“Maybe one day he will,” Townsend said, hoping with all her heart that he did.
Hennessy nodded, but she didn’t show much enthusiasm. “I hope so too.”
Back at the house, Hennessy said, “I looked up a few things on the internet before we came and found there was an AA meeting in downtown Beaufort. It’s at seven. Wanna go?”
“Uhm…yeah. I thought I could go without for a few days, but that’s the first step off the mountain. Let’s do it. There’ll be plenty of time to do all there is to do around here.”
Hennessy chuckled. “We could do all there is to do in a long weekend. I’m not here for excitement. I’m here to be myself.”
“And I’m here to learn more about your sweet self, so I’d say we’re in synch.”
Hennessy put a hand up to her face and took a sniff. “We’d better get this smell off, or no one will want to sit by us.”
“I can’t smell it any more,” Townsend said, sniffing all around her hands.
“It’s infused your nose. Let’s try the simplest ways first, then move up if we have to.”
They went into the kitchen and rubbed salt onto their hands, with Townsend saying, “I’ve paid a lot for a salt scrub. It never dawned on me to make my own.”
Hennessy’s brows rose. “Who’ve you paid to rub salt on you?”
Chuckling, Townsend said, “I have a feeling you don’t spend the day at the spa when your mother drags you to writing conferences.”
Hennessy nodded. “Good bet. If the salt doesn’t work, we’ll move on to baking soda.” Cocking her head, she said, “Will people rub that on you for money?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but if you pay enough, they’d probably rub you down with any substance you can name.”
By the time they pulled into the small Baptist church parking lot, Townsend had grown quiet. She seemed a little nervous, too, which was odd for her. They went in and found seats, and the meeting started a few minutes later. As soon as the speaker finished, Townsend raised her hand. Then she stood and said, “I’m Townsend, and I’m an alcoholic.”
The rest of the crowd welcomed her by name, then she gazed down at the floor and started to speak. “I started to drink when I was fourteen. The same day I had sex for the first time.” Her cheeks turned pink as Hennessy’s stomach flipped. This was new information.
“I’ve been screwing around with AA and other substance abuse programs ever since. Some of them were court-ordered, some of them things I just couldn’t get out of. But I was never serious about them.” Her gaze rose and she slowly let it pass over every other person. “Now I’m serious. I want to have a life. I want to be loved. I want to look forward to my life, not just try to dull the pain.”
Hennessy watched her struggle to keep talking. Anyone could see how uncomfortable she was in the spotlight, but she kept going.
“I finally got a sponsor this fall. My first,” she added, a touch of pride showing. “She’s been good for me. Really good. One thing she’s been pushing me to do is look at my patterns. God knows I’ve got a few.” Sighing, she continued. “When I feel invisible, I drink. The day that popular senior convinced me to have sex with him, I had to drink to go through with it. Doing something that should make you feel close, should let you feel intimate with someone, made me more invisible than I’d ever been. That was the start. It’s been downhill since,” she added quietly. “But I’m not going to keep going down.” Turning, her gaze locked on Hennessy. “I’m going to climb out of this mess. I’ve got a life that I’m going to start living. Sober,” she stressed, then dropped back into her chair, with silence filling the room for a few seconds.
“Thanks for sharing, Townsend,” the leader said. “Anyone else?”
Her head was spinning, but Hennessy tried to keep it together for Townsend. Watching her carefully, she saw no signs that Townsend wanted physical comfort. So Hennessy just listened to the rest of the members talk, trying to figure out what to say once they were alone.
As the end of the meeting, they all stood to chant, “Keep coming back. It works if you work it!” Then Townsend met Hennessy’s eyes and said, “I need to mingle for a minute.”
Townsend was the youngest person in the room by at least twenty years, and probably had more money on her than the other people combined, but she belonged there—maybe more than any other place on earth. Several people wanted a moment with her, and Hennessy grabbed a chair and watched. Townsend was unfailingly polite, friendly even to the men who looked like they only wanted the attention of a pretty young woman. Finally, the church hall was clear and Townsend walked back over. Once again, their eyes met and Townsend said, “Want to go talk?”
“Yeah. I think we should.”
When they got outside, Hennessy took Townsend’s hand and said, “Mind if I do this? I’ve become very fond of the way your hand feels in mine.”
“I’d like that,” she said, following Hennessy’s lead.
“How about a walk by the river? We’ve got a nice, new spot I’d like to show you.”
“You’re on.”
They were just a few blocks from the Beaufort River, but as they drew closer, the air got more and more briny, making her feel more centered.
They didn’t speak on their walk, but the silence wasn’t awkward for Hennessy. She liked to think things over, to have a good idea of what questions she wanted to ask well before she asked them. As they got to the water, the start of the new river walk filled her with pride. Given where Townsend was from, she’d probably think this was a little bit of nothing, but Hennessy didn’t let that thought dim her pleasure. It had taken a lot of effort to get the wide walk built and she was very thankful for it.
They sat on one of the swings that looked over the water, the salty aroma now filling her lungs. She’d always wanted a swing for the front porch, but had never had the nerve to bring it up. Frills like that weren’t something her family went in for. But she truly did love a good swing. You could rock back and forth while watching the slow-moving river amble along, and free your mind of nearly anything. “I’m about as happy as I get,” she heard herself say.
Townsend looked up at her and showed a warm grin. “You look it.” Discretely, she linked their hands and tucked them up against her leg. “I was afraid you’d be…upset or something about what I said in the meeting.”
“I am upset,” Hennessy said. They were right in public, on one of the most popular sites in Beaufort, but she didn’t let that stop her. She pulled her hand away and draped it around Townsend’s shoulders and hugged her tightly. “I’m very, very sad that you were so lonely at such a young age. I’d do anything to give you back those years.”
Peering at her in the dim moonlight, Townsend said, “You don’t think I’m a slut?”
“No,” she whispered, tears threatening to come. “I don’t. I truly don’t, Townsend. You were a lonely little girl, who didn’t know enough to stay away from boys who wanted to take advantage of you.”
“I was lonely,” she whispered. “So fucking lonely.”
Hennessy had a thousand questions. Why was such a clever, personable, wealthy girl so friendless? But she didn’t need to have all of her questions answered today. They’d learn everything they needed to know over time. “You’ll always have me,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to ever be lonely again.”
Townsend leaned her head to the side, resting on Hennessy’s shoulder. There were very few people out, given that it was late December and most South Carolinians thought it too darned cold to be sitting outdoors. Still, Hennessy checked out every person who walked by, hoping they weren’t customers, or friends of her family.
“I like it here,” Townsend said, scooting closer when the wind picked up. “I can sit here and reflect. I like that.”
“You do? Seriously?”
“I do.” She lifted her head and gazed at Hennessy for a moment. “I like being outside. Especially at night. It’s tranquilizing for me.”
“I’m glad to h
ear that, ’cause you’ve gotta make your own fun down here. It’s a good place for a person who likes quiet.” She gazed at Townsend for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a quiet loving woman.”
Her grin was too cute. “I’m getting there. Stumbling down the street, singing at full volume wasn’t really working for me. I thought I’d give the quiet life a try.” She leaned heavily onto Hennessy. “So far, so good.”
“I hope you come to like it,” Hennessy said. “’Cause this is right about my pace. Sluggish.”
They returned home at ten, closing time at the shack. “I’m going to go help clean up,” Hennessy said. “They’ll get home earlier that way.”
“We’ll both do it. I’ve never cleaned a kitchen—except for scrubbing the floors at camp. It’s time I learned.”
Hennessy stopped in her tracks and stared. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course. Your grandparents have been working all day. Jeez, Hennessy, how old are they?”
“They’re really not all that old. Gramma’s only 55, and Granddaddy will be 59 in January. They’re just tired.”
“Wow. That’s not very old. My mom’s 48. Hard to believe they’re only seven years apart.”
“Gramma has a lot of miles on her.” She paused, then decided to reveal what she’d been thinking. “You know, I love being able to go to Harvard, but I’m not there for the prestige. I need to make that degree work for me. I’m determined to earn enough to support my grandparents.”
“Fully support them?”
“Uh-huh. My granddaddy served in Viet Nam, and that was his last vacation. I don’t think my gramma has ever been outside South Carolina. Well, Georgia, but only around Savannah. All they do is work. I want them to have some time to enjoy life before they drop dead.”
“If that’s your dream, I know you’ll make it happen. And I’ll help.”
Later that night, after another round of trying to remove the smell of seafood from her body, Townsend emerged from the bathroom to find Hennessy putting her mattress onto the floor. “What’s going on, Chief?”
“You’re the guest, so you get to choose. Either the mattress on the floor, or the box spring. Try ’em both.”
“Let’s trade off. I’ll take the upper tonight, then tomorrow you can have it.”
“A logical solution. Good job.” Hennessy pulled a blanket over herself, and fluffed her pillow. “You know what I’m gonna do when I start to make a little money?”
“No, what?”
“I’m gonna buy myself a damned bed that’s long enough for my body. My feet have been hanging off the end since I was fourteen.”
“It’s almost too short for me,” Townsend chuckled. “I have a fantastic bed on the Vineyard. Maybe you’ll get to see it…or sleep in it sometime. Like…oh, I don’t know…spring break?”
“You’ve got two weeks worth of good behavior to get through before we discuss that again. Let’s see how things go.”
“How about a tiny, itsy, bitsy goodnight kiss? You gave your gramma and granddaddy one.”
“We’re kin,” Hennessy said, chuckling. “But seeing the smile on Gramma’s face when we cleaned the whole kitchen is worth a lot to me, so I’ll give you a teeny, tiny kiss as a thank you for working hard.” She sat up and placed a quick kiss on the top of Townsend’s head. “Thanks for everything. This has been one of the nicest days I’ve had in months.”
“Me, too.” Townsend smiled, feeling like her happiness was actually overflowing. “And I can hardly smell the fish anymore. It’s been a damned good day.”
She hadn’t told Hennessy this, but she’d been reading Southern novels to prepare for the trip. She hadn’t been able to find many books that were set in the area in the present day, so she’d picked from many eras; William Faulkner, Dorothy Allison, Flannery O’Connor, Pat Conroy and Eudora Welty’s words all rumbled through her head. The books all shared a certain sensibility, one that she didn’t find in Northern writers. A lingering sadness, maybe even a sense of defeat. That was stronger in the people who lived closer to the Civil War era, but even contemporary writing had a very dark, even depressive side.
She lay on the box spring, relishing her discomfort. Giving up creature comforts for Hennessy was no sacrifice at all. It was actually fun to work at being part of such an alien culture. By the end of her vacation, she fully expected to have a Southern accent. The only thing she’d have to avoid was Southern Comfort, but with Hennessy by her side, alcohol wasn’t even on her wish list.
Chapter Twelve
When Townsend opened her eyes the next morning, it took a while to realize she wasn’t dreaming. Her bed was small and hard, and the strangest smell seemed to infuse everything around her. Her mind cleared, then a smile formed when she rolled onto her side, seeing Hennessy lying on her back, gazing vacantly at the ceiling. “What’s going on in that pretty head?” Townsend asked.
Hennessy blinked, then turned and smiled. “Hi. Sleep well?”
“I must have since I don’t remember a thing. You look a little…something.”
“I’m always a little…something. Today I’m kicking around the idea of going to visit my mamma. It’s Christmas and all.”
“I’d be happy to go with you, if you want.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
The look on her face was so poignantly fragile, Townsend’s protective urges surged. “Of course not.”
A warning tone colored Hennessy’s voice. “It’s never fun. She always tries to get money, and when I refuse, she yells at me. I always end up in tears.”
“I’m good at drying tears,” Townsend assured her. “At least, I think I am. Wanna try me out?”
Hennessy gave her a half-smile, and nodded. “Let’s give it a whirl.”
They headed out to the “forgotten part of the county” as Hennessy put it, and Townsend couldn’t begin to dispute her claim. Hennessy’s family was poor but proud, but these people had lost their pride, probably generations before. Townsend thought she’d seen poverty in the rough parts of Boston, but this was a whole new animal. Houses that hadn’t been painted since the day they were built—fifty years ago. Roofs half off, some with blue tarps crudely tacked down to keep the rain out. A couple of broken cinder blocks in place of front steps. More cardboard or plywood than glass in the windows. Kids toys, mostly broken, lying in the front yards. And, saddest of all, the occasional kid, alone, sitting on the barren ground, staring at the car like he’d rarely seen another human soul. If you tried to leave your three-year-old out in the front yard in Boston, the police would be banging down your door before you got back inside. But no one was calling the cops out here. The cops probably crossed this place off their to-do list long ago.
They passed a grocery store that looked like it might be the last one they saw for a while, since the road ahead was barely paved. Townsend said, “Why don’t we stop and buy your mom some food? You say she always asks for money, why not beat her to the punch with a gift?”
Hennessy shot her a quick look, a slight smile on her face. “That’s a good idea. I think I’ve got about fifteen dollars on me. That’ll buy her a decent meal.”
The place called itself a grocery store, but it was closer to what you’d find at a gas station. Junk food, beer, cheap wine, and cigarettes. Hennessy poked around the barely filled shelves, obviously trying to make her limited funds last.
“Is there anything special we could get her? Like a present?” Townsend asked.
It took Hennessy a minute to answer. Her eyes flitted around the items near the checkout counter, then she nodded. “She does love to smoke. I guess I can buy her cigarettes.” She shrugged. “If I bought her a real present, she’d return it and buy liquor. At least she loves cigarettes as much as booze.”
“Let me buy them. A Christmas present from her future daughter-in-law.”
A smile slowly crept across Hennessy’s face. “You really have a way of cheering me up. Thanks for that.”
Towns
end was more persuasive than she knew, and Hennessy allowed her to buy not only two cartons of cigarettes, but a canned ham, some cans of tuna, peanut butter, jelly, and a few boxes of crackers. At the checkout counter, Hennessy waited for the bored clerk to look up. “If I decide I don’t want some of these things, can I bring them back?”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” the woman asked, looking at her suspiciously.
“I don’t know. I might not be in the mood for ham later on.”
“No, honey, you can’t return food unless there’s something wrong with it, and we check.”
“Fine.” Hennessy gave her a warm smile. “That’s just fine.”
The store didn’t carry wrapping paper, but they had a package of slightly discolored tissue paper that Townsend picked up, along with a roll of tape. Then they spent a few minutes wrapping the cigarettes on the trunk of the car. Townsend produced a syrupy, sappy card she’d surreptitiously bought that sang the praises of motherhood. When Hennessy’s eyes widened, Townsend said, “Even though she’ll know it’s not true, it might make her feel better to think that there’s a chance you feel this way about her.”
Wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, Hennessy signed the card with the gold-toned pen that Townsend supplied. “Keep your eyes on your wallet and that pen,” she advised, her mouth set in a grim line. “She’s tried to take my wallet from my pocket while hugging me.”
They got in the car and drove the rest of the way in silence, Townsend unable to think of a comforting rejoinder to Hennessy’s comment.
They stopped at a hint of a road, with some kinds of buildings in the distance, barely visible through the towering pine trees. Townsend thought maybe they’d gotten lost and were going to turn around, but Hennessy said, “Well, here we are. The great trailer burial ground.”
The Right Time Page 15
