The Right Time (10 page)

Without asking for permission, Hennessy flung open the office door and hurried out of the building. Jogging just a few dozen yards had her on a rarely used stretch of path that led to the ocean. The urge to be near the water was so strong, she couldn’t resist. As she walked, head down, numbly unaware of a single sight or sound, Hennessy tried to see the situation from Mrs. Bartley’s position. Townsend was a handful. No one would argue about that. And dealing with her day in and day out could easily make you lose patience. But it was the lack of empathy that shook Hennessy so badly. How could you hear that your child had been violently abused and just toss it off? What must have gone on between them to have destroyed their connection? Had they ever had one?

As she drew closer to the water her senses started to open up and she smelled the tangy scent of the sea as gulls swooped and dove, picking up morsels of breakfast. She slipped her shoes off and let the cool sand envelop her toes. Standing at the water’s edge, the rhythmic splash of gentle waves helped soothe her. What must it have been like to be Townsend? Their situations were similar, but only slightly. She’d always been able to blame alcohol for her own mother’s lack of interest. Unless Mrs. Bartley hid it well, Townsend had nothing obvious to pin it on. That must have hurt much worse.

Townsend couldn’t let what would definitely be a tough day go by without stirring up some trouble. She rolled into Hennessy’s seminar at 9:45, just fifteen minutes before it ended. “Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “Big meeting with my crack dealer.” She was back in gangsta mode. That was the only term Hennessy could think of to describe her rolling gait, impervious gaze, and slightly haughty smile. The fact that she was on the small side, underweight, and resembled a kid from the country club more than the hood, just made her seem silly and affected.

Hennessy nodded at her crack, but didn’t reply. At the end of class, she quietly said, “Townsend? A word, please?”

Not moving from her nearly horizontal position, Townsend looked up, bored, as the other students filed out.

Hennessy loomed above her, looking down at the top of her head. “Did you hear me say you had to be in class on time?”

“Yep. Sure did. Your voice is annoyingly loud.”

“Good. Then you also heard me say you’d be punished for being late.”

As her chin tilted, a bored smirk covered her face. “Gonna take away my computer again?”

“No. I’m allowed to tailor the punishment to fit the crime…and the criminal. For you…” She thought for a minute. “I’m assigning you to the mess hall to help prepare breakfast for a week.”

No longer bored, Townsend leapt to her feet, breathing fire. “Are you shitting me? I’m not your galley slave!”

“Yeah, you are. Kinda funny, huh?”

Her outrage only lasted for a second. She’d obviously been punished so infrequently and ineffectively that she didn’t believe anyone could touch her. “Fuck off, Chief.” She started to laugh, derisively. “There’s no way I’m doing that, and no way you can make me.”

“I think I can,” Hennessy said, her determination building with each moment that pompous grin remained on Townsend’s face. “I want you in the kitchen by seven thirty. I’d really suggest you be on time.”

The fun just kept on comin’. Townsend got into the camp van for the ride to her first AA meeting that evening, but she wouldn’t acknowledge Hennessy’s presence in any way. After entering the church hall, Townsend chose a chair at the end of a row, leaving no space for Hennessy to sit next to her. Chuckling to herself, Hennessy sat right behind her, ready to trip her if she tried to escape.

Hennessy surveyed the group, finding most of them a little older than Townsend, but not by much. These were her people—wealthy, bored kids who were probably only there because they were on probation for drunk driving. Only a few of them had the anxious, alert expression of someone who truly wanted help.

The meeting began, with the leader asking everyone to introduce themselves. Every other person simply stated his or her name and what substance they were addicted to. Townsend, of course, had to add a twist. She stood and let her eyes travel around the large, utilitarian room. “My name’s Hennessy Boudreaux. I’m addicted to smack, glue, and kiddie porn, and I’d like to remind everyone that AA’s for quitters.” Then she sat again, her usual posture finding her sliding down so far only the top of her head was visible from behind.

On the way home, Hennessy broke the silence. She’d considered ignoring Townsend’s antics, but it seemed she was well used to that tactic, and it sure as heck hadn’t helped. “I’m sure you thought it was cute to use my name to embarrass me, but you’re going to have to try harder. People expect nothing but bad from Boudreauxes around here.”

Townsend turned and gave her a quizzical look, but didn’t respond for a minute. Finally, she spoke, her voice sounding weary. “Don’t complain. I’m supposed to keep three fucking family names spotless.”

“Three?”

“Yeah. The Townsends and the Jamesons got here as soon as people realized there was money to be made in the colonies. Then they fought in the Revolutionary War and got to be all kinds of generals and stuff. I don’t know much about the Bartleys, since my mom didn’t pay anyone to find all the heroes from my father’s line. But I’m pretty sure they helped make this country great.” She sniggered, finding her words really funny.

“I’d love to have some ancestors I could point to with pride.”

“I’m being sarcastic, Hennessy. All my relatives did was help wipe out the natives. You can have ’em.”

“I’ll stick with what I’ve got.” She tried to make her voice reflect the sincerity of her words. “I’m not telling you to straighten up for your family. That never works.” Townsend turned to look at her. “But I’d truly love it if you could see the value of your own life. That’d be an accomplishment you could be proud of—no matter who your relatives are.”

The look Townsend shot her actually had a glimmer of connection to it. Not much—but a glimmer was progress. “Not gonna happen, Chief. But thanks for acting like you give a fuck. I’ll tell the warden how hard you tried.”

As expected, Townsend was a no-show at seven thirty the next morning. Hennessy waited, patiently, until eight, passing the time helping the prep cooks peel potatoes. Then she went into the dining area and spotted a few girls from her cabin.

The room was nearly full, the girls’ high, excited voices making it feel even more so. They were at peak energy after they’d finished breakfast. Hennessy knew it would seem funny to send them out to run around for fifteen minutes, but that first class period would go a lot better if the kids were calmer.

Devlin was trying to tell a story to a couple of kids sitting two tables away. Hennessy was about to send her over to deliver the punch line in person, but the room was so damned noisy it hardly mattered.

At ten minutes until nine, Townsend strolled in, maneuvering around kids who were starting to leave, hustling to get to their nine o’clock classes on time. Jumping to her feet, Hennessy threaded through the line of kids trying to exit, stood in front of Townsend, and said, “Let’s go.” She physically turned her, then gave her a gentle push towards the door.

A dozen kids were clustered nearby, and every single one of them stopped and gawped when Townsend shouted, “Get your fucking hands off me!”

The clatter stopped, the silence so loud Hennessy could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. Every person still at a table stared, boldly.

The easy thing would be to step away and have it out with Townsend after class. But Hennessy wasn’t about to stand down. You couldn’t let a kid like Townsend win simply by being disruptive.

“Time to go. Trust me; you don’t want to be late for class again.”

“I haven’t had a fucking cup of coffee!”

Hennessy leaned close and kept her voice low, not that it did any good. Every person in the dining hall was paying rapt attention. “And you’re not going to get one now. Not showing up this morning means you’re going to work both breakfast and lunch for a week. And if you miss one time—or are one minute late—it’s two weeks. And it’s perfectly fine with me if you have to work all summer long. I think it’ll do you good.”

The smirk was back, but Hennessy was pleased to see it was slightly dimmed. “Unless you have a cattle prod, you can’t make me.” Townsend tried to push past her, clearly eyeing the coffee urns temptingly out of reach.

Hennessy certainly wasn’t burly, but she was strong from working with her father, and her reflexes were sharp. If you were slow to react on a fishing boat, you started to lose fingers pretty quickly. With one hand, she turned Townsend toward the door. “No coffee. No food. Not a bite until you work.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

Hennessy caught sight of Mary Ann sitting with the administration staff. She stayed right where she was, letting Hennessy deal with this on her own. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Destiny also watching but not moving a muscle. Knowing she had backup was nice—but it was even nicer not to have to call on them.

“I paid a shitload to come here, and I’m going to eat breakfast!” Townsend fumed.

She was a few inches taller, and fifteen or twenty pounds heavier, and Hennessy used every bit of her advantage to block not just her path, but Townsend’s certainty that rules were optional. “Your birth mother paid for you to come here, and she gave us permission to deal with you any way we choose. I think I could probably get away with that cattle prod, come to think of it.”

Townsend kicked the first wall she passed on her way out, with Hennessy enjoying a tiny bit of satisfaction when Townsend limped her way to the door. A arm settled around Hennessy’s shoulders. Destiny stood next to her, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Then they started for the door, with that simple, silent show of support letting the other kids know Hennessy hadn’t overstepped her bounds. That rocked!