’t mean you’re doomed to failure. You probably are, of course. No sense in lying about that. You’ve made it much harder for yourselves, in every way.”

“I know that,” Hennessy said.

As Art looked at the still-sobbing Townsend for a few moments, Hennessy could see him soften. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, soft. “Look, I’ve made every mistake there is to make. I was a heroin addict, a drunk and a chronic dope smoker. It took me years to get all of my addictions in order, but I finally did.”

Townsend looked up, sniffling. “All of them?”

“All of them. Not all at once, but I haven’t done heroin in twenty years, had a drink for eighteen or smoked a joint for fifteen. I was a tough case, and I like to work with tough cases. I think you qualify.” He reached across the table and clamped his big hand onto her forearm. “Hennessy, why don’t you go for a walk? I want to talk to Townsend for a while.”

“Okay,” she said, prying Townsend’s fingers from her shirt. “Where should I meet you?”

Art cocked his head and looked at her for a moment. “Why don’t you come to the meeting with us? It’s at the VFW hall right down the street. It starts at five.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.” She leaned in and gave Townsend a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Stay strong.”

When Hennessy arrived, it was clear Townsend had been crying again. From the looks of her swollen eyes and mottled face, she probably hadn’t stopped in the last hour. Sitting down next to her, Hennessy slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Tough day, huh?”

“Very.” She leaned against her, then nuzzled her face against her neck, taking in a deep breath. “But I feel better now that you’re here.”

“I do, too.”

The meeting began and eventually it was Townsend’s turn to talk. “Hi, I’m Townsend, and I’m an alcoholic,” she began, her voice quieter and less confident than normal. “I had eight months of sobriety, but I had a major slip this week.” Her shoulders began to shake, and Hennessy put her arm around her again to encourage her to continue. “I feel like shit about it and about myself,” she added. “I was so sure that I had this figured out, but I don’t.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, until another woman reached over with some tissues. “Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d brought enough, but I underestimated how many tears I had stored up.

“Uhm…I’ve been thinking about what made me slip, and I think it was the same old thing.” She looked up at the crowd, each of whom was listening intently. “I felt invisible.” She said this quietly, so quietly Hennessy could barely hear her, but several heads in the room nodded in understanding.

“My mother is…famous and the headmaster of my school asked her to speak at my graduation.” She bit her lower lip and continued. “For the first time in my life, I’d started to feel good about something that
I’d
accomplished. I’ve always been proud of myself for getting kicked out of school, but this year being sober let me get off my ass and work, and it’s been great,” she admitted, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “It’s something I did for myself—only myself.” She took in and let out a massive breath. “Having my mother come to the school will make my graduation about her. I’ll disappear,” she said in a mere whisper.

Her shoulders started to shake, and Hennessy held onto her tightly. “I felt myself disappearing the other night, and no one…no one understood,” she choked out. “I was so alone, so scared…I couldn’t bear feeling that lonely. So, I did what I always do. I went to a bar and let a bunch of douchebags buy me drinks. The guys are vermin, but they’re consistent. They know what I want, and they’ll give it to me as long as I do my part. It’s a fucking sick bargain, but I can count on it, no matter what.” Her whole body shook, then she leaned back against Hennessy, muttering, “That’s it.”

Hennessy held her, letting her cry quietly as the next person started to speak. She’d let Townsend down. Not intentionally. Never intentionally. But the damage was the same. They couldn’t go on this way. They weren’t smart enough to navigate these waters. But every solution she thought of was awful. Just awful. She tightened her hold around Townsend’s frail shoulders. As bad as all the options were, they had to pick one. And live with it.