Stunned, Hennessy tried to come up with a list for the pop quiz. “She’s very bright. She’s got a load of potential. I think she can be a very good writer if she puts her mind to it. She’s…” Hennessy searched her mind frantically. There were so many reasons!
Shaking her head, Angela started to tick items off on her fingers. “She’s self-destructive. She throws a fit when she doesn’t get her own way. She’s unbelievably disrespectful to her mother. Check that. She’s disrespectful to all authority figures. She’s a thief. She lies whenever it’s more convenient than telling the truth. She tries to buy her way out of trouble. She pushes you to have sex before you’re ready. She drives when she’s drunk.” She stared hard at Hennessy. “Which of those things do you love?”
“None of them,” she admitted quietly. “But I didn’t mention the thing I love most about her. She wants to change. You don’t understand how hard she worked this year, Angela. She did everything I asked. Everything her sponsor suggested. Townsend threw herself into her recovery like you wouldn’t believe. I admire her so much,” she said, tears leaking out again.
Angela reached across the table and took Hennessy’s hand. Holding it for a moment, she said, “Then be her friend. Support her. Listen to her. But stop trying to be her lover. There’s nothing there to love—yet,” she added when Hennessy tried to interrupt. “There may be someday. But right now she’s nothing but trouble.”
Hennessy desperately wanted to argue, but she didn’t have one compelling piece of evidence. Townsend was trouble. More importantly, she was troubled. Deeply, deeply troubled. And Hennessy loved every broken, bent, torn piece of her.
The first day of classes sucked, but she’d expected that. All of her douchey classmates tried to impress each other with where they’d gone for spring break. Given who they were and why they were at the reformatory, they focused less on where they’d gone and more on how high they’d been. She could have had some fun and told the truth about her vacation, but shocking assholes wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. Even at seventeen, when you could get away with almost anything, it was a little sad to admit to spending a night making vague promises of epic blow jobs, hoping everyone got too drunk to want to cash in.
Classes were only from nine until three, with an hour for lunch, but even that was too much for her. By the time she’d broken free and was puttering down the road in her borrowed pickup, her whole body ached from being cooped up.
It was chilly, but she rolled the window down, sucking in the rich, moist air, filled with the woodsy scent of pine and new growth. It was just a two-lane road, lightly traveled at this time of day. The sun was low in the sky, nearly blinding her through the wide, deep windshield of the old truck.
On a curve, a huge logging truck started to drift. Immediately, her heartbeat pounded in her chest as she had to decide whether to veer to the right or wait him out. On pure instinct, she yanked the wheel to the right and skittered off the road, banging over the rocky, uneven terrain as she stomped on the brakes. The big truck came to a stop after slowly thumping over a good-sized tree branch, a sickening crack signaling either metal or wood failing.
Every part of Townsend was pounding. The blood in her veins pulsed so hard she could hear it, and her hands and feet tingled as if they’d had a live current attached.
It took a minute for her to get her breathing back to a normal pace, then she tentatively inched forward, hoping she hadn’t broken an axle. The truck obeyed and started to climb back up the short embankment as she let out a sigh of relief. Just before she goosed it to crest the hill, she reached over and buckled her seatbelt. If she was this relieved not to be dead, it seemed kinda stupid to ask for trouble.
The usual group was waiting at the VFW hall, with Art up at the front, getting a cup of the world’s worst coffee. Townsend took a seat in the back and waited for the meeting to start.
Four fucking days. She had four fucking days of sobriety. An image of the beach on the Vineyard came to her. Pale sand stretching out as far as she could see in both directions. The individual grains of sand were the future, each one a day she’d have to struggle not to drink. And the four tiny grains in her hand were all she’d managed so far. It was an impossible task. Like spitting into the ocean and hoping to change it to fresh water. There was no way to make a dent. Why keep trying?
After the meeting, Art and Townsend sat on the steps of the VFW hall, idly watching people walk down the street. Her truck was parked right in front, and he looked at it with a critical eye. “That your truck?”
“I drove it,” she said, skirting the question.
His sharp gaze moved along the old, pale green truck with the school’s name and insignia stenciled on the door. “Can’t believe they let you take it.”
“Didn’t say they did,” she admitted, waiting for the lecture.
He was quiet for a minute, then said, “What do you think the key to success in AA is?”
“Trick question?” A kid and his mom passed in front of them, with the kid on one of those plastic three wheeled scooters. She’d have given anything to jump on that thing and pedal away. It didn’t matter where she went. She simply longed to be away.
“No. No tricks.”
“I’d say the key to success is not drinking.” She held her hands up. “What do I win?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “They key to success is following rules. Something you suck at.”
“You’re not the first—”
“I don’t care if I’m the first or the last to tell you this. You’ve got to stop trying to make everything a test of wills. Now, I don’t know if some idiot let you borrow that truck or if you stole it, but today was the last time you’re going to do it. Do you have permission to be at this meeting?”
“No.”
“Then get it. If they give you a hard time, have your parents talk to them.”
“Mother,” she corrected. “My dad’s not usually involved.”
“Fine. Then have your mother ask for permission.”
“How am I supposed to get here? It’s at least five miles.”
“Got a bike?”
“No.”
“Get one. You’ve clearly got money. Use it for something helpful.”
“And if I take the truck again?” She glared into his steely gray eyes.
“Then find yourself another sponsor. No skin off my ass.”
Sighing, she stood and brushed off the seat of her pants. “Thanks for the advice.” She started for the truck, then let her hand linger on the door handle for a minute. It was pitted with corrosion, rough and pebbly under her palm. She desperately wanted to squeeze it and get inside. But she took a few deep breaths, squared her shoulders and went back to the sidewalk.
A few doors down she stopped and gazed at the bikes filling a shop window. She hated giving in so easily. Hated it more than she could even think of words to express. But she pushed open the door and marched right up to the shaggy-haired guy behind the counter. “I need a bike.”
He looked up from the book he was reading. “Road? Trail? Cross?”
“I have no idea. I need to go about five miles, on this main road. Every day. That’s it.”
He stood and walked over to her. “That’s not a very tough list. What’s your budget?”
“Whatever.” She thought for a second. “It just has to be tough enough to go down an embankment when some asshole tries to run me off the road.”
She’d talked to her substance mastery coach, her mother, and her group leader. All had agreed she could sign out for her AA meeting, with her mother agreeing to put some extra money in her account to pay for the bike. Now she had two and a half hours of legitimate, off-campus free time every afternoon. If she’d done this last year… It was too late to worry about that. She had the time now.
It was dark, and had gotten colder. She jogged over to the dining room, found an empty table and plunked the book she was reading down to claim the space. As she waited in line for her food, sh
e noticed only she and the obviously gay guy, Chad, sat by themselves. She probably could have made an overture to Chad, but he’d tried to commit suicide earlier in the year, and she didn’t want to be around anyone more fucked up than she was.
After she gobbled down the barely recognizable chicken dish, she went back to her room, stowed her book and found her gloves. In seconds, she was back outside, able to breathe again. Being outside, alone, preferably at night, was the only time she felt whole. Maybe she should be a park ranger. Being up on one of those fire lookouts would be the perfect job. No bars, no bad friends, no temptation.
Not having anything better to do, she thought about climbing up to her aerie atop the deconsecrated church. But the snow and ice had melted, snuffing out most of the danger. That made it a hell of a lot less intriguing. Still, she hadn’t been up there in a while, and she liked to keep an eye on it. It was still a small buzz to navigate the climb, and she started to smile as she threw her leg over the railing. But she froze at the sight of spent liquor bottles, potato chip bags and used condoms littering the deck. Goddamn it! That little bitch, Maddie, had figured out a way up and was taking her douchebag friends along with her. Immediately, Townsend scampered back down. Her sanctuary had been defiled. That’s probably how Jesus felt when they started putting that godawful art up in his former home.
She wasn’t really in the mood, but she didn’t have a damn thing else to do so she started to climb her hill. It had dried out a little, and was a much more stable climb than it had been the other night.
As she moved from tree to tree, pulling herself up when it was slick and using the saplings to lean against when she was tired, she realized their smell was a big part of the enjoyment of being on the hill. Definitely earthy, but also rich. Like a good truffle or mushroom. Her boots crushed wet leaves, her hands gripped the skinny trees, each step taking her closer to the top.
It took a while, a long while, but this time she didn’t turn around until she got to the top. It was a surprise, almost a present to herself to finally turn and see the whole campus sparkling like a jewel.
The simple, bucolic beauty of the setting took her breath away. Stunned, she realized that little bursts of beauty like this were what made life worth living. She sank to the ground, her body tingling with excitement. She got off on stuff like this—crisply laid out town squares, soaring steeples, majestic stone buildings. Anything people crafted to make you pause and see the beauty in the creation.
Her brush with mortality played out in her head. It hadn’t been much of a brush; at worst she would have been banged up and had the side of the truck bashed in. But the way she’d instinctively fought to protect herself had left a mark, a mark besides the knot on her forehead where she must have hit the wheel.
She didn’t want to die.
Closing her eyes, she let that sink in for a minute. Slowly, the truth rushed over her like a stream of crisp, clear water. Baptism by sobriety. She didn’t want to die. But that was the easy part. The hard part was working to have a life worth living. It was going to be hard. Really hard. But she had people who wanted to help her: Hennessy and Art. It was a small team, but a lot more than some people had.
The hard part wasn’t staying away from alcohol. That was going to be easy compared to following the rules. Art had tossed up the biggest obstacle she could imagine, but she was going to do it. She was going to keep her nose clean and follow every damn rule until she was sprung from the reformatory. Then she could breathe a little and make her own decisions. At that thought, she let out a laugh that might have carried all the way down the hill. Considering her track record, maybe she’d better hold off on her own decisions for a while….
Three weeks had passed since the Vineyard debacle, and Hennessy had diligently kept her promise. She’d written a cheery, supportive note every single night before she went to bed. But she wasn’t getting much in return, and it was driving her crazy. She sat at her desk, playing with a few paper clips. She hadn’t been aware she’d been making noise until a balled-up piece of paper hit her in the back of the head.
“Next time, it’s gonna be a rock,” Robyn growled playfully.
Maybe it had been a mistake to turn one of the bedrooms of their suite into a common room. She and Robyn shared a bedroom just big enough for two single beds, with desks snuggled in so tightly they had to squeeze past Hennessy’s to exit. Her wooden chair creaked as she swiveled around to give her roommate a puzzled look. “What did I do?”
“You’ve been twitching or tapping or drumming your fingers on that desk every night since spring break. I’ve been as patient as I can be, but you’re about to make me nuts!” She good-naturedly threw another wad of paper. “I’m trying to plow through this finance gibberish, and it’s hard enough to focus without your fidgeting.”
“I’m sorry,” Hennessy said, getting up to cross the small room and drop onto her bed. “I’m as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.”
“About Townsend?”
“Yeah,” she said glumly. “Always.” She hadn’t told Robyn any details of what had gone down between them, save for the fact that they were stepping back a little. She had a feeling Robyn knew that was bull, but she had the good manners not to press for details.
“What’s going on? Is she mad at you?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it.” Hennessy sighed and rolled onto her back, staring up at the fine lines on the old plaster ceiling. “I told her I’m just as into her as ever, but that we need to focus less on each other and more on…school.” That sounded so stupid! But she wouldn’t reveal Townsend’s drinking problem to anyone, not even a close friend like Robyn.
“Sounds like a kiss-off to me.”
“It’s not!” Hennessy’s heart started to race as she went over the situation again in her head, as it did every time she thought of it. She knew she was doing the right thing, but that didn’t make it a damned bit easier. “We’re hours away from each other and…” It was time to tell the truth. “I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m a lesbian.”
“Yeow!” Robyn had been lying down, but she flew into a sitting position, her gaze latching onto Hennessy as her feet hit the floor. “If I knew I was gay, I’d send you packing. Nobody wants to be a science project.”
“It’s not like that! I love Townsend. I truly do. I’m just not ready to…” She could feel herself blush, and cursed herself for being so sexually immature. “I’m not ready to have sex. I want to take things really, really slowly. To make sure this is right for me before I take that next step.” She sat up and cleared her throat. “I know things are different here, but where I’m from you find the person you love and you marry them.” She gazed at Robyn, begging for understanding. “I don’t want to have a laundry list of girlfriends and boyfriends. I’m not like that. I want to find the one person who’s right for me and be with her or him until we die.”
Robyn unsuccessfully tried to hide a snicker. “You’re right on that point. Things are different here.” Her sunny smile slowly turned into a suspicious frown. “Do you secretly judge me when I bring a guy back to the room?”
“God, no! I wish I could be more easy-going. I truly do. It’s just not in me, Robyn. I want to date Townsend for a year or two, then make love to her and her alone for the rest of my life.” She cleared her throat and told the last bit of truth that she knew made her sound like she was from the last century, or maybe the one before that. “If I could, I’d marry her before we had sex, but I think that’s expecting an awful lot.”
“Holy shit! Have you told her that—explicitly?”
“Uhm…no. Not in those words.” It would be so much easier if she could tell the truth…that Townsend’s alcoholism was making her even more afraid of taking the leap than she normally would have been. But that couldn’t happen. “What’s got me worried is that she’s not as open as she used to be. She’s almost business-like in her emails. And they don’t come every day,” she added, hurt beyond belief that Townsend skipped a day or two
with no explanation.
“When are you going to see her again?”
“I don’t know. She’s been hinting that she was going to go to camp with me. Her mom supposedly arranged for an apartment for her so we’d have some privacy…” Her heart broke when she thought of being back at camp, lounging on Townsend’s sofa, kissing the night away until she had to return to her cabin. “That’s obviously off the table, even though neither of us has mentioned it. Hell, I’m not even sure if she’s been accepted to college.”
Robyn got up and sat on Hennessy’s desk, the only way you could look out the window. She was a seriously polite woman, and Hennessy knew her well enough to recognize when she was trying to stop herself from saying something rude or insensitive. A trip to the window was one of her favorite delaying tactics. After gazing outside for a minute, she said, “She’s waiting for an acceptance letter in April?” She made it sound like that was a common variant in the college admissions process.
“Uhm…she’s a special case.”
“Special? Like what kind of special?” Clearly, she wanted to know if Townsend had some sort of mental impairment, but she’d never ask anything like that.
Hennessy was very uncomfortable lying, but just as uncomfortable talking about Townsend behind her back. So she said the least she could, while being honest. “Her GPA was too low to get into her first choices. So she’s trying to have a great second semester and hope someplace has space for her.”
“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.
The Right Time Page 30
