The Right Time (20 page)

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.”

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.”

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?”

Hennessy looked like she wished she didn’t have to agree, but she nodded. “That’d be best. For now, at least.” She grasped Townsend’s hand, then dropped it in a nanosecond. “But if I’m going to be honest, it’s your money that’ll make her most uncomfortable. And your class.”

“I promise I won’t toss her a five and tell her to carry my suitcase.”

Hennessy’s eyes grew wide, then she let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll probably have a nightmare about that happening, but it’s still a little funny.” An antique truck rumbled up along the curb and Hennessy’s feet left the ground when the horn honked. “Shit!”

“I believe our ride is here,” Townsend said as she picked up her suitcase.

A tall, lanky man jumped out of the truck and loped around it. He looked like he could have been in an ad for something manly, like beer or jeans or trucks. Short, graying hair, tanned, weather-beaten skin, and piercing blue eyes. “The baby girl has finally returned to the roost,” he said as he gave Hennessy a quick hug. “We’ve missed you somethin’ fierce.”

“Granddaddy, this is my friend Townsend.”

Townsend put her hand out to shake. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Boudreaux.”

“Same here, Townsend. Good to have you. You two ’bout ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Hennessy said as she helped her grandfather load their bags into the bed of the truck. Hennessy got up onto the bumper and used a length of rope to tether the bags, but she didn’t have enough rope to do a good job. Clearly frustrated, she threw her hands in the air and grumbled something as she climbed into the truck, with Townsend following along.

It wasn’t the oldest truck she’d ever been in. The fleet at school may have had some that rivaled it for that honor. But this one was definitely the fishiest. It was a cool day, probably in the mid-50s, but Townsend had to open the window a crack, relieved when Mr. Boudreaux cranked his all the way down.

“How’d you like the ride this time?” he asked, giving Hennessy a fond smile.

“It’s all right,” she said, shrugging. “I assume I’ll get used to flying over time.”

That’s why she was so anxious! This had only been her second flight.

“How about you, Townsend? Do you fly much?”

She almost said she’d logged more miles than some flight attendants, but pulled her comment back. “I’ve flown more than Hennessy,” she allowed. “I enjoy it.”

When they left the airport, they moved onto a six lane highway. The loud, rumbling engine and open windows precluded conversation. But Townsend didn’t mind. She was able to focus on the scenery, and try to get a feel for the place. So far, it looked like every other expressway, just cars speeding by, passing them like they were standing still. Mr. Boudreaux didn’t seem to be in a rush, or maybe the truck simply couldn’t go over fifty.

About a half hour later, they turned off the Interstate onto a smaller, four-lane highway. Now things began to look more southern. Tall pine trees sprouted up from the red-clay soil as the scent she’d come to associate with Hilton Head filled the car. It wasn’t quite like rotten eggs, but it was close. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a definite hint of sex, stale and funky. Like someone should open a window to air the place out. She was about to comment when she turned to look at the blissful expression on Hennessy’s face.

“Have you ever smelled anything sweeter in your whole life?” Hennessy asked, looking a little drunk.

It struck her that the place could smell like burning tires and Hennessy would want to bottle it. She stated the obvious, not expecting a reply. “You love your home.”

“I surely do. I assume everyone from South Carolina loves it, but I can’t fathom anyone loving it more than I do.”

As they continued down the road, the space between houses grew, with fewer and fewer of them dotting the landscape. When the houses disappeared, the scent grew stronger. The mixture of odors lost their individuality completely, but there was no doubt you were by the water. Shrimp, scallops, oysters, clams…all of those creatures lived and died in these briny waters, their decaying shells probably adding to the miasma. She took in a breath at the same time Hennessy did, and their eyes met. The pleasure in those blue orbs nearly took Townsend’s breath away. If she was going to love Hennessy Boudreaux, and she was definitely going to, she was going to have to learn to love the smell of South Carolina.

They pulled onto a smaller road, and slowed down, now allowing them to speak without shouting. But neither Hennessy nor her grandfather seemed very talkative. When Townsend rode with her mother, they never spoke, but that was because they didn’t like each other enough to share their thoughts. It didn’t seem like that was true for Hennessy. The silence in the car was very companionable, like they were both happily enjoying the ride without having to comment on it.

Townsend, usually unable to be around Hennessy without chatting, sat quietly, listening as Hennessy’s few words began to sound as sweet and syrupy as molasses. Her accent was clearly tied to the latitude she inhabited.

They skirted Beaufort proper, hugging the coast, with brief glimpses of water showing through the low, swampy land. Once they turned off onto a craggy, jarring dirt road, they’d clearly left civilization behind. The red soil was gone, with the truck kicking up a fine, white dust. Townsend held onto the dash to avoid being thrown out the window. Finally, a weather-beaten metal sign announced, “Boudreaux’s Shrimp Shack.”

“Is that you?” Townsend asked.

“Sure is. I hope you like the smell of shrimp.”

They reached a fork in the road, and through the dust Townsend saw another sign for the restaurant with an arrow pointing to the left. But they turned to the right, and after another hundred yards pulled up to a very, very, very modest home.

“I’m gonna let you girls get settled. I’ve got to run an errand,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “Go on over to the shack when you’re hungry.”

“I’ve been hungry since I left home,” Hennessy said, beaming a smile at her grandfather. “We’ll head over as soon as we put our bags away.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m really happy to be home. Thanks for going out of your way to give us a ride.”

“T’wern’t nothin’,” he said, sparing a shy smile. “See you two later.”

“Thanks, Mr. Boudreaux,” Townsend said, jumping from the tall truck and nearly falling to her knees from the smell of—something.

“Fish.” Hennessy said, obviously seeing the look on her face. “By tomorrow you won’t be able to smell it. With any luck.”

“I love fish,” Townsend said, hoping the smile she had affixed wasn’t too fake looking. She looked at the house, summoning all of her bullshitting skills. It was going to be hard, but she was going to act like she was well acquainted with homes on the verge of falling down.