Chapter Ten
It was a rare treat to get to speak to Hennessy on the phone, but that wasn’t for Townsend’s lack of trying. They’d finally settled on speaking every Sunday night at six, the only time Hennessy could guarantee she’d have time and wouldn’t be worried about a deadline.
That night, Townsend jumped right in to make sure she had time to lay out her case. “I checked your calendar, and you don’t have class on Thanksgiving or the Friday after. I know you’re not going home, so—”
“I’m going to Brookline with Robyn,” Hennessy said. She felt guilty about it. Townsend could always tell by her voice. It didn’t have its usual calm certainty. “She asked me and I didn’t have any other plans—”
“You knew I’d want to see you, Hennessy. Don’t act like that’s not true.”
“It’s true,” she admitted quietly. “But I knew you’d want me to stay at your house and I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”
“Because?”
“I just don’t. We have plans for Christmas, Townsend. We’re spending a good, long time together. Why don’t we think about that instead of trying for more?”
Her hand gripped the phone so hard she thought she’d break it. “What’s that supposed to mean? Trying for more? Trying for more what? Time with you? You’re goddamned right I want more time with you. Am I supposed to feel bad about that?”
“No, of course not. But I don’t want you to try to make me feel bad about spending time with Robyn. Now let’s just move on—”
“Done.” She punched the “off” button with her whole fist, then threw the phone, watching it bounce on the bed before it ricocheted off the bedside table to land on the floor.
After grabbing her down jacket and a pair of gloves, she raced down the hall, ran down the stairs, and finally stood at the back door of her dorm, the omnipresent scanner reading her ID and beeping her out.
The bracing, cold air was damp and misty, maybe getting ready for a repeat of the snow that had blanketed them two days earlier. She cut across the campus, winding up at the old church they’d turned into an art studio. From the outside, you couldn’t tell Jesus had left the building. A tall, simple white steeple rose up from a peaked roof, with big windows making the studio glow with light. Most of the churches in the area had spotlights on their steeples, showing how tall and pretty they were. But since this was just another classroom, it was shrouded in darkness against the murky sky.
A rickety fire escape on the far side of the building led to a choir loft, now used for storage. Townsend found the length of rope she’d stored nearby, and tossed the monkey’s fist she’d made over the lowest rung. The rusted metal creaked and complained, but it descended enough to let her take a running leap and reach it. She stood on the step for a second and jostled it, making sure it would hold her weight. Then she climbed, all the way up. She’d broken the latch last year and it was easy to push the tiny door open and slip inside. Another set of stairs, dark and musty, let her poke her head up through a panel and hoist herself onto a small widow’s walk that sat proudly at the base of the steeple, surrounded by a short railing.
Now she could breathe. Sitting, cross-legged on the platform, the Green Mountains dark and foreboding in the distance, miles of trees covering every vista, cold wind blowing her hair back, a certain tranquility came over her.
The only time she felt right—really right—was when she was alone. Not just alone. Inaccessible. No one would look for her up here, making this her private fortress.
She sat and thought for a long time, her mood darkening by the minute. The magic of her fortress wasn’t paying off tonight.
Footsteps approached, soft, muffled sounds in the packed snow. A girl wandered down the path, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets, her breath visible in the cold air. Townsend didn’t say a word, but as the girl passed by she stopped and looked at the dangling fire escape. Shit!
The girl’s head tilted up, her gaze finally rising to land right on Townsend. “Cool,” she said. She didn’t speak loudly. You didn’t have to. Townsend had learned the hard way that sound traveled up. “Can I come up?”
“No. I don’t think so. I like to be alone.”
The kid, either a freshman or a recent transfer, reached into her pocket and took out a good-sized bottle of clear liquid and held it up. “I’ve got vodka.”
Immediately, Townsend’s mouth filled with saliva. Her eyes closed as a sense-memory of ice-cold vodka sliding down her throat sent chills through her body. She loved vodka in a way she’d never be able to explain to anyone who didn’t share her feelings. It wasn’t the way you felt about chocolate or any of the other edible things people loved. This was so much more than that. Much closer to loving a person—a person who never, ever let you down.
The distance between them was great, but Townsend’s hungry look must have been so dramatic it covered the space. “You know you want it.” She held the bottle higher and shook it again. “Let me come up.”
If she’d any belief in god, she would have been sure this was the devil himself, sent to tempt her. The kid not only had vodka, she had attitude. Lots of it. And she was cute. Dark curly hair, delicate bone structure. Probably gay too, or bi enough to use it to get what she wanted. Straight girls didn’t look at you so directly—daring you to refuse.
She was so close to agreeing, so close to throwing five months of sobriety down the damn drain. But she thought, briefly, of Hennessy. Could see those trusting blue eyes staring at her, unblinking. Trusting her. Trusting her—the most untrustworthy person to ever walk the earth. Fuck.
“I’m coming down.” She almost came down the face of the building. Her foot caught a patch of ice and she barely managed to steady herself by grabbing onto the steeple and holding on for dear life. Once she got her feet under her, she shimmied through the panel to the inside stairs, only to nearly fall again. Goddamn! Doing the right thing was supposed to keep you safe, not kill you!
Holding onto the railing this time, she clambered down the stairs, then pushed through the door to the fire escape. By the time she jumped from the bottom rung, the kid was waiting for her. “This your rope?” she asked, gazing at it enviously.
“Uh-huh.” Townsend looped it around, making a neat coil. Then she stuck it inside her coat. They might find and confiscate it during bed check, but she couldn’t leave it outside now. The kid would use it—and she wasn’t going to be responsible for a fourteen-year-old falling off the damn roof.
“Why does it look like that?” She pointed at the big knot at the end.
“Sailing knot. Makes it easier to throw.”
“Sure I can’t borrow it?”
“Positive.” She let her eyes fall to the bottle, still temptingly within reach. “You gonna stay outside and drink that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then come with me. I’ll show you a good place to hide.”
They took off, heading for the garage. If the kid drank the whole bottle and passed out, she’d be safe inside. Of course, she might narc if she got caught, but you couldn’t worry about that.
“You a freshman?” Townsend asked.
“Yeah. You’re a senior. I’ve seen you.”
She looked at the kid, seeing herself three years earlier. For one fleeting moment, she wanted to slap some sense into her. Maybe even convince her not to guzzle a bottle of booze. But that was a wasted effort. “Why don’t you come over to my dorm for a while?” What. The. Fuck.
The kid’s eyebrows knit and her chin tilted. She clearly thought she was being jerked around. “Why?”
“No reason. We could hang out. I guarantee it’s warmer in there than it is out here.”
“I don’t mind the cold.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I don’t either. But it’ll be cold until April. You’ve got plenty of time to freeze.”
“Your mom wrote that book, right?”
“Yep. Want to hear about the movie? I was on the set when they shot it.”
/> The kid stopped and stared. “You were?”
“I was.” She was edging back towards her dorm, luring her closer.
“Okay.” Her eyes narrowed again. “But how do I get into your dorm? My ID won’t open that door.”
“Easy,” she said breezily. “Leave yours outside. The guards are too stupid to count to two. I’ll walk you back out later.”
Suspiciously, she said, “Are you screwing with me? ’Cause I don’t care who you are, I’ll fuck you up if you do.”
It was like looking in a mirror. The kid could have been her twin. “Promise. But I’ve got to warn you. I’ve got no friends left, and people will be suspicious of you if we hang out.”
“Fuck ’em,” she said, grinning cockily.
“Fuck ’em indeed.” She’d always wanted a little sister. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
Townsend ran up the big, elegant staircase, nearly knocking a startled young woman on her ass. “Sorry!” she yelled, not slowing a bit. She reached Hennessy’s door and rapped on it so sharply that her hand ached. The door opened and Hennessy was finally standing in front of her, a slow, sexy smile lighting up her face in a way that made Townsend’s knees buckle. She fell forward, landing in Hennessy’s embrace.
“Not the most graceful girl in Boston, are ya?” she drawled, her breath against Townsend’s cheek making her shiver.
Townsend gathered her wits and regained her balance, stood under her own power and threw her arms around Hennessy’s neck, tugging her down to offer the kiss that had been burning in her imagination.
“Not so fast, June Bug.” Hennessy used her leverage to stand up tall, keeping her mouth just out of reach. “We don’t greet each other that way. We’re friends, remember?”
“We’re a hell of a lot more than friends. None of my other friends have ever forced me to bring my mother to the airport so they could meet before we travel together. She thinks you’re nuts, by the way.”
“We’re courting,” Hennessy said, sounding remarkably prim. “If we decide that we love each other then, and only then, do we kiss.”
“Is this the twenty-first or the first century? Jesus, you act like we’re some old school fundamentalists!”
“Having a little decorum isn’t a bad thing. Being in a relationship with each other is a goal, just like any other goal. This is big stuff, and it’s something we both have to work to achieve.”
“Then why does it seem like I’m doing all the work?” Townsend started to move to the other side of the room to pick up Hennessy’s small bag.
As Townsend walked past, Hennessy’s long arms captured and held her in a tight embrace. Blue eyes bore into her so ferociously that Townsend could almost feel heat coming from them. “I have to struggle with all of my might to keep my hands off you, Townsend Bartley. I want you more than a possum wants grapes, and if I thought it was the right time, we’d be rolling around in that bed like a couple of rabid muskrats. Don’t you dare tell me you’re doing all the work.” She grasped the back of Townsend’s head and pulled her close, kissing her forehead, then both cheeks. “If I allow myself to fall in love with you, it’s going to be for the rest of my life. If you don’t feel the same, it’s time to get out. I’m not playing.”
Townsend gazed up at her, a blank look on her face. “You’re the only person in my life to have ever rendered me speechless.”
They walked down to the car hand in hand, Hennessy allowing that courting couples were allowed that bit of intimacy. The car looked like a regular, albeit expensive sedan, but, to her surprise, a driver got out and held the back door for them, then took Hennessy’s bag and stored it in the trunk.
They slid into the back seat, the scent of leather so strong it was a little like climbing into a shoe. Townsend said, “Mom, this is Hennessy Boudreaux. Hennessy, this is my mother, Miranda Bartley.”
Hennessy put on her most winning smile, then leaned forward, reaching over the seat to grasp a beautifully manicured, baby-soft hand. Hennessy had done a little research, finding pictures of her all over the world, doing book signings and readings. They didn’t do her justice. In person, Miranda Bartley looked like she’d been molded out of plastic. Her skin was as flawless as could be, her features even more delicate and fine than Townsend’s, which was saying a lot. She might have styled her own hair that morning, but if a professional had spent an hour making those golden tresses perfect Hennessy wouldn’t have been surprised. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bartley.” She had rehearsed the meeting several times, deciding not to mention the woman’s celebrity, mostly because she hadn’t read any of her books and didn’t want to have to admit that. They sold hundreds of thousands of copies, but they were mass-market, semi-literary novels. The kinds of books that sold very well in airports—not her usual cup of tea.
“The pleasure is mine, Hennessy. So you’re the young woman who seems to have captured my daughter’s heart.”
“She’s captured mine as well.” Her anxiety settled down a little, now that they’d gotten the greetings out of the way. The front seats were tall, with big headrests, but even though she could only see a few inches of fabric, Hennessy was taken with Mrs. Bartley’s dark grey coat. The nap was short, but sumptuous. The kind of thing you’d love to wrap around yourself on a cold day.
“Tell me about yourself,” Mrs. Bartley asked as the car glided down the road. “Townsend tells me you’re from Beaufort. I’ve been there many, many times. It’s one of the loveliest cities in the Southeast in my opinion.”
“Oh, it is that.”
“It’s a rather small town, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am, about ten thousand people in Beaufort proper.”
“Do you know the Kingsleys?”
“No, ma’am.”
“How about the Hutchinsons? They own the newspaper, I believe.”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t made their acquaintance.”
“Mom, do we have to go through your contacts list?” Townsend asked, her voice sharp.
“I simply thought we might have some mutual acquaintances.”
Hennessy cleared her throat. “Mrs. Bartley, I’m quite sure you and I wouldn’t know the same people. I’ve heard of the families you’ve mentioned, but we’re just working class people trying to get by.”
“Oh.” Miranda turned in her seat, giving Hennessy a long, puzzled look. “I…I just assumed…with your going to Harvard and all—”
“Harvard has given me an amazingly generous financial aid package, Mrs. Bartley. And I received a few small scholarships. All combined, I’ll be able to graduate without any student loans.”
“That’s lovely,” she said as she turned back around, obviously still stunned.
“We’re dirt poor, ma’am,” Hennessy added, just to get it all out in the open. “I’m afraid Townsend’s going to be surprised at just how poor we are.”
Townsend gave her a wry grin. “I don’t care if you live in tents and go dumpster-diving for dinner. You’re the best catch in the whole South.”
Turning once again, Miranda’s composed smile showed she’d gotten over the shock of Hennessy’s finances. “You’ve helped my daughter make some changes in the past six months that a legion of psychiatrists, psychologists, medical doctors and acupuncturists haven’t been able to accomplish. Simply keeping Townsend out of jail was more than I’d hoped for when I sent her to Hilton Head.”
Hennessy cast a long look at Townsend, unable to keep from smiling. “Oh, she’s capable of so much more, Mrs. Bartley. I’m already very, very proud of her, but someday she’s going to accomplish things that will make her very proud of herself. That’ll be the happiest day of my life.”
As they neared the airport, Hennessy cleared her throat and gave Miranda the message she was determined to impart. “I care for your daughter very much, but until we make a commitment to each other, we’re not going to be physically intimate. You don’t have to worry about her, Mrs. Bartley. I’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”
&n
bsp; The woman’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, then opened again, but no words came out.
“We’re courting, Mom,” Townsend said. “More than that, I’m reclaiming my chastity.” She gave Hennessy’s hand another squeeze, then added a wicked smile. “That part is all her idea, by the way. Chastity’s highly overrated in my book.”
Chapter Eleven
They stood in the passenger pickup zone of the Savannah airport, with Hennessy nervously pacing while checking every vehicle that pulled into the long line. “Does your grandfather drive a Hertz shuttle?” Townsend asked.
Stopping mid-stride, Hennessy stared at her. “Of course not.”
“Then why are you craning your neck, trying to see every driver?”
Her gaze slid to the ground as her hands clasped behind her back. That was a classic Hennessy gesture, one that either meant she was embarrassed, or waiting for instructions. “I’m nervous. I’m not at all sure you’re going to enjoy being here.” Her gaze slowly crept back up to meet Townsend’s. “And I’m not sure how welcoming Gramma’s gonna be. This is a first for me.”
“Having a guest?”
“Uh-huh. Especially one I care about. Gramma’s pretty perceptive, and I do not want her to ask questions about our relationship.” Her gaze was like a plea. “I’m not ready for that.”
Townsend took her hand, but Hennessy yanked it back like she’d been bitten. That stung a little, but Townsend was determined to make this a good visit, and that meant letting Hennessy chill the fuck out. “I can make your grandmother believe anything you want. Just tell me how to be, and I can sell it.”
“I want you to be yourself,” she said immediately, but Townsend could see a flicker of doubt settle in those clear eyes. “But…you know…not…”
“You’d rather she didn’t know I was an alcoholic, a lesbian or hot for her sweet little granddaughter?”
The Right Time Page 13