The Right Time

by Susan X Meagher

  Townsend dropped into her chair, staring at the note. The “H” was wrinkled, the ink slightly smeared. A fat teardrop had landed on it, and Hennessy had been too torn up to even notice. What in the hell had gone on here? Townsend took the pad and placed it against her chest, hugging it while she cried—fear and sorrow competing for a place in her heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When dawn finally broke, the sky barely lightened up. Hennessy had been sitting on the dock for a couple of hours, bundled up against the morning chill. It was going to be a gloomy morning, but it didn’t smell like rain. She could always tell.

  Footsteps slapped against the deck and she looked up to see Daddy, his white plastic boots sliding around on him. Most of the time it looked like he could walk right out of the things, but he claimed he liked them roomy.

  He’d come home last night, spent two minutes figuring out that an emotional upheaval was brewing, and took off again. He must have had a woman on the hook, because he didn’t look hung-over.

  “Go out with me,” he said, nudging her gently with the toe of his boot. “Do you good to keep your hands busy.”

  She looked up at him, seeing the gentle concern she’d always been able to count on as a kid. If he was around, he was good for a hug. Some of her fondest memories were of heading out with him early in the morning, sitting on his lap while he piloted the boat, searching for shrimp. Today, you’d probably be arrested for taking a four-year-old on a commercial fishing boat, but she was darned glad he’d done it. It’d made it clear he was her daddy, and he got final say—a clarification she needed given his frequent, prolonged disappearances. She still recalled Gramma putting her foot down, with Daddy responding by picking her up and putting her on his shoulders, heading for the dock. He had to be important if he stood up to Gramma.

  It would be good to keep her hands busy. Daddy was right about that. But she didn’t feel like herself, not certain which way was up and which down. Truth was, sitting around feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to fix a darned thing, so she stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “Can I go fetch a pair of boots?”

  “Get on with you,” he said, the smile that few women in Beaufort County could refuse revealing his dimples. She’d always wanted the darned things, just so she’d look more like him.

  By the time she reached the storage bin he and Grandaddy had built, Gramma was outside, handing her a square plastic tub, the type they used for food storage. “There’s two high-rise biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast and some cornbread and cold fried chicken for lunch. Share the chicken with your daddy. He’s already had his breakfast.”

  “Thank you,” Hennessy said, keeping her head down as she searched for a pair of boots that wouldn’t fall right off her feet. The ones she picked wouldn’t make an insurance agent happy, but they were good enough.

  As she started to clomp away, Gramma gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “Be a good girl for your daddy.”

  “I will,” she agreed, sniffling at the refrain she’d heard since she was able to walk.

  Hennessy stood on the dock, casting off once Daddy got the sometimes reluctant engine started. Then she jumped aboard, grasping his weathered, callused hand for safety. After using a long boat hook to guard the stern from bumping into the dock, she set the end of the pole on the deck and leaned on it, enjoying the crisp, sweet yet salty air as it blew in her face. This was the best place to be today. Out on the water, plying the family trade. Her monosyllabic daddy was the perfect companion for a woman who needed to think, rather than talk.

  The wind picked up as they motored out, making the boat dip and sway in the chop. It was gonna be a good day for shrimping. Rough water was murky water, and the shrimp jumped right into the net if they couldn’t see it.

  They’d gone out a good bit, with Daddy listening to the radio to hear reports from other fishermen. They always mentioned the bad spots, keeping mum on the good ones. But knowing where not to go was a help.

  Hennessy stared up at the sky, tracking six brown pelicans flying in a chevron above her head. Never was there a bird so streamlined and sleek in the air yet so bulbous and lumpy on land. There would be gulls, too, multiplying like crazy once they hauled the nets in. Then frigates and cormorants, each with a different tactic for cadging a meal when the by-catch was dumped back into the water. Just about everything was alive when they tossed it in, but a few fish took a minute to get oriented. That minute was plenty long for the opportunistic birds to swoop in and chow down.

  Her favorites were the pelicans, even though they were the laziest. They kept their sharp eyes on a wide area, elongated heads swiveling while they loafed on the breeze. But the second they spotted something near the surface they hit it like a dive bomber, then zoomed away, pouch full of fluttering fish. They always looked a little haughty, to her eye. Like they had this game all figured out. If only one of them could clue her in, could somehow offer a little advice to a woman who felt exactly like one of the poor fish, not knowing up from down.

  The birds had it easy. They knew just who they were, and just what they were supposed to do with their lives. Few choices, but also few decision points. And she was damned sure they’d never broken a solemn promise. Unlike her.

  The knot that had formed in her belly the day before was back, making her want to curl up in a ball to ease the ache. But it wouldn’t go away, no matter what position she got into. It was there for a reason: to remind her she wasn’t the woman she thought she was.

  Turning, she caught sight of Daddy, checking in on the radio. He’d probably never made a promise to a woman in his life. Maybe that was the best way to handle things. Play it loose and see who you caught. Keep ’em if you liked ’em, toss ’em back if you didn’t.

  Even though there was nothing funny about her predicament, she had to smile at that. Catting around was one trait she hadn’t inherited from her Daddy. No, she was the kind of woman who found the right person, then promised the world. She’d done it twice—and lied twice. She’d forgiven herself for the first breach. She and Townsend were too young, too scared, too co-dependent to even consider making—much less keeping—a lasting promise.

  But that wasn’t true with Kate.

  Hennessy had been a twenty year old adult, and she’d made the promise to love her with a clear mind. Yet six tiny little years later, she’d thrown her overboard, like a mess of jellyfish littering the deck.

  The only thing she’d ever been perfectly sure of was her fidelity. She would have bet her life on her ability to make and keep a promise to the woman she loved. But she would have lost that bet. She’d lied to Townsend, she’d lied to Kate, and she’d lied to herself. Leaning over, she rested her head on her crossed arms, feeling the sea more when she was connected to the rail. She hated to admit it, but lying to herself was the most troubling aspect. If she didn’t know herself, what did she know?

  They came in early, not long after lunch. Seven or eight hours seemed to be Daddy’s limit these days. Ever since he’d turned forty, he wasn’t willing to trawl from dawn to dusk for a couple of five gallon buckets of shrimp. Now he stayed out ‘til he’d had his fill, then headed for home. It hadn’t been a terrible day, but it was nothing like what they used to pull in without a thought. They’d filled one bucket, which would supply the restaurant for the night, but she itched to convince him to stay out—to load up so they didn’t have to make the trip tomorrow. But Daddy wasn’t that guy. He preferred to take a little nibble every day. If you offered him a dollar today or ten tomorrow, he’d walk away with a buck in his pocket, perfectly happy.

  As they got near land, Hennessy took out her phone and checked for messages. Nothing from Kate, but that wasn’t a surprise. Hennessy couldn’t even leave her a message, since her number had been blocked. It hurt like hell not to be able to offer some explanation, or even attempt an apology, but she doubted she’d ever be allowed to do that. Kate excised pain as sure as if she’d used a scalpel. Once it was out, she stitched h
erself up and moved on, slowly healing. That was exactly what she’d done in her two previous relationships, refusing to even reveal one woman’s name. It would be the same for Hennessy. Their love would simply be a long gap Kate tried to blot from her past.

  Two messages from Townsend drew a reluctant smile. Both were simple words of support. Call if you want, don’t if you’re not ready. Perfect. She’d talk to her, of course. But not yet. If she had her way, Townsend would go to Boston for the summer and try to make it work with Nicole. As much as Hennessy wanted her—and God knew she did—she clearly didn’t know her own mind. Townsend deserved a mature relationship with a loving partner. Someone who could keep a damned promise.

  Hennessy trod carefully to avoid the nail that’d popped up on the stair. As soon as she had breakfast she’d take care of it. Grandaddy liked to tend to house repairs, but she wasn’t about to lose another perfectly good pair of socks to his pride.

  The aroma of chicken frying made her mouth start to water. And…grits. Definitely grits. Her belly rumbled as she walked into the kitchen, with Gramma in front of the stove, as always. She turned slightly as Hennessy’s kiss landed on her cheek. “I’m making you a chicken biscuit,” she said. “Do you want some cheese on it, or chicken gravy?”

  “Is the gravy already made?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’ll have gravy.” She moved over to fill the kettle. If she ate this way every day, she’d collapse of a heart attack by the time she was thirty. But it sure was good. “Daddy’s home, isn’t he?” He’d been home the night before, but it wasn’t odd for him to sneak out after everyone else had gone to bed.

  “Him and your grandaddy are working on that engine. Might have to go into Savannah for parts, to hear him tell it.”

  Dang. If they didn’t go out, she’d have a hell of a long day to fill. Three days of fishing had made her tired enough that she could actually sleep some, but now that she was up, she couldn’t go back to bed. Looked like a day in the hot kitchen was ahead of her.

  Gramma placed her plate down, and she nearly swooned at the scent. Fried chicken was plenty good at lunch or supper, but it shone like a star at breakfast. And when you added some peppery gravy, it couldn’t be beat.

  A hand gripped her shoulder, then Gramma gave it a squeeze. “You ’bout done feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

  Hennessy’s head snapped up and she turned to stare at her grandmother like she’d been kicked. The words were out before she could blink. “That’s an awful thing to say.” She gasped, stunned at having back-talked Gramma. She probably wouldn’t try to switch her, but that wasn’t dead certain. It had been years since Hennessy had a couple of stripes across her butt, but age hadn’t tempered Gramma’s standards for respect.

  Instead of sending Hennessy out to cut a switch, Gramma pulled a chair close and sat down, gazing at her with concern. “Eat your breakfast,” she instructed as she took a tea towel and tucked it into Hennessy’s collar. “I didn’t cook all that for my health.”

  Hennessy took a bite, her eyes rolling in pleasure as a bit of grease slid down her chin to land on the towel. “Good,” she got out around the bite. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” A strong hand settled on her shoulder and Gramma leaned in. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you’ve sulked long enough. You can talk about what’s nipping at you, or you can put it away.”

  Three days. That’s all the time she’d get to mourn a six-year relationship. One she’d been sure would last until her death. Briefly, she wondered if the mourning time would stretch with more years, or if three days was the max.

  “I’d talk about it if there was anything to say…”

  “You barely said a word!”

  Hennessy set her attention to her breakfast, biting into the fluffy biscuit, which had begun to taste a little bitter. That was probably just her stomach acting up again. “Kate…” There was no way to talk about this in generalities, and she didn’t want to talk about specifics. Gramma didn’t know what a liar she was, and she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. She took another bite, only Gramma’s supervision convincing her to finish.

  “Why didn’t you marry that girl?”

  Stunned, Hennessy stopped, mid-bite. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Gramma stuck a finger in the bit of gravy lying on the plate, then licked her finger. “Coulda used a little more pepper.”

  Hennessy had no interest in seasonings. Her brain was stuck dead on the last comment, so casually tossed off. “You wanted me to marry Kate?”

  “No,” she said, clearly not needing time to reflect. “But you sat in this kitchen that summer you got back from France and told me and your Grandaddy that you loved her. Don’t you marry people you love?”

  “I…” She swallowed, her mouth as dry as dust.

  “Didn’t she want to marry you?” Her brow rose, eyes narrowing. “Is that the thing?”

  “No, ma’am.” Her cheeks began to flush as she told the awful truth. “I didn’t want to marry her.”

  Gramma looked like she’d been poleaxed. “But you had sex with her. I know you had sex with her. You can’t carry on like you two did and not expect a person to hear you.” Gramma’s cheeks were coloring too, but not from embarrassment. She was pissed. No two ways about it. She might have been born in the days of free love, but she firmly believed sex was reserved for marriage. One remnant of her Catholic upbringing she’d held onto.

  “We had sex,” Hennessy agreed, about to die of shame. “And I thought I loved her enough to stay with her for the rest of my life…but I didn’t.”

  “Wait just a hot second.” Gramma’s fingers dug into her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. “You said Kate broke up with you. What are you saying now?”

  “She did,” Hennessy said, scooting away as well as she could to loosen the iron grip. “She broke up with me because I couldn’t say I loved her more than…anyone else.”

  “What?” Gramma stood, then started pacing across the wide kitchen, her unfashionable black shoes squeaking on the tile as she walked. “You’re saying she flew down here just to ask if you loved her best? What kind of sense does that make?”

  Hennessy really didn’t want to get into this. But there was no way out. “She came down to tell me about a job she wanted to take. She had some…suspicions, I guess, and I think she wanted to see what was going on for herself.”

  Gramma took three big steps across the room and grabbed Hennessy by the cheek, pulling the skin taut. “If you’ve been cheating on that girl…”

  “No!” She pried the hand away and got to her feet, stumbling backwards to get well out of range. “I’d never cheat, Gramma. I was raised better than that.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying she suspected I loved someone more than her. She made me say who I’d rather be with and I had to…” She swallowed, her stomach burning with fire. “I had to admit I loved Townsend more.”

  Now empathy infused her grandmother’s face. She opened her arms and Hennessy came to her embrace like she’d been pulled by a magnet. Those loving arms cradled her like they had when she was a child, easing the ache in her gut like magic. “And Townsend doesn’t feel that way about you.”

  “I…I don’t know if she does,” Hennessy said. “She’s dating a woman from Boston. They’re not…well, I’m not sure what’s going on with them. We don’t talk about details very much.”

  “All you two do is talk!” Gramma grasped her and held her at arm’s length. “You’re like a couple of chickens, cluck, cluck, clucking half the night when she’s here. And I hear you on the phone with her on the weekends, too. All that talk but you don’t have the time to get to something important?”

  “It’s a touchy subject. I’ve been committed to Kate…”

  “Look,” Gramma said, her tone low and harsh. “You’ve loved that little girl since she was barely old enough to cut her own meat. You made a mistake with Kate. That’s th
e flat out truth. I don’t know why you did that and it’s none of my business anyway.” She took Hennessy by the shoulders and shook her. “Face the facts, baby girl. You did an awful thing to Kate, but you’re allowed one mistake. Just don’t make two.”

  Tears came to Hennessy’s eyes, her breakfast about to come back up from the revived knot in her gut. “I can’t trust myself, Gramma. I promised to love Townsend, but I let myself fall for Kate. Then I promised to love Kate, but could never let Townsend go.”

  “You weren’t old enough to pick you own nose,” she scoffed. Pressing her hands into Hennessy’s shoulders, she gazed deeply into her eyes. “Sex is all well and good. But that’s not what love is. Love is being with the girl you can’t be happy without.”

  “It is,” Hennessy whispered, her head beginning to nod. “That’s all it is.” She snapped her head to the right, staring at the clock on the wall. “Is today Friday?”

  “All day.”

  “She’s leaving today!” Before she’d finished the last word, Hennessy was flying through the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. Three minutes later, she was drying off while trying to slither into a pair of underwear, her damp skin catching the cotton as she tugged on it. “Gramma!” she yelled. “I need a ride to Hilton Head!”

  A soft voice sounded from the doorway. “I don’t think your grandaddy would mind if you took his truck. You paid for it,” she said, a smile tugging on one side of her mouth. “Your daddy can take him anywhere he needs to be.”

  “Sure?” She stuck her leg into a fresh pair of shorts, hopping across the floor to yank them into place.

  “I am. Now get going!”

  Hennessy flew down the stairs, her flip-flops slapping at the wood. Then she leapt from the porch and ran, flat-out, to jump into the truck. It wasn’t new, new was just a way to pay for the privilege of breaking a truck in, but it certainly wasn’t old. The whole bunch of them had gone shopping just after Christmas, with Hennessy having only one requirement—the previous owner couldn’t have been a fisherman.