Table of Contents
By Susan X Meagher
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
By Susan X Meagher
THE RIGHT TIME
© 2015 BY SUSAN X MEAGHER
THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY BRISK PRESS, BRIELLE, NJ 08730.
COVER DESIGN AND LAYOUT BY: CAROLYN NORMAN
EDITED BY: LYNDA SANDOVAL
FIRST PRINTING: SEPTEMBER 2015
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9966774-0-0
By Susan X Meagher
Novels
Arbor Vitae
All That Matters
Cherry Grove
Girl Meets Girl
The Lies That Bind
The Legacy
Doublecrossed
Smooth Sailing
How To Wrangle a Woman
Almost Heaven
The Crush
The Reunion
Inside Out
Out of Whack
Homecoming
The Right Time
Serial Novel
I Found My Heart In San Francisco
Awakenings: Book One
Beginnings: Book Two
Coalescence: Book Three
Disclosures: Book Four
Entwined: Book Five
Fidelity: Book Six
Getaway: Book Seven
Honesty: Book Eight
Intentions: Book Nine
Journeys: Book Ten
Karma: Book Eleven
Lifeline: Book Twelve
Monogamy: Book Thirteen
Nurture: Book Fourteen
Osmosis: Book Fifteen
Paradigm: Book Sixteen
Quandary: Book Seventeen
Renewal: Book Eighteen
Synchronicity: Book Nineteen
Anthologies
Undercover Tales
Outsiders
Acknowledgements
Many years ago, I wrote a short story for an Academy of Bards writing challenge. Eventually, I turned that short story into a full-length novel that I posted online. Over the years I’ve tried to polish it up, but each attempt wasn’t quite right.
Last year I reached out to some friends who steered me in the direction of Lynda Sandoval. They said she was the best at what I needed—someone to help me tear the book apart and restructure the whole thing. It took months of work on both of our parts, but I’m finally pleased with the result. I wouldn’t have been able to do the work without Lynda’s help, and I want to thank her for her patient, astute, and most of all, supportive feedback.
Dedication
To my wife Carrie, for all of the sacrifices she makes that allow me to do what gives me joy.
The way to love a woman is to think first of her happiness.
Kate Chopin
Chapter One
“Hennessy? You ’bout ready, baby?”
“All set, Daddy.” She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and started down from the second floor, careful to stay to the left side of the sloping staircase. One of the boards had started to cup, sending her ass-over-teakettle a couple of days earlier. She’d wanted to fix it herself, but Grandaddy insisted he’d get to it, and she hated to jump in when he had his mind set on something.
After walking into the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around a woman rumored to have once been as tall as Hennessy, now slightly stooped from work and worry. Her hair was still mostly black, her skin unlined and smooth. Even so, most people thought she was far older than her years. From the few pictures Hennessy had seen, Gramma had always looked old, even as a girl. Today she wore the pink nightgown she’d owned for Hennessy’s entire life. When it was going to be seriously hot she waited until the last second to put on regular clothes. “I’m ready to go, Gramma,” she said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll try to find a way to come visit at least once.”
“Don’t you worry ’bout us. Your granddaddy and me just want you to enjoy yourself. Don’t give us a tiny little thought.”
“I’ll think of you every day, and you know it.” Hennessy held on for a few extra seconds, always a little reluctant to leave home. “Tell Granddaddy I love him.”
“I will, baby girl. You take care and make your gramma proud.”
“I’ll do my best. See you in August.”
Her father’s voice called from the living room. “We’re gonna be late.”
“Coming, Daddy.” She dashed out the front door, her bag banging against her hip.
Father and daughter climbed into the battered, aged pick-up truck, holding their collective breaths. Hennessy prayed the temperamental engine would cooperate this time, while going down a list of people they could borrow a car from if need be. With a belching grumble, the truck fluttered to life, and Dawayne Boudreaux settled back and exhaled. Hennessy held her own breath as long as possible, always needing a few moments to acclimate to the malodorous truck. She’d intentionally placed her bag in the bed, hoping the wide variety of offensive smells in the cabin wouldn’t infuse both her and her luggage.
Dawayne twitched his head in the direction of the bed. “That all you’re takin’?”
“We all wear uniforms, so I don’t need much.”
“Well, I guess you’d know the drill by now. This your fourth year?”
“Uh-huh. First one I’ve been a house leader for, though.”
“That means what?”
“I’m the senior person in the cabin. I’m not really in charge, but I’m supposed to be the eyes and ears for the counselors.”
He gave her a quick look. “I thought you were teachin’.”
“Not quite,” she said, trying to think of how to put her job in terms he’d be familiar with. “I’m leading a writing group, but not teaching it. It’s more like helping a group of girls with their homework.”
“Huh.” His eyes narrowed as he thought. “Those girls that spoiled?”
“They can be,” she admitted, laughing a little. “But most of them are nice kids. If anything, a lot of them work too hard.”
“You gettin’ paid?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How much you fixin’ t’get?”
“Not much.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.” In reality she was making a lot. The money she was going to receive to be a house l
eader and a writing coach had stunned her. But she was loath to reveal that to her father. Dawayne was a proud man, and learning that his child was going to earn as much as he would over the summer was not the type of thing she wanted to share.
They drove on in silence—or in as much silence as a truck with two hundred ten thousand hard miles and a muffler full of holes could provide.
“Thanks for the ride, Daddy,” Hennessy said as they pulled into the drive. “I’ll see you in August, if not before.”
“Take care of yourself,” he said, offering a rare show of affection—a rough squeeze of her shoulder.
“I will. Good luck this summer. Full nets, cold beer, and hot gumbo, right?”
“That’s it, baby.” He gave her a shy, boyish smile, and she gazed at him for as long as was polite, trying to memorize his expression to keep it close to her heart.
Hennessy headed for Sandpiper, her cabin. Learning she’d been made cabin leader had made her so darned proud of herself, she’d wanted to ramble on about it, but going on about your accomplishments wasn’t something her family appreciated. Even though she knew they loved her to death, they were always on the lookout for braggarts.
The moment she reached the spacious, well-appointed cabin she stripped off her clothes, then put every stitch in the washer, along with everything from her bag, including the bag. Then she got in the shower and scrubbed herself roughly, trying to get the smell of fish off her body and hair.
The campers were due at three. Hennessy checked her watch, the one she’d had to buy for her first year at camp. It was simple, plastic, and cheap, but it still ran just fine. She might have been the only high school student in the country with a watch she had to wind but she also didn’t have to buy a new battery for it every year. She started for the administration cabin, hoping to check in and say hello before the campers started to arrive. A few would show up hours early, many of them with bags full of medications for their anxiety.
The camp, set in one of the last unspoiled parts of Hilton Head Island, housed the campers in a number of spacious cabins, each designed to hold six girls and a cabin leader. They were typical for Hilton Head, with cedar siding and roofs that sloped down over the eaves. Each was set into stands of live oak, each tree tall, and old and draped with Spanish moss. The paths were lined with bark, and her steps made the damp cedar smell float up to her. When you mixed the scent with the swamp gas from low tide… She smiled, so happy to have that particular perfume tickling her nose, she would have skipped if she could have. But she didn’t want to get dirty after spending all that time trying to get clean.
When she rounded the bend, she spied Mary Ann, the owner of The Academy, talking with an elegant-looking woman. Mary Ann Harrison had been Hennessy’s biggest supporter since the day they’d met. She was good people, any way you looked at it.
Wealthy, independent and civic-minded, she’d inherited the acreage from her father, who’d gotten it from his father, who’d probably swindled it away from the Gullah people—whose ancestors, largely because of their isolation, had retained their language and customs much longer than any other slave community. She hated to think of the elder Mr. Harrison as a scoundrel, but the island had been a dirt-poor backwater until a few white folks had snatched up the land a couple of generations back and made it into a golfing resort. There were still black people on the island, of course, but nearly every one of them was cleaning houses or working in the restaurants. Her gramma always said land didn’t have any worth at all until a rich white man wanted it, and Hennessy had yet to see anything to make her doubt that.
But not all rich people were thieves, and Mary Ann was testament to that. She could have easily sat on her butt up in Charleston, her winter home. But she worked like a dog to keep The Academy perking all summer, always making sure a good portion of the spots were reserved for kids like Hennessy.
Mary Ann spotted her, and a big smile covered her face when she waved. Hennessy loped over and stood there for a second, always unsure if she should try to hug her. Luckily, Mary Ann wasn’t as unsure of herself, and she wrapped her in an embrace, then gave her a fond pat on the cheek. “Have you grown another foot?”
“Just a couple inches,” Hennessy said. “I think I’m finished now.”
Mary Ann put her arm around Hennessy and said, “Ms. Bartley, let me introduce you to the young woman who’ll be Townsend’s cabin leader. This is Hennessy Boudreaux.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Hennessy said, sticking out her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” the woman said, her accent giving her away as being a Northeasterner. “Mary Ann assures me you can help get my limo back.” She took her chirping phone from her purse and scowled at it. “I have to leave in the next ten minutes or I’ll never make my flight.”
Instinctively, Hennessy stepped back, never one to jump into a situation she didn’t have figured out.
“We’ll be right back,” Mary Ann said, leading Hennessy toward the side of the building. When they were alone, she gentled her voice as she took another look towards the impatient woman. “I hate to dump this on you, but we’ve been trying to get Ms. Bartley’s girl out of the limo for a while now. I could have security drag her out, but that’s not the best way to start a good camp experience.”
Hennessy peered around the corner, seeing a big, black limo parked near the front of the building, the car running. “What’s going on? Why doesn’t the kid want to get out?”
“Other than the fact she doesn’t want to be here, I have no idea. She won’t talk—to me, at least. Are you up for using a little Southern charm on our guest?”
“Me?” Hennessy wanted to step back again, but the building prevented that. “If her own mother can’t talk her into it—”
“My guess is that Townsend would listen to a rock before her mother. Will you give it a try?”
“Well, I guess I can do better than a rock,” Hennessy said, peeking around the corner again. “It sure wouldn’t look good to have security drag her out.” She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I feel like Daniel going into the lion’s den, but I’ll take a stab at it.”
“Good girl,” Mary Ann said, patting her on the back. “I hope you can establish some kind of rapport with her, since she’s going to be in your cabin.”
Smiling, Hennessy said, “And here I was worried that kids would be so anxious to start they’d be scratching at the door already.”
“That’s the fun of camp,” Mary Ann said with false enthusiasm. “You never know what’s going to happen next.”
Townsend watched the limo driver flinch when she lit another match. The sulfur burned her nose, but she much preferred a match to a lighter. The whole experience of striking it to the pack and watching it flame dangerously hot for a few seconds gave her a very cheap thrill.
The driver looked like a smoker, too, but there was no way he could join her if she’d offered him one—which she wouldn’t, because he was a prick. A soft knock on the window made her turn to see the tall, skinny girl her mother and the warden had been talking to. Now that she was standing close, Townsend saw that she was really nice looking. Black hair, light eyes, and skin so dark someone should have barred her from the tanning salon. Oh, well, something had to kill you.
A motor buzzed softly as the window slid down. “Yes?” Townsend asked, trying to sound sweet.
“Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in.” She flipped a switch and the doors all clicked open.
The girl slid in and sat there for a second as her pale eyes quickly scanned the car. “Your mom wants security to drag you out. They will, you know.”
“Let ’em. I’m not voluntarily walking into a prison.”
“Prison? You haven’t been to too many prisons if you think they look like this.”
“What’s your name?” She extended her hand. “I’m Townsend.”
“Hennessy. Hennessy Boudreaux.”
“Cute name. Sounds
like something out of Faulkner.”
“Not hardly,” she said, smiling. “We’ve got about seven minutes. Sure I can’t talk you into going with me? Voluntarily?”
“I like to make an entrance.” Townsend took a long drag on her cigarette. “Want one?” She extended the pack.
“No, thanks.” She looked a little put-off, but Townsend could tell she was consciously trying to keep her expression neutral. The kid was obviously a narc. She probably got a few bucks for doing the warden’s dirty work. “What do you say? You’re going to be here for eight weeks. Do you really want to be the camper who everybody talks about the whole summer?”
“I will be anyway,” she said, trying to sound like she didn’t care. She cared a fuck-load, but she didn’t have any control over that. Once the other prisoners learned who her birth mother was they’d be all over her, asking the usual stupid questions about the books and the friggin’ movie.
“You don’t know that. Come on,” Hennessy said, her Southern accent so soft and sweet it was like she took a big lick off a hunk of cotton candy before she spoke. “Let’s go before any of the other campers get here.”
Townsend took a long drag and politely turned her head before she blew it out. Her eyes caught the driver’s, his gaze positively hateful. “Close the privacy window,” she demanded sharply. She continued to glare at him as he slowly toggled the switch, making the window close at a snail’s pace. He knew damned well she wasn’t going to be the one to tip him. “Prick,” she grumbled.
When she turned back, Hennessy’s eyes were nearly out of her head. Another sap. Too bad. It would have been nice to have had someone on her side. “Look,” she said, suddenly feeling very tired. “I’m not staying here. As soon as my birth mother takes off, that woman over there is going to sprain something trying to get me off this island. Trust me,” she said, leaning forward to gaze into Hennessy’s strikingly pretty eyes. Too bad she wasn’t up for partying. They could have had some fun until the next limo came to take her back to the airport. It’d be funny if her mom was still there. Townsend had this image of gliding past as her mother stood beyond the security checkpoint—unable to do a thing to stop her from going right back to Boston.
The Right Time Page 1