Townsend barked out a mean-spirited laugh. “Oh, please! Now I’m not allowed to tell my mother what I think of her moronic plans? What else do you get to control?” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “You’re in charge of my drinking, my drug use, my nicotine use, and my sex drive. Can’t I keep one tiny thing that gives me pleasure?”
“Pleasure?” Hennessy stared at her like she was a complete stranger. “Yelling at your mother in public gives you pleasure? What kind of a person are you?”
Townsend grasped her by the lapels of her flannel pajamas and gave her a good shake. “I’m a fucked-up person from a fucked-up family. And you’re not going to be the one to fix me, Hennessy Fucking Boudreaux. You can take me as I am, or pack your goddamned bag and go back to your goddamned Ivy League school and suck on some better quality pussy!”
Closing her eyes against the pain, Hennessy yanked away from Townsend’s strong grip and dashed down the hall to her room, tears obscuring her faltering path.
Something had to have happened to make Townsend behave this way. Something bad. But what? From the minute they’d woken, Townsend had been off. She’d woken full of piss and vinegar.
For the first time in a long while, Hennessy let the troubling thought that she’d bitten off more than she could chew have free reign. She was a damned patient person, but she wasn’t patient enough to deal with Townsend’s meanness. Or her cruelty. Or the awful way she treated her mother. Townsend had to get to the bottom of this well of anger, or she’d drown in it.
It wasn’t going to go down easy, but she had to draw another line in the sand. Townsend had to find someone to help her control her anger. Her therapist at school was not up to the task. Clearly.
She knew that Townsend wouldn’t be asleep, so she put on her slippers and went down the hall, finding the fire low, but no trace of Townsend. Then she tried Townsend’s door, but it was locked. She was going to knock, but thought better of it. Townsend probably needed a few hours to cool down after such a meltdown. Going back to her room, Hennessy lay in bed, tossing and turning until it was nearly dawn, repeatedly singing a few old lullabies that her grandmother had lulled her to sleep with. Eventually, she gave in to her body’s needs, and fell asleep.
It was after eleven when her eyes batted open, and she felt as if she had a massive hangover—given how they’d been described. Hungry, thirsty and grouchy, she took a shower and got dressed, then checked on Townsend. The door was still locked, but she didn’t have the patience to wait any longer. With a soft knock, she said, “Townsend, it’s time to get up now.”
When her gentle prodding received no response, she increased the force and the frequency of her rapping until she was pounding on the door. “I’m not fooling around. Either open the damned door, or I’ll kick it in.” You know you don’t have the strength to kick in a door, you fool, and she knows it, too. “Fine. Just stay there and pout. I’m going to get something to eat.”
Stomping loudly out of the cottage, she snuck around to the back of the structure and stopped in shock when she saw that Townsend’s window was wide open. Shimmying behind a huge lilac bush, she poked her head in the window to find the room empty. Great! Just great! How in the hell long has she been gone?
Jogging to the main house, she prowled around the first floor, seeing no evidence of Townsend having been there. Going upstairs, she found only one door closed. After knocking on it but getting no response, she opened it, nonetheless, to find Miranda sound asleep, the blanket pulled up to her neck. “Mrs. Bartley,” she said softly. Going closer and closer and speaking louder and louder, Hennessy found herself shaking the woman while calling her name.
Finally, the muzzy green eyes opened halfway. “What?” she managed to get out before the eyes closed again.
“Townsend’s missing.”
“Mmm.”
“Did you hear me?” Hennessy demanded. “Your daughter’s missing!”
“Uh-huh.” She rolled over, turning her back to Hennessy.
Hennessy stared at her for a moment, astonished as Miranda’s breathing grew heavy and her mouth opened slightly. Either she couldn’t understand, or didn’t want to. No matter the cause, she would be no help.
Chapter Sixteen
The island was good-sized, but the commercial strip was small enough to be able to check just about any place Townsend could be hiding. Hennessy started at the far end of town, fervently hoping to find her in a café or coffee shop.
Going into the first café she passed, she showed the woman at the counter a picture of Townsend. “I’m looking for a friend who’s missing,” she said, watching as the woman’s eyes scanned across the picture. “Have you seen her today?”
The woman’s face took on a sour expression. “Last time I saw her was summer. What’s she done now?”
Letting out a resigned sigh, Hennessy shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just worried about her.”
“You should be,” the woman said, giving Hennessy a look that was equal parts pity and scorn. She’d been on the receiving end of that sympathetic look so many times she’d learned to close off her feelings to it. But the scorn was new, and as painful as a punch to the face.
As each shop owner tossed the photo back at her, her embarrassment, her shame grew until she wasn’t able to make eye contact. By the time she reached the last business on the main strip she barely had the courage to extend the photo. The woman, a sweet-looking grandmotherly figure, spent just a moment looking at it. “She’d better not come in here,” she said, her expression hardening. “It’s bad enough when the tourists steal us blind. But a local kid? With the kind of money those people have they should—”
Without waiting for the lecture to end, Hennessy turned and walked out into the street, sucking in the cool, clean air, untainted by venom. She couldn’t ever remember walking away from a person who was speaking to her. But standing there, being upbraided by a stranger was too much to take. Not when her guts were in knots. Sick with dread, she forced herself to face facts. Townsend wasn’t having a cup of coffee or shopping for expensive clothing while she thought things over. She’d spent the night in a bar.
The first place was a clean, upmarket place with a friendly, young guy standing behind the bar, cutting up fruit for cocktails. “Hey,” he said, nodding. “We’re getting started late today.” He focused on her briefly. “I hope you’ve got ID. Convincing ID,” he added, chuckling.
“I don’t want a drink.” She sat on the stool in front of him and pushed Townsend’s photo across the wood. “I’m looking for a friend.” As his gaze passed over the photo, she added, “She disappeared sometime during the night.”
His expression steeled, but he didn’t comment for a minute. “I haven’t seen her in a while.” His gaze landed on Hennessy. “You’re friends with her?”
“Uh-huh.” She swallowed, unable to imagine what he was thinking.
“Good luck.” When he turned to pick up another bag of oranges, she got up to leave, her anxiety growing with each step she took.
A little further down the street, she steeled her nerves to enter a dark, run-down place. The kind of place you’d only go if no other place would let you in. Martha’s Vineyard was a long way from Beaufort, but she had a vivid sense-memory of many long evenings looking for her father in places just like this, places where the inhabitants shared nothing more than a ravenous thirst. Approaching the grizzled, gruff-looking man at the bar, she held up the picture and asked, “Have you seen this woman recently?”
He raised an eyebrow, then continued polishing the thick, old beer mug that his ministrations seemed to be having no effect on. “Not since one.”
“She was here all night?” She was going to either vomit or cry. She just hoped she’d be able to wait until she got outside.
His voice was like gravel tumbling in a barrel. “Don’t know when she got here, but I called the sheriff the second I saw her.”
She could feel the color drain from her cheeks. “You called the police
?”
“Hell yes! The little slut was hiding in the corner, getting soused.”
“Hiding?”
“I’m sure as hell not going to serve her. But a pretty little whore like her can always find a couple of guys to let her slump down in a booth while they come up to the bar to buy her drinks. She’d fuck anything with five bucks,” he added, his voice filled with a disgust that bordered on hate.
“She’s seventeen years old,” Hennessy said, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and sorrow.
His beady eyes narrowed as he spat, “I know how old she is. Everybody on the island knows how old she is. That’s why I called the cops. I’m not about to lose my license over that piece of shit.”
A large part of Hennessy wanted to climb over the bar and make him regret the horrible things he’d said about Townsend, but another part knew that the man probably had good reason for his anger. Feeling more defeated than she could ever remember, she asked, “Which way to the sheriff’s station?”
The bartender put down his mug and his rag and looked at Hennessy for a few moments. “Why would a nice-looking girl like you want to get mixed up with the likes of her? Do yourself a favor, honey, and let her sit until her mother goes to get her. You can find better friends on this island.”
Hennessy looked him right in the eye and said the words she’d never said to anyone but Townsend. “I’m with her because I love her.”
“Hello,” Hennessy said to the uniformed woman sitting at a desk in the small sheriff’s station.
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
“Are you holding Townsend Bartley here?”
The deputy sheriff’s eyebrows shot up so quickly that they nearly disappeared under her long bangs. “Yes, we are. Are you her…?”
“I’m her friend. How do I go about getting her released?”
The woman’s surprise quickly shifted to a sober, official-sounding affect. “If you’re not her attorney or her parent, I’m afraid you can’t. We can’t let her sleep it off this time.” The woman actually looked like she felt some regret. “Driving without a license, falsifying her age, public intoxication and possession of a controlled substance.” She shook her head. “We can’t let her walk away from this one. Do you know how to reach her mother?”
Fighting back tears, Hennessy nodded. Surprisingly, the woman pushed a side chair forward and said, “Have a seat.”
Hennessy did so, shaking visibly. The deputy handed her a tissue, waited a few moments, then said, “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” Hennessy got out as the tears started to fall.
“You must be Hennessy. She’s been calling for you and apologizing all night long. First time I’ve ever heard her do that.”
“We love each other,” Hennessy said, unafraid of the woman’s reaction.
“I can see that,” she said gently. Then she leaned forward and gave Hennessy a long look. “Do you know how troubled she is?”
“I do. She’s been sober since July, and working hard to stay that way. But last night…” She trailed off, too sick with regret to continue. Townsend hadn’t been herself the whole damned day. And Hennessy had let it go, praying she was just in a bad mood. But there wasn’t a mood bad enough to change your whole personality. Even though Hennessy didn’t know the trigger, something had caused her to snap. The anger built like a hurricane, inexorably growing until it unleashed its fury on everything it touched. She wanted to slap herself for closing her mind to the clear signs. She’d let Townsend down. When she’d needed her the most. Her head dropped forward, until she was bent at the waist, the guilt so overpowering she was certain she’d slip to the floor.
The deputy reached out and gripped her shoulder, giving it brief, but firm pressure. “This girl needs help—lots of it. She’s determined to drink herself to death. I’ve never seen a kid more self-destructive.”
“I know it’s going to be hard,” Hennessy admitted, the magnitude of the difficulty that faced them hitting her with full force, “but I believe in her.”
The older woman gazed at her for a minute and gave her a half-smile. “Maybe that’ll be enough.” Standing, she said, “I can let you see her, but her mother’s going to have to come bail her out. Is she on the island?”
“Yes, but she’s sleeping. She usually doesn’t wake up until four or five.”
Once again the deputy’s eyebrows popped up. “Well, I’ve left many messages. I guess she’ll get them eventually.”
“Can I stay with her?”
Looking at her watch, the woman said, “I go off duty at six. I can let you stay, but only until my replacement comes in. He wouldn’t like my giving Townsend any special favors.”
Wiping at her tears again, Hennessy asked, “Doesn’t anyone on this island like her?”
The woman gave her a long look, then shook her head gravely. “Not many good people have reason to. The ones who do aren’t the kinds of people you’d want her to associate with.”
Nodding slowly, Hennessy followed the woman into the lock-up, staring at the crisp crease that ran down the back of her tan uniform shirt—concentrating hard so she wasn’t tempted to cry again.
There were two cells, and only one was occupied, by a slight, frail, pale body. Townsend was wearing only a set of hospital-green scrubs, and her color nearly matched the tone of the fabric. There wasn’t another thing in the cell save for a bare mattress and a plastic cup on the floor. Hennessy looked closer and saw the cup held some of the contents of Townsend’s stomach. “She’s sick and she’s freezing!” Hennessy gasped, stunned at the harsh conditions.
“I know that, but I was afraid she was a suicide risk, given how she was acting. I’d rather have her cold than dead.”
“I’ll be with her. Will you please get her a blanket?”
“Sure. I’ll get one right now. Just sit tight.” She went to the far end of the hall, leaving Hennessy to stare. Never had Townsend looked worse, and for a few moments, Hennessy wished she hadn’t come—to the lock-up, to the beach house, to Boston. But she swallowed her disappointment and dread and tried to put on a positive front.
The deputy returned with the blanket and Hennessy gratefully accepted it. “How long ago did she vomit?”
“I’ve been checking on her every fifteen minutes, so not very long ago. I’ll bring her a new cup. I’m sure she’ll need it.”
“Is there anything you can give her? Something for her stomach?”
“We’re not allowed to. It’s probably best for her to get rid of everything, anyway. I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
“Could I go to the store and buy her something to drink? She’s got to be dehydrated.”
Making a face, the woman hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just don’t bring any kind of medication back with you. No aspirin, nothing.”
“I won’t,” Hennessy promised, running out of the station as quickly as she could. She’d let Townsend down the night before, and had to make up for it now. But as the sun hit her face, and the salty sea air filled her lungs, she slowed, then stopped and turned her face towards the warmth. The temptation was overpowering. She could go to the ferry dock and get back to the mainland. Getting back to Cambridge would be tough, but walking sounded okay at the moment. That would only hurt her body.
She knew she looked odd, standing on the sidewalk, her face turned towards the sun. But her reputation on the island was already ruined. At home, she was the girl with the awful drunk parents. Here, she was the fool who’d chosen to be with Townsend Bartley.
Opening her eyes, she shrugged off her fantasies of escaping. She’d pledged her future to Townsend, and she’d never broken a promise that sacred. She wasn’t about to start now.
A few minutes later she pushed open the door to the police station, struck by the antiseptic smell she hadn’t noticed before. Hennessy dutifully showed the deputy she’d bought only a quart of an orange-flavored sports drink.
“I’ll take you back,” the deputy said,
her keys jangling as she walked, straight and determined, for the cell. As she opened the door, she gave Hennessy a grim look. “Go on in.”
Hennessy held back, wishing the confident older woman would take her by the hand and fix this whole mess. But she wasn’t the little girl who police officers doted on any longer. She was an adult, and she had to gut it up and face her reality. Nodding nervously, she eased inside, approaching the bunk with trepidation. Townsend hadn’t moved, but the cup had been replaced with a new one. Hennessy knew she should wake her to get some fluid into her body, but she was dreading the “morning after” promises and self-recriminations that she’d heard far too many of. So she tucked the thin blanket around Townsend’s shivering body and sat down on the other bed. Townsend instinctively hugged the blanket to herself, looking so frail and broken and young that Hennessy started to cry again. She cried for Townsend and for herself and for her father and her mother and all of the millions of others who were affected by this crippling, soul-killing disease. Nearly an hour passed, and Hennessy’s tears were exhausted when Townsend moaned loudly, then dropped her head over the side of the squeaky bunk, grasping for the plastic container.
In a moment, Hennessy was at her side, holding her stringy hair up and out of the way, while Townsend retched pathetically, choking up nothing but the last remaining ounces of stomach acid.
Townsend fell back onto the bed, her body now covered in sweat. Panting from exhaustion, she managed to focus and mutter, “Hennessy?”
“It’s me.” She took off her sweatshirt and pulled Townsend into an upright position, then removed the sweaty, oversized top from her. Wiping at her pale, bare body, Hennessy managed to dry her off, then slipped the warm, clean shirt over her head. “Can you put your arms through the sleeves?”
The Right Time Page 25
