The Right Time

by Susan X Meagher

  “No,” Townsend said in a voice that sounded like a child’s.

  Hennessy helped her with the task, then smoothed her hair back and lowered her to the bed. “You rest for a minute. I’ll get you a clean cup in case you’re sick again.” Hennessy was gone for just a moment, and when she returned, she had not just a new cup, but a cool cloth. Working gently but efficiently, she used the cloth to wipe Townsend’s fevered brow, then cooled her down by wrapping it around the back of her neck. “I’m going to help you sit up, and then you’re going to drink something.”

  “Oh, God, I can’t,” Townsend moaned. “I’ll throw up again.”

  “You might, but at least you’ll have something in your stomach. That last batch was just acid.”

  Townsend didn’t argue, she just lay limply while Hennessy gently poured a small amount of the liquid into her open mouth. Abruptly, she sat up, gasping, “It’s coming right back up.” She gagged futilely for a full minute, but nothing else came out of her mouth. Soon she was lying in Hennessy’s arms, once more drenched with sweat. “I’m gonna die.”

  “No, you’re not,” Hennessy said firmly. “I won’t let you.”

  Blinking, Townsend obviously realized where they were and why they were there. Then the tears began, and Hennessy hugged her tighter, knowing they were in for a very long afternoon.

  At five forty-five, the deputy came in and said, “I’m going off duty in fifteen minutes, Hennessy. You’re going to have to leave.”

  “Has her mother answered yet?”

  “No, I just tried again.”

  Summoning all of her strength, Townsend stopped sobbing and asked, “Have you called my attorney?”

  “You didn’t tell me you had one.”

  “James Callaghan,” she said. “He’s in the book.”

  “Oh, I know him,” the woman said. “I’ll see what I can do.” Hennessy gathered up her things, taking the empty sports bottle and looking regretfully at her shirt. “You’d better give me back my shirt, and the blanket. The new guy won’t like it.”

  Townsend looked down and nodded, crying once again. The large shirt made her look so young and yet so old. She slipped the huge scrub shirt back on, then looked up at Hennessy helplessly.

  “I’ll wait outside until your attorney comes,” Hennessy said. “Hang in there.”

  “How…how can you still love me?” she asked, her voice shaking roughly.

  With her face filled with sorrow, Hennessy gently stroked the pale, trembling cheek. “How can you not love yourself?”

  Mr. Callaghan dutifully arrived no more than fifteen minutes after he’d been called. Hennessy sat on the rough, weathered stairs of the station after having been given a chilly reception by the deputy sheriff who’d just come on duty. A short time later, Townsend emerged, rumpled and sick and clearly in pain. The second the waning sun hit her face she tried to cover her eyes with both hands, but she had to squint enough to be able to walk down the few stairs. She was followed by her attorney, a distinguished-looking, older gentleman, wearing an immaculately tailored blue suit and a gold and navy rep tie. He was oddly upbeat, like a guy who was used to having things go his way. “This little scrape will require quite a few feathers to be smoothed, but I don’t anticipate too much trouble.”

  Townsend nodded, then grimaced, the sudden motion probably too much for her head. “Thanks, Jim. I’ll be sure to tell my grandfather how helpful you’ve been.”

  He smiled at her and patted her gently on the back. “Take care of yourself. I’ll let you know how everything turns out.”

  She gave him a weak wave as he glided away and strode along the wooden sidewalk. “I would have introduced you, but I hope we never have to see him again.”

  Hennessy swallowed, her feelings bruised. She never would have failed to introduce Townsend to someone she knew. But any illusions she’d had that they moved through the world in a similar way had been shattered. “That’s all right,” she said. “Ready to go home?”

  “I want to get off this damned island.” Townsend looked up, once again shielding her red-rimmed eyes from the sun. “Could we go back to Boston? I feel safer there.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Hennessy said. Her roommates were supposed to be gone, but in case any of them came back early, she didn’t want them to see Townsend in the shape she was in. “Let’s go to Vermont.”

  “Vermont?” Townsend asked, her eyes so swollen it was impossible to tell what color they were. “I don’t think so…”

  “Then we stay here,” Hennessy said. “Your choice.”

  Her head dropped and she nodded. “All right. It’s better than nothing.”

  “I’m not sure how we’ll get there, though. Will your mom’s driver go that far?”

  “He’s got nothing else to do, but I’d rather take a car. No big deal.”

  “All right,” Hennessy sighed, unwilling to think of how much trouble that would be. “Let’s go get our things.”

  “Leave ’em. I’ll have my mom bring them back with her.”

  Hennessy gave her a long look. “My entire winter wardrobe is in my bag. I’d like to be able to change clothes at some point.”

  Blinking slowly, Townsend grimaced and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “It’s all right. Let’s go tell your mother we’re leaving.”

  “She won’t care—” Townsend began, only to be stopped by Hennessy’s sharp look.

  “I care. And you should, too.” Squaring her shoulders, she began to walk down the sidewalk, leaving Townsend in her dust.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When they entered the house, Miranda was clearly up, given the noise coming from the kitchen. Hennessy led the way, finding her impeccably dressed, blonde hair perfectly arranged, a tasteful amount of makeup rendering her skin flawless.

  “Oh, thank God,” she grumbled, stepping away from the espresso maker, relief filling her gaze. Meeting Hennessy’s eyes, she said, “Could you possibly make me a cappuccino?”

  Given the day she’d had so far, Hennessy thought she might be past being shocked. But both Bartley women were skilled at knocking a person off her stride. “Have you checked your phone?” She moved to the espresso machine and tried to replicate what they’d done the day before.

  “I did.” She leaned against the counter, casually crossed one ankle over the other and gave Townsend a long look. It was tough to put into words how bad she looked, like someone who’d broken out of the hospital during a plague outbreak. But Miranda didn’t make a single comment. “I called over there and learned that Jim had already come to the rescue.” Half of her attention was on Hennessy, supervising the progress on the drink she was obviously very invested in, the other half on her daughter, her investment clearly less dramatic. “I can’t imagine why they left so many messages. Wasn’t Jim available?”

  “I was too drunk to think of his name,” Townsend snapped, so angry Hennessy feared she might take a swing at her mother. “Thanks for helping out. It was really nice lying in my own vomit all night.”

  Ignoring the comment, Miranda turned to Hennessy. “I take it you didn’t accompany Townsend on her night on the town?”

  “No, ma’am.” She wasn’t going to say another word. The last thing she was going to do was get in the middle of the ongoing war between these two.

  “She doesn’t drink,” Townsend said, sounding oddly protective.

  A half smile settled on Miranda’s lips. “I thought you didn’t either?”

  Hennessy glared at her. The woman looked almost pleased. What in the hell was this crazy dynamic? Whatever it was, she couldn’t wait to get away from it. As she stuck a pitcher under a steam wand and watched the milk start to foam she said, “We thought we’d cut our visit short, Mrs. Bartley. Do you have a car we could borrow to go back to Vermont?”

  “Of course. Take whichever car you like. I’ll have someone come pick it up if you can leave it in Cambridge.”

  “I think this is hot enough,
” Hennessy said. She poured the milk into a mug, then added the double shots she’d pulled. “Let me know if it tastes okay.”

  Miranda’s eyes lit up as she took the mug and lifted it to her lips. “Mmm,” she said, nodding. “Maybe a little stronger. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” Hennessy said, noting that Townsend had disappeared. People thought her family was screwed up, but the Boudreaux clan had nothing on the Bartleys. Not one question about anything that mattered, but great focus on a damned cup of fancy coffee.

  Hennessy had to concentrate on her driving, since traffic was fairly heavy and she didn’t know the way. But after the car was on the ferry to Woods Hole, there were no excuses for the complete silence that reigned.

  Standing at the rail in the bow of the boat, Hennessy let the chop of the waves and the dip and lurch of the craft soothe her. Nothing tranquilized her like the sea, even though she knew this respite wouldn’t last long.

  “How angry are you?” Townsend asked after staring at the water for many minutes.

  “Angry? I’m not angry.”

  “Bullshit. Anyone in her right mind would be angry with me. Come on, be honest.”

  Irritated, Hennessy shook her head. “I am being honest. Don’t try to put emotions onto me that I’m not feeling.”

  “Fine.” Townsend walked to the stern and stood alone, not moving until it was time to reclaim the car. The whole process took quite a few minutes, but they didn’t break the tense silence. Just moments after leaving the ferry, Hennessy pulled the car into a parking lot and turned off the engine.

  “Come on, let’s go for a walk. We need to talk a bit.”

  “We could have talked on the ferry,” Townsend grumbled.

  As soon as they were both out of the car, Hennessy took Townsend’s hand and looked deeply into her eyes. “I care about you, and I care about your privacy. I would never have a private discussion aboard a crowded boat. Now come on, have a little more self-respect.”

  “I didn’t even consider that,” she mumbled, looking away from Hennessy’s penetrating stare.

  “Let’s take that walk. We need to clear our heads.”

  As they walked along, Hennessy spoke in a quiet, reflective voice. “I have an uncle—my mother’s brother Cletus—who’s schizophrenic.” At Townsend’s curious look, Hennessy laughed softly. “I don’t think I have the best genes for procreating.”

  “You have wonderful genes.”

  “Don’t know that that’s true, but I hope I got some of the good ones. But back to my uncle: he does fairly well most of the time, but every once in a while he starts acting crazy. Sometimes it’s because he’s forgotten to take his meds for a couple of days, and sometimes he’s done everything right, but his meds need adjustment.”

  “Why are we talking about this? Are you taking me to a psych ward?”

  Hennessy let out a long sigh. “I’m trying to explain why I’m not angry with you for having a slip.”

  “Go on,” Townsend said warily.

  “Both you and my Uncle Cletus have a disease. You both have to be very vigilant to make sure you’re taking care of yourselves and monitoring your medication. But even when you do that faithfully, you’re going to have a long period of trial and error until you get it all sorted out.”

  “My medication?”

  “Your medication is working your program faithfully. Your meds got screwed up when Sharon had her slip. It’s easy now to see we shouldn’t have gone on vacation together right after you’d lost your sponsor. That was a set-up, and I regret I didn’t recognize it before it happened.”

  With her voice breaking, Townsend said, “But it meant so much to me to see you.”

  “I know that, but look what happened. You had a major slip, you got arrested, and now you feel like shit about yourself. Was it worth it?”

  Townsend stopped, took both of Hennessy’s hands in her own and looked into her eyes. “It’s worth anything I have to do to be with you. Anything.”

  Squeezing her shoulders, Hennessy said, “I had a feeling you’d say that.” She dropped a soft kiss on the crown of Townsend’s head. “We’ve got a long drive to Vermont. We’d better get shakin’, huh?”

  Townsend didn’t move immediately. Instead, she draped her arms around Hennessy’s waist and peered up at her. “Are we going to be all right?”

  “Yes,” Hennessy said, forcing herself to smile. “We’ll be fine.”

  When they got back onto the road, Hennessy focused hard, slipping through traffic in the powerful car. After a while, Townsend commented, “Are we in a hurry?”

  “Yeah,” Hennessy said, quickly checking her watch. “I want to stop in Cambridge for a meeting. It’s at seven.”

  “I can’t take a bunch of sad sacks moaning about alcohol tonight,” Townsend said. “I’ll go tomorrow, but not today.”

  “My meeting,” Hennessy said, sparing a quick glance her way.

  “Your meeting? After I’ve drunk Martha’s Vineyard dry, you need a meeting?”

  “Uh-huh. I truly do.”

  Townsend was silent for quite a while, taking in the impact of Hennessy’s words. “Can I go with you?”

  “No,” Hennessy said immediately. Townsend flinched, clearly stung by her quick response. “I’m sorry, but I need my privacy. I’m sure I could find a meeting for you if you want to talk.”

  “I’ll…” She paused for a minute. “Can I wait in your room?”

  “I’m not sure,” Hennessy said, thinking of what trouble Townsend could get into. “I guess I’d prefer it if you waited close by. We need to get on the road as soon as the meeting’s over.”

  “I won’t rob you,” she snapped.

  “I don’t think that, Townsend. But I’m not sure all of my roommates are gone.” She took a look at her. “I don’t think you’re in shape to socialize.”

  “No one’s going to hold you responsible for the way I look, Hennessy.”

  “I know that,” she said softly. “I only care that people think the best of you—for you.”

  Townsend leaned her seat back and turned to the window. Hennessy could hear her quietly begin to cry again. Whether from shame or embarrassment or frustration, she had no idea. And she wasn’t in the mood to ask.

  After Hennessy’s meeting, they met back at the car, which she’d used all of her weekly spending money to park. Townsend was still moody and weepy, probably, at least in part, from dealing with what had to be a horrible hangover.

  Once they were in the car and buckled in, Townsend said, “Do you talk about me at your meetings?”

  Hennessy thought for a moment about how to answer. They had a good two and a half hour drive in front of them, and she didn’t want to fight the whole time. But hiding things wasn’t smart, so she told the truth. “I talk about whatever’s bothering me. So, yeah, sometimes I talk about you.”

  “I bet you gave everyone an earful tonight,” she grumbled, leaning her seat all the way back.

  “No, I didn’t, if you want to know the truth. Someone had a very, very tough week and she took up a lot of the time. I mostly kept my mouth shut.”

  “Her week was worse than yours?” Townsend asked suspiciously. “I didn’t hear about any horrible tragedies in Boston this week.”

  “Most people’s tragedies don’t make the news,” Hennessy said. “They just quietly destroy people’s lives.”

  “I guess that’s true.” She was quiet for a minute. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No, no thanks. I can’t talk about people from the group.”

  “Between your group and mine, we won’t have a damned thing to talk about,” Townsend grumbled.

  Hennessy let that comment lie there. Sometimes not talking was nice. Soothing, actually.

  When they crossed the Vermont border, Townsend said, “Where are we going, anyway? I was thinking Woodstock. There’s a nice hotel there, and the town’s big enough to have AA meetings.”

  “We’re going to your school,” Hennessy said
, flinching against the tornado she knew would sweep through the car.

  “My school?” Silence filled the car for several long minutes. “You’re just dumping me?”

  “I’m not leaving, Townsend. I want to make sure you’re steady and settled before I head back.”

  Townsend’s gaze was burning in its intensity. “You’re staying, but not with me.”

  “Right. We need to…” She swallowed. “Step back. Reassess.”

  “Reassess.” Townsend didn’t say another word. She let that one take center stage, unmolested.

  Hennessy thought of what she wanted to say, then took a breath and got it out. “Our relationship has gotten to be more important than your sobriety, and that can’t continue. We’ve got to pull back and get the focus right.”

  Townsend sank down into her seat, not responding. That was probably better than having her throw a fit, but you never knew with her. Sometimes silence was deadly.

  Hennessy pulled up in front of the stately, grey stone main building of the perfectly lovely school Townsend called “the reformatory.” It looked like it could have once been a courthouse, a hotel, even a big church. Newer buildings dotted the landscape behind the big one, but the mammoth building dominated the site. “Is this the right place to let you out?” Hennessy asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll have to go check in.”

  “Call me when you get up, okay? We’ll go have breakfast.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, sounding miserable.

  “I’ll find someplace. Don’t worry about me. Just try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better if you do.”

  “Yeah,” she said, with a harsh chuckle that sounded like it came from an older, wizened person. “Sleep fixes everything.”

  “It can’t hurt,” Hennessy said, gripping her arm.

  Their eyes met, then Townsend’s gaze slid to the floor. “I’m not going to bother asking for a goodnight kiss. I know I don’t deserve one.”

  Hennessy grabbed her, pulled her close, and hugged her as tightly as she could. “You don’t earn kisses. You have my love, and that’s not going to change.” She kissed her cheek, wet with tears. “Promise.”