Something hit her in the side, and she snapped her attention to the right, seeing Townsend sitting on a set of stairs, getting ready to throw another rock.
“I imagined you might catch that,” she smirked, standing to approach Hennessy and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got myself convinced you’re superwoman.”
Hennessy dropped her backpack, the heavy bag making a loud “thump” when it hit the grass. Her arms wrapped around Townsend as her eyes closed. Townsend meant so much to her, she was outsized in her mind. Every time they touched after an absence, Hennessy was shocked again by how thin and insubstantial she was, as if a stiff breeze could carry her away. But when her warm, sweet breath warmed Hennessy’s neck, she grew, magically, to once again feel like the center of her world.
Townsend pushed gently, disentangling them. “Well, I did it,” she said, smiling proudly. “I graduated.”
Stunned, Hennessy stared at her. “How…?”
“I finished my last final this afternoon. It was multiple guess, and I convinced my teacher to grade it while I waited.” She laughed, her devilish side always nearby. “Fifty bucks buys a lot in that place. They must pay those people nothing!”
“Your graduation—”
“It’s on Sunday. I’m not going,” she said, clearly proud of herself. “Now we’ll see how the great Miranda Jameson Bartley deals with looking like an asswipe.”
“Why would she look bad?”
Townsend cocked her head. “What would you think if your graduation speaker’s kid didn’t show?”
“Oh. Right. I guess…” She shut her mouth, not wanting to reveal what she’d think. “So…? You’re back in Boston?”
“Uh-huh. I got a ride from a guy who goes to my AA meeting. I paid for gas.”
“So your mom doesn’t know?”
A very happy smile brightened her expression. “She knows jack shit. She’s coming from somewhere…” She pursed her lips in thought. “LA, maybe? Anyway, she won’t know I’m not there until she shows up.” The look on her face was so filled with pleasure that it turned Hennessy’s stomach.
“Uhm, I’ve got to get to bed. It’s finals week…like I told you in the note I wrote yesterday.”
“Yeah. Yeah. No problem. I’ll take off.”
Hennessy had no idea what to think. She couldn’t read her like she used to be able to. Townsend didn’t quite seem like herself, but it wasn’t clear what was different. Except that she didn’t seem all that interested in holding onto Hennessy.
“I’m only in Boston until Friday…”
“That’s cool. I’m gonna be busy.” She bumped Hennessy with a shoulder. “I found a therapist I like, thanks to you. We’ve been talking on the phone, but now that I’m back we’re going to meet twice a week—to start,” she added, sticking her tongue out like she’d been poisoned. “I’ve got two daily AA meetings planned, so I’ll be spilling my guts at some venue just about every minute.”
Clearly, Townsend wasn’t coming to camp. Nice of her to mention that. Her chest burned from swallowing her hurt, but Hennessy couldn’t let it out. They had to focus on the only thing that mattered. Townsend’s sobriety. Hennessy put her hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “That’s a good plan.”
“Yeah. We’ll see how it goes. Oh! I got into Larkspur. Just found out.”
“Larkspur?” She half closed her eyes, thinking. “Really small? Liberal arts focus?”
“That’s it. Six hundred students. They needed to upgrade their computer room, and my father’s check cleared just in time for them to offer me a spot.”
Hennessy felt like she’d throw up. Such momentous changes! And not one word about any of them had come before this moment.
“Well, I’d better go. I’ve got to convince a cab to drag my butt all the way to Weston.”
“Weston?”
“Where I grew up.” She let out a laugh. “You’re out of the loop, baby girl. Try to keep up!” Townsend placed a quick kiss on her cheek, picked up a surprisingly small suitcase and started to walk backward. “Take care of yourself, Hennessy. Drop me a line if you have a chance.” With a hearty wave, she turned and ran, her stride long and efficient, her bag swinging alongside as she moved.
Hennessy stood there, feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. She had no idea where they stood, or what she was supposed to do next. But she knew one thing: Townsend didn’t rely on her any more. And that felt like a baseball bat to the gut.
Chapter Twenty
Dr. Morrow sat in her rocking chair, moving it so slowly Townsend wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined the tiny creak the wide-plank pine floorboard made. A small notebook computer sat on her lap. Very twenty-first century for a woman who had to be in her sixties.
“My calendar tells me today’s your eighteenth birthday,” the doctor said, her careful tone never giving away whether she thought any fact was cause for celebration or suicide.
“How am I supposed to celebrate?” She gripped the arm of the sofa, compressing the nubby fabric into the padding, not stopping until she felt the reassuring solidness of the wooden frame. “With my friends? Don’t have any. My girlfriend? Since I can’t write to her when I really need to, that’s out. Or maybe my dutiful mother? Oh. That’s right. She’s on the Vineyard. Alone.”
“You could do something for yourself. Some way of commemorating how much progress you’ve made this year.”
Townsend scoffed.
A warm smile settled on Dr. Morrow’s thin but well-shaped lips, and her voice lowered as she said, “I know it’s hard sometimes to recall, but you’ve done great work this year, Townsend. You deserve some kind of treat, and giving one to yourself guarantees you’ll get what you want.”
“I want Hennessy,” she spat, just barely able to stop herself from leaping to her feet to throttle the woman. “I want to get on a plane and go to South Carolina this fucking afternoon.” She held up a hand to stop the canned response. “I know. If I give in to my urge to see her, it’s just a short step to giving into the urge to drink.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” the doctor replied. “I was going to say it might be a good idea to go down to the river and think about Hennessy. Or write her a letter. Just hold onto it for a day or two.”
“So I can read it to you, and you can tell me why I shouldn’t send it at all?” She leaned to the right, caught her chin in her hand and glared, balefully at the doctor. “I had more freedom when I was ten.”
“You had more freedom than you were capable of handling,” the doctor gently reminded her. “I know it’s slow going, but you’re learning boundaries now. Safe, secure boundaries.”
Townsend stared at her, trying to show with her expression how much bullshit she thought this all was. “You call them boundaries. I call them shackles.”
Hennessy struggled to carry her two duffle bags down the street, excitement making her short of breath. While she hated to leave Harvard Yard and her spacious suite in Wigglesworth, moving into a house, especially the house she’d truly hoped to get, had filled many a daydream.
From today on, she was a Lowellian. Smiling to herself, she thought of the conversation she’d had with Gramma. For the life of her, Gramma couldn’t understand why it meant so much to Hennessy to be in Lowell House. But trying to explain how cool it was going to be to have the Russian bells ring every Sunday afternoon, or how she was looking forward to Thursday afternoon tea with the housemaster, was a waste of time. Gramma would just think she was putting on airs, and Hennessy had to admit that was undoubtedly true. Much of the Harvard experience was separating them from their former lives and putting a big Crimson bow on them. And she loved it. She truly did.
She was about fifty feet from the big, stately red brick building when she found herself stopping to stare at the bell tower.
A voice called out, casual and slow. “Looks like you coulda used some help.” The soothing tone she’d thought of every single day was like a lover’s caress.
Tow
nsend.
Hennessy’s gaze tracked the origin of the words, and there she was. Right in front of the building. But Hennessy couldn’t make her feet move. A tiny piece of her wanted to march right over and slap her in the face, really rattle her teeth. They’d corresponded so rarely, Hennessy found herself giving fewer and fewer details about her life, limiting herself to generalities about camp and the kids in her writing seminar. Townsend’s letters were infrequent, chatty, lighthearted missives. The type you’d send your grandmother. But she couldn’t resist Townsend’s lure, no matter how hurt she was.
“I had no idea you’d be here!” Hennessy dropped her bags and ran for her, wrapping her in such a tight hug Townsend grunted from the pain.
“Easy, baby girl,” she said, patting her. “I’m not wearing a Kevlar vest.”
Hennessy stood back and stared at her. “How’d you even know where to go?”
“You told me what house you got into last spring.” She tapped at her temple. “My memory’s shot, but I take notes about important things.” Her shirt had ridden up when she’d hugged Hennessy and she carefully settled it upon her hips. “I’m supposed to be at freshman orientation this weekend, but you know I don’t like to follow rules, so why learn ’em?”
Her brain started to catch up. To register that Townsend was actually in front of her, looking good enough to eat. “Larkspur College had better get ready. A tornado’s about to blow through town.”
“I’ll head up tonight. My mother’s actually going to drive me.” She said this with a certain amount of surprise, but Hennessy could see some pride mixed in there.
“That’s because she’s proud of you. And because you’re giving her tons of reasons to be.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” She picked up one of Hennessy’s bags, staggered a little under the weight, then headed for the entryway. “After we dump your stuff off, I’m going to buy you lunch, then head up to school. Who’s going to argue?”
“Not me. I’m starved, but even if I wasn’t, I’d never turn down a meal with you.”
They went to a place just as fancy and expensive as the spot they’d visited a whole year earlier. Hennessy was more comfortable in fancy places now, not that she’d ever choose them. The Shack would always be her kinda place. But she fit in better now, and actually looked like a Harvard student, jeans, T-shirt and running shoes. Expensive, brand-name ones. Well, they’d been expensive for the first woman who’d bought them. For her—just five bucks at Goodwill. A fresh pair of insoles and they were as good as new.
They sat down and Hennessy stole as many glances as she could. Negotiating the space between “courting” and whatever they were now doing was giving her fits. Townsend was wearing a spaghetti-strapped tank top, exposing remarkably toned arms. Even fairly casual friends would notice and comment on such a big change—go for it. “What in the heck have you been doing?” Hennessy asked, poking a muscle.
Glowing with pride, Townsend said, “Rowing. My mother bought me a skull for my graduation present—after she got over pouting about my skipping the ceremony.”
“Is there a good river near you?”
“There is in Boston.”
“I thought…” Hennessy’s cheeks glowed pink. She hadn’t known or thought to ask where Townsend spent the summer. They definitely weren’t courting, no matter how much she’d tried to convince herself things were almost the same as they had been a year ago.
“Yeah, I considered staying in Weston, but I took what you said seriously. Since my therapist is in the city, I thought that was the best. My mom has a pied-à-terre she let me use. It’s close to the Charles,” she added.
“But you’re going to be in Vermont. How will you be able to talk to your therapist?”
“It’s the twenty-first century, baby girl. We’re going to Skype when I’m at school.”
“Oh, good. That’s good.” Hennessy felt like she was a step or two slow. Like Townsend knew the path and she was trying to catch up.
“I got fit this summer by spending my mornings rowing down the Charles, then I headed to a nine a.m. meeting every day. Most days I followed up with another after dinner. Wild shit, huh?”
“That is so fantastic,” Hennessy gushed, thoughts buzzing around in her brain. Why hadn’t Townsend mentioned she was doing something so good for her? Why hadn’t she mentioned she was in Boston? “You look great. Really great.” Her libido started to wake up after a long summer of tamping it down. Then it hit her: Townsend hadn’t tried to kiss her. Not even a peck.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” she said, using a really bad Elvis impersonation while bowing slightly.
Their server came over, and after the woman rolled off a list of specials Townsend took charge and ordered enough for four. “You look underfed,” she said, eying Hennessy’s roomy T-shirt. “And over tan. You’ve gotta use sunblock!”
“I do. But I was on the boat with Daddy every day for the past three weeks. From can’t see to can’t see.”
“What?”
“Just an expression that means before dawn to after dusk. When it’s hotter than Satan’s underpants, you’ve gotta wear as little as possible. There’s no sunblock that can keep you pale out on the water all day.”
“Well, you look fantastic. I’m just worried you’ll be dead of melanoma by the time you’re thirty.”
“Doesn’t run in the family. I think we were made for outdoor work. The good lord knew the Boudreauxes would always be laboring under a full sun, and he gave us tough hides.”
Townsend grinned. “You just keep thinking those delusional thoughts, baby girl. Whatever gets you through the night.”
“What’s been getting you through the night?” Hennessy asked, startling herself with the pointed question, and afraid of the answer.
“Your emails have helped a lot,” she said, showing a rich, full smile. “I’m sorry I’m not writing as often, but I truly don’t have anything to say. I can’t talk about what goes on in AA meetings, and other than focusing on my stroke when I row…” She shrugged. “I’ve got nothing.”
“That’s all right. I just worry about you.” Her eyes grew wide. “Not that I think you’re in danger of slipping. I only meant that I miss you.”
“I hope that’s true.” Townsend slid her hand over and covered Hennessy’s. “I miss you, too.” She took a breath, then had a sip of water. “I’ve…uhm…had to face some truths this summer.”
“Yeah?” Hennessy’s heart started to beat more quickly. Townsend looked like she was finally going to say why she’d stepped back so far.
“Yeah. For the first time, I’ve been serious about therapy.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it suuuuuucks!” She laughed, throwing her head back and letting out a real belly laugh. “I pay someone to torture me! Well, Miranda pays.”
“I’m glad you’re being serious about it,” Hennessy said. “That’s a very good sign.”
“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, my therapist got me to admit I’ve been using you for all sorts of bad reasons. She made me promise to only write when I’m not compelled to.” Making a face, she added, “One more person who believes doing things because you have to isn’t good for you.”
Nodding, Hennessy said, “I’m sure that’s true. Probably good advice.”
“She agrees with you, of course, about keeping some emotional distance between us until I’ve been sober for a good, long time.”
Hennessy nodded again, even though she was sure she’d never said she wanted emotional distance. She did not! Physical distance was plenty to keep them on the straight and narrow.
“She thinks I should spend this year looking forward—rather than backward. You know,” she said blithely, “make some new friends, find ways to fill my time that don’t include seedy bars and blow-jobs.”
All Hennessy could focus on was the “make new friends” comment. “Uh-huh,” she said, trying to keep from sobbing. “You know I’ll support you in any way
I can.”
Townsend looked at her for a long minute, and when she spoke her voice was warm and gentle. Just like it used to be when she got close and tried for a kiss. “You don’t have to write so often. You’re going to be super busy this year, and I’m doing well. I don’t need the security blanket as much as I did.”
“Uhm…” Hennessy could feel her cheeks growing hot again. “Would you rather I didn’t write much?”
“No,” Townsend said immediately, “but Dr. Buzzkill thinks I rely on your emails too much. She’d rather you didn’t write as much.”
“Okay.” Hennessy took a few big gulps of water, trying to soothe the knot in her throat. “Why don’t I wait for you to write, then write back. Would that be better?”
“Probably.” Townsend took in another deep breath, and Hennessy tried to stop herself from looking at the protuberant nipples that pressed against the thin fabric. It was torture to look at her fit, healthy body and glowing skin and not want to run her hands all over it. “It’ll be less than it has been,” Townsend said. She looked up, clearly asking for understanding. “Is that okay?”
Hennessy took her hand and held it. “I’ll do whatever you need. I’ve promised you that, and I’ll never go back on that promise. I love you, Townsend. With all my heart.”
Townsend flipped her hand over, brought Hennessy’s to her mouth and kissed it. “That makes me feel better than you can ever imagine.”
Hennessy saw the server bustling over to the table with their salads. She waited, patiently, for Townsend to have the opportunity to continue—to say she loved Hennessy as much as ever. The salads arrived—the words did not.
Near the end of October, Hennessy sat in the Grille, down in the basement of her house. It was set up like a rec room of a really big home, with sofas, a big TV, and a foosball table. It was usually too noisy to study or even read, but she liked being around her fellow Lowellians, so she often went down to write to her family. Today, she needed some people around, just so she didn’t feel so damned lonely.
The Right Time Page 31