The Right Time (45 page)

“Huh.” Robyn fixed her with a puzzled look. “She seems really bright.”

“She is,” Hennessy said. “But her motivation comes and goes. I think it’s good now, but…” She shrugged and fell back onto her bed. She had no idea if Townsend was going to get straight A’s or blow the whole thing off and not graduate. Their connection had frayed to the point where she couldn’t even guess.

Hennessy shuffled along the path that led from her favorite library to her house, distractedly thinking about how she could manage a full night’s sleep while devoting at least fifteen hours to study the next day.

Something hit her in the side, and she snapped her attention to the right, seeing Townsend sitting on a set of stairs, getting ready to throw another rock.

“I imagined you might catch that,” she smirked, standing to approach Hennessy and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got myself convinced you’re superwoman.”

Hennessy dropped her backpack, the heavy bag making a loud “thump” when it hit the grass. Her arms wrapped around Townsend as her eyes closed. Townsend meant so much to her, she was outsized in her mind. Every time they touched after an absence, Hennessy was shocked again by how thin and insubstantial she was, as if a stiff breeze could carry her away. But when her warm, sweet breath warmed Hennessy’s neck, she grew, magically, to once again feel like the center of her world.

Townsend pushed gently, disentangling them. “Well, I did it,” she said, smiling proudly. “I graduated.”

Stunned, Hennessy stared at her. “How…?”

“I finished my last final this afternoon. It was multiple guess, and I convinced my teacher to grade it while I waited.” She laughed, her devilish side always nearby. “Fifty bucks buys a lot in that place. They must pay those people nothing!”

“Your graduation—”

“It’s on Sunday. I’m not going,” she said, clearly proud of herself. “Now we’ll see how the great Miranda Jameson Bartley deals with looking like an asswipe.”

“Why would she look bad?”

Townsend cocked her head. “What would you think if your graduation speaker’s kid didn’t show?”

“Oh. Right. I guess…” She shut her mouth, not wanting to reveal what she’d think. “So…? You’re back in Boston?”

“Uh-huh. I got a ride from a guy who goes to my AA meeting. I paid for gas.”

“So your mom doesn’t know?”

A very happy smile brightened her expression. “She knows jack shit. She’s coming from somewhere…” She pursed her lips in thought. “LA, maybe? Anyway, she won’t know I’m not there until she shows up.” The look on her face was so filled with pleasure that it turned Hennessy’s stomach.

“Uhm, I’ve got to get to bed. It’s finals week…like I told you in the note I wrote yesterday.”

“Yeah. Yeah. No problem. I’ll take off.”

Hennessy had no idea what to think. She couldn’t read her like she used to be able to. Townsend didn’t quite seem like herself, but it wasn’t clear what was different. Except that she didn’t seem all that interested in holding onto Hennessy.

“I’m only in Boston until Friday…”

“That’s cool. I’m gonna be busy.” She bumped Hennessy with a shoulder. “I found a therapist I like, thanks to you. We’ve been talking on the phone, but now that I’m back we’re going to meet twice a week—to start,” she added, sticking her tongue out like she’d been poisoned. “I’ve got two daily AA meetings planned, so I’ll be spilling my guts at some venue just about every minute.”

Clearly, Townsend wasn’t coming to camp. Nice of her to mention that. Her chest burned from swallowing her hurt, but Hennessy couldn’t let it out. They had to focus on the only thing that mattered. Townsend’s sobriety. Hennessy put her hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “That’s a good plan.”

“Yeah. We’ll see how it goes. Oh! I got into Larkspur. Just found out.”

“Larkspur?” She half closed her eyes, thinking. “Really small? Liberal arts focus?”

“That’s it. Six hundred students. They needed to upgrade their computer room, and my father’s check cleared just in time for them to offer me a spot.”

Hennessy felt like she’d throw up. Such momentous changes! And not one word about any of them had come before this moment.

“Well, I’d better go. I’ve got to convince a cab to drag my butt all the way to Weston.”

“Weston?”

“Where I grew up.” She let out a laugh. “You’re out of the loop, baby girl. Try to keep up!” Townsend placed a quick kiss on her cheek, picked up a surprisingly small suitcase and started to walk backward. “Take care of yourself, Hennessy. Drop me a line if you have a chance.” With a hearty wave, she turned and ran, her stride long and efficient, her bag swinging alongside as she moved.

Hennessy stood there, feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. She had no idea where they stood, or what she was supposed to do next. But she knew one thing: Townsend didn’t rely on her any more. And that felt like a baseball bat to the gut.

Dr. Morrow sat in her
rocking chair, moving it so slowly Townsend wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined the tiny creak the wide-plank pine floorboard made. A small notebook computer sat on her lap. Very twenty-first century for a woman who had to be in her sixties.

“My calendar tells me today’s your eighteenth birthday,” the doctor said, her careful tone never giving away whether she thought any fact was cause for celebration or suicide.

“How am I supposed to celebrate?” She gripped the arm of the sofa, compressing the nubby fabric into the padding, not stopping until she felt the reassuring solidness of the wooden frame. “With my friends? Don’t have any. My girlfriend? Since I can’t write to her when I really need to, that’s out. Or maybe my dutiful mother? Oh. That’s right. She’s on the Vineyard. Alone.”

“You could do something for yourself. Some way of commemorating how much progress you’ve made this year.”

Townsend scoffed.

A warm smile settled on Dr. Morrow’s thin but well-shaped lips, and her voice lowered as she said, “I know it’s hard sometimes to recall, but you’ve done great work this year, Townsend. You deserve some kind of treat, and giving one to yourself guarantees you’ll get what you want.”

“I want Hennessy,” she spat, just barely able to stop herself from leaping to her feet to throttle the woman. “I want to get on a plane and go to South Carolina this fucking afternoon.” She held up a hand to stop the canned response. “I know. If I give in to my urge to see her, it’s just a short step to giving into the urge to drink.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” the doctor replied. “I was going to say it might be a good idea to go down to the river and think about Hennessy. Or write her a letter. Just hold onto it for a day or two.”

“So I can read it to you, and you can tell me why I shouldn’t send it at all?” She leaned to the right, caught her chin in her hand and glared, balefully at the doctor. “I had more freedom when I was ten.”

“You had more freedom than you were capable of handling,” the doctor gently reminded her. “I know it’s slow going, but you’re learning boundaries now. Safe, secure boundaries.”

Townsend stared at her, trying to show with her expression how much bullshit she thought this all was. “You call them boundaries. I call them shackles.”

Hennessy struggled to carry her two duffle bags down the street, excitement making her short of breath. While she hated to leave Harvard Yard and her spacious suite in Wigglesworth, moving into a house, especially the house she’d truly hoped to get, had filled many a daydream.

From today on, she was a Lowellian. Smiling to herself, she thought of the conversation she’d had with Gramma. For the life of her, Gramma couldn’t understand why it meant so much to Hennessy to be in Lowell House. But trying to explain how cool it was going to be to have the Russian bells ring every Sunday afternoon, or how she was looking forward to Thursday afternoon tea with the housemaster, was a waste of time. Gramma would just think she was putting on airs, and Hennessy had to admit that was undoubtedly true. Much of the Harvard experience was separating them from their former lives and putting a big Crimson bow on them. And she loved it. She truly did.

She was about fifty feet from the big, stately red brick building when she found herself stopping to stare at the bell tower.

A voice called out, casual and slow. “Looks like you coulda used some help.” The soothing tone she’d thought of every single day was like a lover’s caress.

Townsend.

Hennessy’s gaze tracked the origin of the words, and there she was. Right in front of the building. But Hennessy couldn’t make her feet move. A tiny piece of her wanted to march right over and slap her in the face, really rattle her teeth. They’d corresponded so rarely, Hennessy found herself giving fewer and fewer details about her life, limiting herself to generalities about camp and the kids in her writing seminar. Townsend’s letters were infrequent, chatty, lighthearted missives. The type you’d send your grandmother. But she couldn’t resist Townsend’s lure, no matter how hurt she was.

“I had no idea you’d be here!” Hennessy dropped her bags and ran for her, wrapping her in such a tight hug Townsend grunted from the pain.

“Easy, baby girl,” she said, patting her. “I’m not wearing a Kevlar vest.”

Hennessy stood back and stared at her. “How’d you even know where to go?”

“You told me what house you got into last spring.” She tapped at her temple. “My memory’s shot, but I take notes about important things.” Her shirt had ridden up when she’d hugged Hennessy and she carefully settled it upon her hips. “I’m supposed to be at freshman orientation this weekend, but you know I don’t like to follow rules, so why learn ’em?”

Her brain started to catch up. To register that Townsend was actually in front of her, looking good enough to eat. “Larkspur College had better get ready. A tornado’s about to blow through town.”

“I’ll head up tonight. My mother’s actually going to drive me.” She said this with a certain amount of surprise, but Hennessy could see some pride mixed in there.

“That’s because she’s proud of you. And because you’re giving her tons of reasons to be.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” She picked up one of Hennessy’s bags, staggered a little under the weight, then headed for the entryway. “After we dump your stuff off, I’m going to buy you lunch, then head up to school. Who’s going to argue?”

“Not me. I’m starved, but even if I wasn’t, I’d never turn down a meal with you.”

They went to a place just as fancy and expensive as the spot they’d visited a whole year earlier. Hennessy was more comfortable in fancy places now, not that she’d ever choose them. The Shack would always be her kinda place. But she fit in better now, and actually looked like a Harvard student, jeans, T-shirt and running shoes. Expensive, brand-name ones. Well, they’d been expensive for the first woman who’d bought them. For her—just five bucks at Goodwill. A fresh pair of insoles and they were as good as new.

They sat down and Hennessy stole as many glances as she could. Negotiating the space between “courting” and whatever they were now doing was giving her fits. Townsend was wearing a spaghetti-strapped tank top, exposing remarkably toned arms. Even fairly casual friends would notice and comment on such a big change—go for it. “What in the heck have you been doing?” Hennessy asked, poking a muscle.