The Right Time (14 page)

They were almost back at the cabin when Hennessy got to the point. “I’m going to call you on your promise to never lie.” They stopped, with Townsend’s gaze pointedly avoiding Hennessy’s. “Do you have drugs or alcohol in your room?”

It took her a few seconds to respond. Townsend’s eyes shifted to any point to avoid Hennessy’s probing look. “Devlin came to
me
. I never, ever offered her or any of those other children a damned thing.”

They entered the bungalow, the sitting room empty. Thinking she’d dodged a bullet, Hennessy cursed to herself when she saw Hailey lying on her bed, reading. “Hi,” Hennessy said when the kid looked up. “Would you mind if we were alone for a few minutes?”

Hailey looked like she wanted to ask what was going on, but she wasn’t the kind of kid to push. “Sure.” She got up, took her book and headed for the sitting room. Quietly, Hennessy closed the door. Then she got to work. With Townsend standing by mutely, she tore the room apart bit by bit. Hennessy touched every single item in the room, going to the point of tossing Townsend’s tampons out of the box and checking that each one was still sealed.

She was about to quit, but Townsend hadn’t complained—hadn’t voiced the slightest bit of anger or indignation. That wasn’t the mark of a kid who had nothing to hide.

Then it dawned on her. The largest hiding place was right in front of her—the box spring. Hennessy sat on the stripped bed, and when she saw a flicker of anxiety cross Townsend’s features she knew she’d hit the right button. Moving down the bed, she bounced and probed with her hands, finally hitting something hard. Staring at Townsend, who was staring right back, she took out her key ring and used the penknife she always carried to cut the damned thing open. A fifth of vodka was cradled between two springs, a bottle of Oxycontin lying next to it.

Hennessy met Townsend’s eyes, unable to see what emotion was lurking behind those pale green orbs. A dull quality had settled into them, draining all of the life out of her.

Dropping to her knees to further inspect, Hennessy saw that Townsend had sliced the material at the seam, then sewn it shut. How she’d done that, Hennessy would never know. Now she had drugs, alcohol and burglary tools in her hands. She gazed down on them for a minute, then left, unable to even look at Townsend.

Hennessy was barely at her own door before Townsend was at her back, saying quietly, “Let me talk to you.” Three campers were in the common room, all watching like a trio of very interested hawks.

“No.” Hennessy took out her key and unlocked the door. “I need to cool off to avoid saying something I’ll regret.” With that, she closed her door, clicking the lock sharply.

Humiliated, Townsend went back to her room, staring at the mess. It was like some very sloppy burglars had tossed the place, their uncaring hands touching every single thing that meant anything to her.

She bent and started to pick up the top mattress, but didn’t have the strength. Sick with worry, she dropped to the box spring, lying atop books, drawing pads, and pencils. The spiral wire from one of the pads dug into her back, but she didn’t move or push it away. Focusing on the pain, she hoped it would leave a mark—a scar—to remind her of the night she’d destroyed the trust of the only person who didn’t think she was a useless sack of shit.

The next morning, Hennessy found a hand written note that had been pushed under her door. Opening it, she read,

I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever said those words and meant them, but I mean them this time. I betrayed your trust, and that’s something I’ve never had from another soul. I’m so sorry for destroying it, Hennessy. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but please, please give me the chance.

I need to be here, I need to stay in AA, and, most of all, I need to be away from home to stay sober. Please, please don’t make me go back there. I’m begging you—for my life.

Townsend

Hennessy read the note three times, then went to Townsend’s door and knocked softly. Hailey was already up and gone, probably to flee the mess that still littered the room. For some odd reason, Townsend had slept on the bare box spring, the top mattress and everything from her dresser strewn around her.

Sitting on her haunches, Hennessy reached out and stroked Townsend’s hair, watching as the morning light caught the strands, glowing like spun-gold. “Townsend,” she whispered.

The sleepy eyes blinked open, and immediately began to fill with tears. “Don’t make me leave,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around Hennessy’s waist and nuzzling her head against her.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to make you leave, June Bug. I told you that at the beginning, and I meant it. We’re stuck with each other for another month and a half.”

Looking up at her with tears running down her cheeks, she asked, “I don’t have to leave?”

“Of course not. As your punishment, you can’t use the rec bungalow for a week, though. No phone and no computer, either.”

“What about Devlin?” she asked, tilting her head suspiciously.

“Seven days. Both you and Devlin. Starting today. Now, let’s get this room cleaned up. Hailey must have thought you had a localized hurricane in here.”

“I did,” Townsend said quietly, getting up and moving over to the corner to start picking up clothes.

“I’m sorry I was so angry. I know you’ll have slips. Almost everyone does. But I lost it when I found the liquor and the pills. Knowing you’ve been lying about your sobriety…” She sank to the mattress and started to cry, unable to stop the tears. She’d been fooled so many times, by so many people who mattered to her. It was so fucking hard to try again, to force herself to trust people who were so damned untrustworthy.

“I haven’t been lying.” Townsend’s voice was soft but firm. “You can count the pills. The number on the bottle is exactly how many are in there. And the seal’s still on the vodka. I just needed them for…” She swallowed. “Insurance.”

Her heart started to race, hope growing. Hennessy grasped her chin and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. “No, you don’t. You’ve got all the insurance you need in here,” she tapped the blonde head, “and here.” Gently, she thumped the skin over Townsend’s heart. “There isn’t anything in the world having alcohol in your room will do except drive you deeper into your disease. It’ll
guarantee
you won’t stay sober when times are tough.”

“I feel so…alone without it,” she whispered, dropping down right next to Hennessy. She leaned against her, so thin she was light as a feather. “When things were really hard, I could tell myself if they got worse I could have a drink. Now what do I have?”

“You have your own strong spirit, and my complete support,” Hennessy pledged, wrapping Townsend in a hug. She knew she shouldn’t show how much she cared, but she couldn’t help herself. Townsend had gotten under her skin, and she had to face the fact that she was becoming as powerless over her as Townsend was over alcohol.

Hennessy really did give
a damn. She wasn’t a relative, she didn’t get paid extra to keep an eye on her, and, as near as Townsend could tell, she didn’t want anything in return. She cared for no reason at all. It was
possible
she was angling to get something from the stunningly fabulous Miranda Bartley, but Hennessy had never asked a single question about the great writer, so that was just speculation. But everybody had some sort of angle. You had to stay on your toes.

They picked up AA meetings on Saturday and Sunday mornings, just to keep the streak going, as Hennessy said. The weekend meetings were for anyone, so people of all ages showed up. That wasn’t Townsend’s favorite thing. Seeing old people who’d clearly fucked their lives up beyond recognition wasn’t the best way to stay positive. But she was trying to do whatever Hennessy wanted. Not having many friends had her guessing about how to behave, but the AA motto of “fake it ‘til you make it” was going to have to do. She’d copy the way Hennessy behaved and see if that worked.

On the first of August, Hennessy stood before her seminar, trying not to show the goofy smile she knew was struggling to get out. “I got some news this morning. For the first time, the editors of The Scroll will allow us to submit pieces for publication.”

“What’s The Scroll?” Avery asked.

“It’s a publication The Academy puts out to commemorate the summer class. It’s a pretty big deal, so I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy to get in.”

Hennessy had heard that Avery was a really talented painter, but the girl struggled to express herself on paper. “So…we’re supposed to compete against people two or three years older than us?”

“Yeah,” Hennessy said, trying to amp up her enthusiasm. “But there’s no age limit for creativity, so give it a try. Your submission can be prose or poetry, whatever you want.”

Townsend was writing something on a notepad she’d started to carry. Not looking up, she asked, “How long?”

“For prose there’s a limit of five hundred words. That’s not much space, so every word will have to count.”

“Can we see one of the old issues?”

“Sure. Drop by and look at the library.”

Townsend looked up and raised her hand, another nice improvement to her social skills. “This is really voluntary?”

“Totally. If you don’t have time, or you’re not interested, don’t bother. But I can guarantee you that if your piece is accepted, you’ll be in one of the advanced classes if you return next year.”

“Will you be here next year?” Townsend actually looked both shy and hopeful—about as different from the way she’d started the summer as night from day.

“If I can, I’d like to come back every year until I graduate from college. I love camp.”

“I like it, too,” Townsend said, surprising everyone in the room, save for Hennessy.

The Academy wasn’t a traditional summer camp, so they didn’t have a huge number of recreational toys. But MaryAnn loved horses, and she kept a small stable with just enough mounts for a whole cabin.