The Right Time

by Susan X Meagher

  Hennessy waved her off. “I’m set. You just sit there and look pretty.”

  This was odd. She clearly had something brewing. Something Townsend couldn’t even begin to figure out. Hennessy walked to the furthest spot in the yard, straight across from the dock, carrying both a pick and a shovel.

  “When I see a woman walking around my property with tools, I cannot sit on my porch and observe.” Townsend scrambled down her steps, then jogged across the yard until she stood right next to Hennessy. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  Though she was trying not to grin, she was wholly unsuccessful. “I’m going to dig a trench. A small one. You’re not going to like it at first, but it’ll pay dividends in the long run. Trust me on this.”

  She had such an adorably playful look on her face Townsend couldn’t refuse her. “Go ahead. Just make sure you can fill it in later.”

  With utter confidence, she shook her head. “I believe this will be a permanent feature of your backyard. But if I’m wrong, I’ll fill it in.” She got to work, throwing her attention and her back into it. First she put her booted foot onto the top edge of the shovel blade and jumped on it, using her weight to sink down several inches. Then she moved the shovel a few inches and cut into the turf in a straight line. She’d told the truth, if her outline was the extent of it. It was going to be a pretty small trench—probably three feet long and two feet wide. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Hennessy got down on her knees and used the shovel like a knife to separate the grass from the dirt. After she’d sliced it all the way through, she rolled the turf up and carried it over to the house. “If you could put some water on that, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Are we planting sod?” Townsend asked.

  “Nope. I don’t think we’ll need that again, but just in case we do—I don’t want it to die.”

  Townsend followed instructions, soaking the sod with the garden hose. When she went back to supervise, she found Hennessy really getting into it. Her white T-shirt with the big crimson “H” was wet from her armpits down to the hem, soaked with sweat. Time and again, she swung the pick into the bare dirt, breaking it up into big clods. Her cheeks were so pink, Townsend went to get her a glass of iced tea to save her from heat exhaustion.

  Hennessy snugged a tarpaulin next to the spot, then stood in the dirt and started shoveling it out of the hole with quick, precise tosses. Soon, she had all of the dirt neatly piled atop the blue plastic, and she leaned heavily on her shovel. “I am so glad I make my living with my brain. Working like this would kill me.”

  “At any point are you going to tell me what in the hell you’re doing?”

  Hennessy took the glass Townsend held for her, angled it to her mouth and drained it. “If you can’t figure it out soon, you’re not as bright as you look.” She jiggled the glass with her filthy hand. “More, please.”

  When Townsend went to fetch the pitcher, Hennessy walked back over to the garage to start carrying big round stones—eight of them—to the pit. She huffed and puffed and finally got them all delivered and lined up in the trench.

  “You’ve got to let me help you,” Townsend said. “I cannot call your gramma and tell her you dropped dead on my lawn.”

  Hennessy held up a hand, panting heavily. “The tough work is all done. The easy stuff comes now. Just you wait and see.”

  The next trip was a snap. Only several bundles of kindling and a few split logs.

  “Low Country boil!” Townsend cried out as Hennessy dropped a log onto the stone with a satisfying “thump.”

  “Took you long enough. Even at that, you’re a little bit wrong. Since it’s your birthday, we’re going to have a New England twist.”

  “Lobsta!”

  “You’ve got to get up pretty early to fool you.” The poor thing was a dirty, wet mess, so sweaty that the soil had turned to mud around her knees and forearms. But she never stopped. Never even seemed tempted to take a break. After arranging all of the wood to her satisfaction, she got the kindling in place and started a fire. The woman clearly knew how to make a good one. Townsend watched it burn, hoping it didn’t set her entire lawn aflame. “We can let that go for good hour or two,” Hennessy said. “How about a refill on this tea?”

  “Come on up to the porch. I’ll bring you a refill and a dry T-shirt.”

  Hennessy held up a hand. “I really did come prepared. I have a change of clothes, but I’m not going to bother until I’m finished getting dirty.”

  Townsend had been to enough lobster roasts to know what was missing. “Don’t tell me we’ve got to go to the ocean and collect seaweed.”

  “Nope. Thankfully, given how little we have around here. The lobsters come shipped with seaweed around them. The guy at the store gave me some.”

  “You really did come prepared.”

  Her grin was still out in full force, even though she had to be exhausted. “When I give a birthday present, there’s a ribbon on it, damn it.”

  “At least come sit on the porch and cool off a little.”

  She clearly didn’t want to stop, but Townsend won this point, partially. Hennessy sat on the steps, just next to the porch. “I’m not going to get your pretty new chairs all dirty. I will reward myself with a real seat when I’m clean.”

  Rolling her eyes, Townsend went in and replenished the glass. When she came back out she said, “How in the heck did you get over here this morning?”

  “I borrowed a bicycle. I’m thinking about buying one of my own. I’ve never had one. It’s time,” she said, grinning.

  “Start small. First a bicycle, then a razor scooter, then a moped, then one day…a car.”

  Her laugh was soft and a little thin. Probably because she was exhausted. “I don’t like to rush into things.” Hennessy leaned back against the screen door and fanned herself with her hand. “It sure does get hot down here. I bet you don’t work up a sweat like this when you’re doing a lobster bake in New England.”

  “Not usually. And we rarely have to dig up our backyards to have one. My new neighbors are going to wonder what I’m up to. Maybe I’ll tell them I’m putting in a tiny pool.”

  “Oh, they’ll know what’s going on when they smell what’s cooking. They’ll all be sniffing around, hoping there’s extra. There’s not going to be,” she added firmly. “I bought four lobsters, and if you can’t eat two, I’ll eat three.”

  “I think I can keep up with you, baby girl.” She put her hand on Hennessy’s leg, pulled it away immediately and wiped it on her shorts, which still had a few dry, clean spots. “I can’t keep up with how much you sweat, though!”

  “Sweat or die when you don’t have air conditioning in the South. Those are your only options.”

  Townsend’s fingers itched to touch her someplace, to show with a physical sign how much this meant to her. But even Hennessy’s hair was wet. She satisfied herself with grasping a bit of the wet shirt and tugging on it. “When you called me June Bug this morning, I almost lost it. That brought up memories. So many memories.”

  Hennessy gave her a sad, but hopeful smile. “Good ones?”

  “The good ones far outnumbered the bad ones.” Oh, what the hell? A little sweat never hurt anyone. She draped her arm around Hennessy’s overheated body and gave her a robust hug. The scent of sweat and dirt and a little bit of grass tickled her nose. Somehow, on Hennessy, it all melded into a surprisingly attractive mix. Who would have thought?

  The sun had fallen low enough that they could eat without holding a hand over their eyes, but it was still hot. Hennessy either didn’t mind or didn’t notice, and had refused Townsend’s repeated offers to eat indoors. Townsend thought she could lure her in when she turned the thermostat up to eighty, but Hennessy still complained about the chill when she went inside to use the bathroom. How had she survived in Boston for so long?

  Townsend stood and jumped a couple of times.

  “Is there a reason for that?” Hennessy asked, pointing at her bare feet with a fork.

>   “Trying to make some more room in my belly.” She eyed her remaining lobster. “I think I’m going to have to let you have three.”

  “Seems a shame, it being your birthday and all…” Hennessy speared the thing with her fork and had the first bite in her mouth in the blink of an eye.

  “I don’t know where you put it,” Townsend said. “You must have the metabolism of a hummingbird.”

  “Maybe I sweat all of my calories away.”

  “If that were true, we could make millions selling our weight loss secret. People would stop using air conditioning, helping combat climate change at the same time. Genius!”

  Conceding defeat, Hennessy set her fork down and leaned her head back. “The rest of this would be good for breakfast. Maybe in an omelet. Little cream cheese…”

  Townsend grasped the plate and stacked it atop her own. “Great idea. You can come over in the morning and make it for me. I get home from my AA meeting around ten. Deal?”

  “Why the heck not? Please don’t ask me to dig another trench.” She rubbed a shoulder muscle. “These are gonna be as stiff as boards tomorrow.”

  Townsend ruffled her hair, now clean and dry. “I hate to make thoughtless assumptions, but I’ll be surprised if I ever ask you to dig another trench.”

  “Never know. Might need a fence. Or a French drain. All sorts of things. I’ll leave my shovel here.”

  Pausing, Townsend looked into her eyes. “Did you have to buy all of that stuff? The tools and the tarp and everything?”

  Blinking her eyes ingenuously, Hennessy said, “They don’t like it when you leave off without paying. I tried.”

  Bending slightly, she kissed the top of Hennessy’s head, her floral shampoo making her hair smell extra nice. “You’re just about the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met.” She could feel herself start to mist up, so she headed inside for a moment alone.

  “What do you mean…just about?” Hennessy called out. “Who’s nicer than me?”

  That kind of teasing effectively pulled her out of her misty moment. Townsend returned with the pitcher and fresh glasses full of ice. “No one’s nicer than you. And I think you know it.” She patted Hennessy’s cheek as she sat down.

  “Naw. I’ve met lots nicer people. I’ll admit I do try, though,” she allowed, looking a little cocky.

  “Well, I’m nice to myself, so I bought myself a birthday present. If you’re good, I’ll let you use it.”

  “Then I’ll be good,” Hennessy promised. “Let’s use it now.”

  Townsend couldn’t stop herself from smiling like a kid with a new toy. She was a kid with a new toy. Grasping Hennessy’s hand, she led her to the storage side of the garage. “We’re going kayaking.”

  “What?” As the door rolled up, revealing it, Hennessy stared at the long, slim double kayak. “When did you get this? And why didn’t you tell me about it hours ago? We could have been in Florida by now!”

  “Last night. And that’s why I didn’t tell you about it until now. There was no way I was going to have the sun beating down on me all afternoon. This is an evening sport. A relax and unwind kind of sport.”

  “Dang, Townsend.” She had her hands resting on her hips, her mouth set in a firm line. “I hate to have you buy a double just so I can come along. You need a single so you can go any old time.” She draped an arm around Townsend’s shoulders. “If you really think this is something you’ll like, take this one back and we’ll each buy a single.”

  “Nope.” She went to the far end and picked it up by the plastic handle. “I want a double for poking around in the canal—with you.”

  A guilty grin settled onto Hennessy’s face. “I’ve never been in one. I sure have wanted to though.”

  “Then let’s get moving. I want to sneak up on a great egret.”

  Hennessy grabbed the two paddles and stuffed them into the boat, then hefted her end and led the way down to the dock. “If you can manage that, I’ll tip my hat to you, Ms. Bartley. An egret can hear you talking about him from here.”

  Townsend sat in the back, even though she probably should have been in the front, given Hennessy’s greater muscle mass. But it was fun to watch her twitch around in her seat, silently pointing out every bird that Townsend would have surely missed.

  The water was as smooth as glass, and as they quietly moved along, the only sounds were the soft drips of water from the ends of their paddles, and animals calling out to each other, getting ready to settle in for the night. It was magically quiet. So quiet Townsend could hear her own pulse beating in her ears. The kind of quiet she’d never had in Boston.

  She’d been there less than a month, yet South Carolina was already her home. Looking at Hennessy’s raven hair glistening in the dying rays of the sun, she let herself have one quick birthday fantasy. Hennessy lay on her back, her bare skin shimmering from the exertions of their lovemaking. Her gorgeous eyes locked on Townsend’s, sending out a clear message of love, desire, and satisfaction.

  Hennessy’s hand shot out, pointing at a beautiful blue/gray bird with a magnificent wingspan. It went from standing completely still to thwapping its way across the canal, gliding weightlessly for a second before settling down again, further up the waterway.

  “I saw it,” Townsend whispered, smiling when Hennessy gave her a thumbs-up. Her fantasy had flown away with the heron, and she resolved to put it away for another year. The key to her new life was to live fully in the present.

  Don’t want what you can’t have.

  Be thankful for what you’ve got.

  Those reminders were her real birthday present, and she could enjoy their simple truth every single day of her life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On the night before Thanksgiving, Hennessy rolled her suitcase over and stuck her legs up on it. That didn’t make her much more comfortable; it simply changed the angle of her butt in the seat.

  “Answer me a question,” Townsend said. She was sitting with her head in her hand, looking as bored as a human could be.

  “Ask away.”

  “Why are we sitting in an airport on the busiest travel day of the year?” She reached out and poked Hennessy in the ribs. “When there’s no reason in the world we can’t telecommute!”

  “Tough question.” The new angle wasn’t working. Hennessy stood, then bent at the waist, sighing when some of the tension in her back eased. The blood pooled in her head, giving her a rush. Any novel experience was welcome. “I like working in the office. We get a lot more done than we would if we had to call each other every time we had a question.”

  “That’s the big picture. I’m asking why we’re here today?”

  “Oh.” Hennessy nodded. “That’s just stupidity.”

  “I had a feeling that was the answer.” Townsend got up and looked around the packed gate. “Same answer for every one of these dopes. Can you imagine how good their turkey’s going to have to be to make this worth it?”

  “I’m not even getting a good meal out of this. Kate’s working tomorrow, Friday and Sunday. I’ll end up making pasta or something for Thanksgiving dinner. Depends on what’s in the cupboard.” She moved to stand behind Townsend, then gave her back a few dozen Karate chops, keeping it up until she stumbled away.

  “That’s nice,” she purred, a sated grin on her face. “You do it rough!”

  “I’m not going to do it at all at this rate.” She flopped down in her molded plastic chair, belatedly recalling that her ass hurt. “I don’t remember having ice storms in Boston this early in the year.”

  “I’ve lived through ice in October and snow in April. It’s not the most hospitable place on earth.” She dropped down next to Hennessy. “I was sure looking forward to a hospitable pair of…” Her mouth twitched into a devilish smile as her hands grasped at a pair of imaginary breasts. “Arms to snuggle up to.”

  “We’re not going to make it out of here tonight. We should go home and try again tomorrow.”

  “Supposed to be worse
tomorrow.”

  “Friday?” She asked, hoping Townsend’s frequent reconnaissance had given her a scrap of good news about the rest of the weekend.

  “Doubtful. Today’s supposed to be our best chance.”

  “I do believe we’re going to have to satisfy ourselves with ribs, rather than…” She tried to match Townsend’s innuendo-filled grin. “Arms.”

  “Ribs?”

  “The Boudreaux family tradition. The pilgrims would be flummoxed, yet delighted.”

  The next afternoon, Hennessy drove Grandaddy’s truck to Noot and Bud’s, their favorite local rib joint. As always, a line of hungry folks stood out in the sun, angling their bodies so the rays didn’t hit them directly in the face.

  Townsend didn’t seem to mind the unique holiday menu, not even asking how it came about. The lady in front of them was clearly bored, having spent the last ten minutes talking to the guy in front of her. She must have worn out her conversational opportunities with him, since she turned to say, “Do you girls hate turkey too?”

  She had a doozy of a Low Country accent, and Hennessy wondered if she’d have to translate for Townsend’s sake. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I love turkey, but my grandparents run a restaurant. Thanksgiving to them means not cooking.”

  “What kinda restaurant?” The woman asked, narrowing her close-set eyes and leaning in to gaze more carefully at Hennessy. She was probably in her forties, probably with a few kids, or grandkids, given the orange and green stains on her shirt—at the perfect height for a kid in a high chair to hit when he hurled his pureed carrots.

  “A fish shack,” Hennessy said, seeing a hint of recognition in the woman’s eyes.

  “You’re Dawayne Boudreaux’s girl, aren’t you,” she said, slapping Hennessy on the shoulder. “Look at you, all growed up!”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m as grown as I’m gonna get. This is my friend, Townsend.”