The Right Time

by Susan X Meagher

  “Will I ever be your equal?” Townsend asked, her warm voice tickling Hennessy’s ear and making goosebumps roll down her body.

  “Yes. You can be.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “It’ll just take some time.”

  “Can we be friends? I…I need to stay in touch,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “We can always be friends. I promise.” Hennessy leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Townsend’s cheek. “You’re my very good friend.”

  Townsend’s cell phone chirped and she gave it an annoyed look. “My limo’s here.”

  Hennessy picked up the larger of her bags and carried it down the path to the administration bungalow, the same spot they’d met just three months earlier. She hoisted the big bag into the trunk, waited for Townsend to load the smaller bag, then said, “I’ll write to you as soon as I get access to e-mail at school.”

  “That’s weeks from now!”

  Hennessy held up her hands. “I don’t have e-mail at home, and I won’t have time to go to the library.”

  “Everybody has e-mail. Everybody!”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then text me.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Townsend blinked at her, then shook her head. “Can I write to you? Snail mail? I’m…I’m worried about staying sober without you to talk to.”

  “Of course you can write to me.” She took the piece of paper that Townsend handed her and wrote down her address. “Write to me every day at the same time. Make it like an appointment. And whenever you feel stressed, go to a meeting. They’ve got them twenty-four hours a day in a big city like Boston. You’ve got to start relying on meetings to get you through this.”

  “I know, I know.” She was starting to sound desperate. “Can I call you?”

  “Oh, Townsend, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We wouldn’t have any privacy, and my family would want to know what was going on.”

  “I don’t think I can do this without you.” Townsend shook with tears.

  “I know that you can. I have complete confidence in you.” After placing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, she opened the door and urged her in. When the heavy door closed with a soft thunk, Townsend’s face was right at the glass, like a terrified animal being forcibly taken away. The image struck Hennessy like a blow. In just three short months she’d let a troubled girl get past every defense she’d taken so long to build up. But Townsend was inside—deep inside—and there wasn’t a single part of Hennessy that wanted to let her go.

  Chapter Eight

  Townsend checked the name of the dorm on a slip of paper she’d stuck in the back pocket of her jeans. Wigglesworth. Leave it to Hennessy to be in a dorm with a funny name.

  There was so much going on in the Yard, with dozens of people trying to maneuver a year’s worth of gear through narrow staircases, that she had to wait for an opening and then dash in, rushing up to the third floor so she didn’t get stuck behind a slow-moving flat-screen TV.

  Pausing in front of the door, Townsend checked her breath, ran her fingers through her hair, and fussed with her T-shirt to make sure it was straight. Her hand shook when she raised it to knock, so she added some extra power to make it sound confident.

  It must have sounded a little too confident. Hennessy flung the door open, looking like she expected the police to be standing there. “What in the world…” Surprise gave way to the biggest, brightest smile Townsend had ever seen on that pretty face. “I had no idea you were gonna have time to come by!” Hennessy’s arms settled around her shoulders and Townsend could barely resist the urge to snuggle up against her like a kitten.

  “I don’t have long. My car’s going to swing by at three. If I’m not on Mass Av on time, I’m going to have to walk to Vermont.” Pulling away from Hennessy’s hug, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder and fixed her shirt again. “My mother loves to make threats she never follows through on.”

  “Come on in,” Hennessy said, her voice filled with excitement. “I’ll show you my suite.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Townsend said, not taking her eyes off Hennessy’s face. It had only been a couple of weeks, but somehow she’d gotten prettier.

  “Look at the room,” Hennessy chided, tugging her inside by the sleeve. “A common room and three bedrooms. With a bath,” she added dramatically. They walked into a room with electronics, books, clothes, and partially unpacked suitcases all piled onto one bed, and another that looked like a monk had claimed it.

  “Let me guess,” Townsend said. “That one’s yours.”

  “Hard to fool you. This is a quad, but we decided to keep the big room as a common room. So Robyn and I are going to double up. But that’s fine with me, because she’s got stuff. Lots of stuff.”

  Hennessy’s desk had only a few pens and a thesaurus lying on it, alongside a small, framed, faded photo of a couple.

  “Your grandparents?” Townsend asked, picking it up.

  “Uh-huh. Their wedding day. Right after my granddaddy came back from Viet Nam.” Chuckling, she added, “They don’t take a lot of pictures.”

  “This is really nice,” Townsend said, watching Hennessy neaten the few effects she had. “This place will fit you just fine.”

  While her back was turned, Townsend looked her over. Her clothes were all wrong. Dark blue poplin slacks and a white golf shirt. Did she have a job already? Like in a restaurant or something? But then a protective streak raised her hackles. None of these little Ivy League shits had better make fun of her. Townsend wasn’t above knocking the stuffing out of a few future investment bankers.

  Moving closer, she put her hands on Hennessy’s hips, turned her, then looked directly into her eyes, seeing them grow wide with alarm. “You know what else would fit?”

  “No. What?” She looked a little slow when she spoke. Like her brain wasn’t firing at the right speed. That was a really good sign.

  “My lips would fit right…here.” Leaning in, she got so close she could feel Hennessy’s breath on her cheek, but before their lips met she was holding onto nothing but air. Somehow, Hennessy was now two feet away from her.

  “We don’t do that,” she chided. “We’re friends, remember?”

  Undeterred, Townsend moved toward her again. “Friends can kiss. I’ve done a lot more with people I know a lot less.”

  “Uh-huh.” Once again, she scampered away, avoiding Townsend’s grasp. “But that’s not what we do.”

  “Yet,” Townsend corrected. “We don’t do that yet. But we will soon. You told me so at camp. Let’s get going on that.”

  Moving around the room like a matador escaping a charging bull, Hennessy was once again just out of reach. But now she looked flustered, also a good sign. “I’m sure I said no such thing. Absolutely positive.”

  “Maybe not.” Guessing which direction Hennessy might choose, Townsend trapped her by the bed. They were inches from each other, so close she could smell her, could see the alarm in her eyes. “But you wouldn’t tell me you didn’t have feelings for me. That means you do. Since you do, let’s get going!”

  “That’s not going to happen.” The agitation drained from her eyes now that Hennessy was laying down rules. She loved rules more than anyone Townsend had ever met—and she’d had several run-ins with cops, prosecutors, and judges. “We’re strictly friends for the time being. I won’t be rushed.”

  Hennessy probably didn’t realize it, but getting that “time being” bit added was a point for Townsend’s side. This was going to be like wearing down a rock, but a persistent trickle of water would eventually get the job done. “Fine. I’ll respect your boundary, for the time being. Let’s get out of here and get a decent meal. I know just the place.”

  Hennessy blanched. “I get my meals here.”

  Shit! She probably didn’t have money for meals out. Townsend took her arm and pulled her to the door. “I’m buying. It’s a going away present—to myself. The food at my school
sucks.”

  The restaurant was light years past anything Hennessy had ever enjoyed. It probably wasn’t all that fancy, the servers just wore jeans and white shirts, but something about the place dripped with money, and being around a lot of money made her twitch.

  “This chef is into all of the sustainable food crap,” Townsend said dismissively. “But if you can get over knowing where your food grew up, it’s really good.”

  “I’ve always eaten food that grew up just outside my door.” Hennessy looked at the menu, seeing that everything was organic and locally sourced and sustainable. She also saw that the starters were ten or eleven dollars and entrees began at thirteen and climbed to twenty-five. For lunch! “Uhm…I’ll just have the native field greens with…chèvre.” Four years of French let her pronounce the word properly, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to choke down goat. But since it was the cheapest thing on the menu, she took the chance. She put the menu down, bristling with unease.

  Townsend raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. A perky young man came over to the table. “Hi. Can I get you started with a drink?” He took another look, then amended, “Tea, soda, mineral water?”

  “Mineral water,” Townsend said. “We’re ready to order, too.”

  “Great. What will you have?”

  She looked down at the menu. “We’ll split a few things. The rock crab and corn chowder, the grilled balsamic portobello, and the field greens.” She raised her eyes and winked at Hennessy. “Then the grilled chicken salad, the sauté of summer vegetables and the salmon spinach salad.” Meeting the server’s eyes, she added, “Bring the starters all together, then the entrees. Okay?”

  He nodded, then walked away with Hennessy staring after him. Slowly, she turned and met Townsend’s gaze. “This is…different for me.”

  “What is?”

  Townsend’s head tilted and the sun coming in through the window made the golden strands shimmer. Suddenly, Hennessy couldn’t talk. Couldn’t tell her how uncomfortable she was. She just shrugged. “Everything. Seeing you. Being in Boston. I can’t keep up.”

  Boldly reaching across the table to take her hand, Townsend simply smiled. That self-assured, “I’ve been in restaurants like this my whole life and I can afford anything that catches my fancy” smile. The one that only served to underscore the chasm that separated them. “We’re just having lunch. Friends do that, right?”

  “I guess they do. But I’ve never…” She sucked in a breath and decided to let it go. She could waste an hour worrying, or just enjoy being with Townsend.

  Their server bustled over with their salads. Hennessy looked down, relieved to see only white, fluffy cheese and some weeds that looked like the kinds of things that grew along the roadside back home. How did you charge ten dollars for what looked like dandelion greens? Poking at the salad with her fork, she took a bite, finding the salad peppery and fresh tasting. But ten dollars? She took another bite, relieved she wasn’t trying to get a big mouthful of goat down.

  The rest of the meal was more straightforward, with Hennessy recognizing all of the food, and knowing how to eat it. When they finished, she watched in awe and amazement as Townsend plunked down a bunch of twenties to settle the bill. Hennessy followed Townsend outside to stand on the busy sidewalk, having to bob and weave to escape being run down by the fast-moving Northerners. How would she ever get used to the pace?

  Townsend grasped her hand and they started back toward campus, but as soon as Hennessy realized Townsend wasn’t holding her hand just to stop her from being run over, she pulled it away. “You might hold hands with people all the time, but I don’t. We’re friends.”

  “But we might be more.” That sweet, determined smile graced those pretty lips and Hennessy couldn’t dispute her claim.

  “Might is the operative word. That means in the future and we need to focus on the present.”

  Sighing, Townsend shoved her hands into her back pockets. “Let’s cross over here. One of my favorite toy stores is on the next corner.”

  “Toys? Really?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said as she started to run across the street, expecting cars to just stop for her—which they did. Hennessy walked to the corner and stood in the crosswalk, with Townsend standing on the other side of the street, clucking like a chicken.

  Ignoring her jibes, Hennessy followed along as they threaded their way through the crowd. “Did you just get back to Boston today?”

  “Yeah. Weeks of nothing but AA meetings on the Vineyard,” Townsend said dismissively. “Did I tell you my mother hired someone to watch me? She called her a sober coach, but all she did was follow me around and stop me from robbing liquor stores.”

  Hennessy stopped on a dime. “Did you need—”

  “No!” Clearly annoyed, Townsend marched over to the store, peering into the windows packed with what looked like handmade toys and educational games.

  “Once your mom sees you can take care of yourself, she won’t be tempted to supervise. But why did you need someone? Isn’t your father home?”

  Townsend gave her a funny look. “He might be, but that wouldn’t do me any good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he lives in Switzerland.” She cocked her head. “You didn’t know that?”

  “No. You haven’t talked about him much.”

  Shrugging, she said, “I don’t talk about him much because I don’t see him much. He’s a nice guy, very likable, but…elusive.” Her smile showed a good measure of sadness. “He’s into arbitrage—”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Hennessy interrupted.

  “Me neither. Something to do with money. Anyway, he moved to Switzerland after they divorced.”

  “Oh, shoot, I didn’t know your parents were divorced. I’m sorry.”

  Townsend gave her a narrow-eyed gaze. “Why are you sorry?”

  Flustered, Hennessy said, “I don’t know. It’s hard to have your parents divorce, isn’t it?”

  “I was really young. Three or four. So I don’t have a lot of memories of him being around.” An impish smile covered her face. “I just remember him coming to town and bringing me here. He’d buy me anything.” Her smile grew impossibly wide. “I’d just point and he’d buy it.”

  Hennessy stood next to her, looking at the wealth of sturdy, smooth, wooden cars and trains and boats. What must it have been like to go into a toy store and get whatever she wanted? She couldn’t even imagine. Trying to put her thoughts into words, she saw that Townsend’s smile had faded.

  Her voice was soft and melancholy when she said, “We’d get home, and he and my mother would argue for an hour. Then he’d take off, with doors slamming and lots of cursing.” A hardness colored her voice, so contrary to her soft, fine features and delicate frame. “He treated me like a high-class hooker. I’d be super nice to him for an hour or two while he threw money at me. But I never got the whole night.”

  Hennessy didn’t say a word, mostly because she didn’t have words to show how sorry she felt for that confused little girl. Looking at the desolation in eyes that had been sparkling just a few minutes ago, she took Townsend’s hand and held it tenderly until they were back on campus. They weren’t girlfriends, but she needed to show she cared.

  An hour later, Hennessy stood on Mass Av, watching a big, dark car whisk Townsend away.

  Things had changed.

  Dramatically.

  Without the structure of camp, she had no idea where to draw the lines. And God knew they had to be drawn. Hennessy didn’t have the strength to keep running away from those grasping hands all year, especially when she knew it wouldn’t take long for the urge to run to abandon her completely.

  Chapter Nine

  Townsend scanned her ID card and stepped back, waiting for the heavy steel door to open. As she walked down the camera-monitored hall, she held a note pad over her face with, “Go Fuck Yourself” printed neatly in large, colorful letters. The drawing class she’d taken at The Academy was coming in ha
ndy. She’d be written up for insubordination for the stunt, but having a couple of perverts sitting in a control room watching every move you made gave her the creeps.

  Her “therapist” opened the door to the waiting room right on time. The diploma on the wall said she was a social worker, but Townsend guessed she was on some kind of work release program from a state prison. No one would voluntarily be out in the middle of nowhere, listening to a bunch of fucked up kids whine all day long. And no matter how often Mrs. Markham referred to their “therapeutic relationship,” everybody knew you couldn’t trust someone you were forced to confide in.

  “How has your week been?”

  Townsend tried to think of ways to describe the therapist. Frumpy, frazzled, distracted, deluded and disconnected were her current favorites. Sometimes, she spent her whole forty-five minute session trying to come up with five perfect adjectives to label her with.

  “Fine.” She’d gotten good at pasting on a bland smile. The less said, the better.

  Paging through a report, Mrs. Markham stopped and pushed up her heavy glasses. “It says here that you got into a fight? Tell me about that.”

  “Nothing to tell,” she said, still smiling. “It wasn’t a fight. Jason Dunbar and I were just playing around. Wrestling.”

  When she peered over the tops of her glasses, Mrs. Markham looked positively owlish. “He reported to the infirmary with a bloody nose and a split lip.” Pushing the glasses up again, she assessed Townsend for a few long moments.

  “Wrestling,” she insisted. “You know how it is. You start to play around and it can get out of hand.” It would have been kind of fun to tell her the truth. That Jason wanted to keep their old arrangement going—blow jobs for booze and grass. It was her mother’s fault she’d had to make the deal in the first place. She’d decided the way to stop Townsend’s alcoholism was to cut off her cash. For her entire junior year she’d had to charge everything. Supposedly, someone looked through the statements to make sure no liquor stores got in the mix. Jason was happy to step in to keep her supplied, but he was the kind of guy who had a tough time taking no for an answer. Townsend chuckled to herself, recalling the stunned look on his face when he’d tried to push her to the ground and she’d clocked him. She might look weak, but she damned well wasn’t going to be pushed around.