The Right Time (25 page)

They were once again forbidden from helping with the dinner crowd, so they sat in the restaurant, hanging out at a table in the rear. After a long time, Hennessy looked up and stared at the old cola sign that doubled as a clock. “We just have time to make the meeting. Ready to go?”

“I think I had a meeting already today. Seeing your mother strengthened my resolve to stay sober more than a dozen meetings.”

With a sad smile, Hennessy said, “All right. I’m a little sick of seeing the effects of alcohol myself.”

When there was a lull in the crowd, Hennessy went into the kitchen and came out with a big platter of fried shrimp and hush puppies, smiling with pride while Townsend once more sang the praises of Chez Boudreaux.

Around eight thirty, a very tall, ruggedly handsome, black-haired man came shuffling into the restaurant. He looked like the kind of guy who spent a lot of time apologizing. And there were probably women all over town who’d forgive whatever sins he’d committed. She’d seen dozens of guys like him in meetings. And now she had to reconcile having one of those bad boys be Hennessy’s doppleganger. “Your father’s here,” she said quietly.

Hennessy didn’t stand immediately. Instead she closed her eyes, consciously relaxed her shoulders and affixed a smile to her face. Only then did she get up and walk over to offer a tentative hug. The man returned it awkwardly, gave her a playful cuff to the jaw, then let himself be led over to the table. Only a few seconds had passed, but now Hennessy’s smile seemed genuine. “Daddy, this is my good friend, Townsend. Townsend, this is my father, Dawayne.”

Townsend stood and extended her hand, shaking the large, rough, callused one that Dawayne offered. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” he said, smiling gently. Dawayne would have had no trouble picking up more than his share of ladies. The women who lived in seedy bars didn’t have much to choose from, making Dawayne prime meat. He’d retained his good looks, his constant exposure to the sun making him look tan and healthy, even if he wasn’t. And he didn’t seem mean. That was rare. “Mamma and Daddy in the kitchen?”

“Sure are.”

“Gonna see if I can scare up some supper. I’ll be right back.”

He left, with Townsend looking after him as he walked. “Damn, you look just like him.”

“I guess I do.” She stared at the door he’d just walked through, a thoughtful expression on her face. “When I was little, I used to hear about some child or another being born and no one knowing who the daddy was. That gave me the idea that maybe I’d been misidentified as my mother’s daughter. I wanted to belong to just my daddy.”

“He’s been pretty consistent with you?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s completely unreliable. But when he was home, he was always pleasant and quiet. I think he knows he should have been a better father. At least he has some remorse.”

“He doesn’t drink at home?”

“No, no, no! There isn’t a drop of alcohol in the house. Never was, never will be. My granddaddy tried to get into the habit of going out and getting looped after he came home from the army, and my gramma put a quick stop to that. They say you can’t force someone to stop drinking, but Gramma did.”

“I guess there’s an exception to every rule,” Townsend said, smiling.

“That’s Gramma. She’s an exception to a lot of rules.”

After they’d cleaned the kitchen, both women were wrung out. When Hennessy came out of the bathroom, Townsend was lying on the box spring again. “I decided to stay up here. It fits me better.”

“I don’t mind swapping.”

“I do. You stay down there. You’ll be more comfortable.”

When Hennessy was settled, Townsend turned to her and said, “You know, in all this time I’ve never asked who you were named for. Is Hennessy a family name?”

“Not hardly.”

“Uhm…wanna tell me?”

“Yeah, I guess. My mother had some strangely romantic notions when she was a girl. She’d been trying to think of a name for me while she was pregnant, and she wanted it to be something classy. She wasn’t having much success, and my daddy was no help at all. So, on the day she gave birth, they were traveling down some country road on the way to the county hospital, where they could have me for free.” She gave Townsend a tight smile and continued. “They came upon a billboard for brandy. Heck, I think it’s still standing. Whoever owns it obviously forgot about it. Anyway, it was a picture of a man and a woman, toasting each other with brandy snifters. The man had on a tuxedo, and the woman was in an evening gown, with her hair all done up. Apparently, my mamma thought that was about the classiest thing she’d ever seen. Daddy didn’t have any objection, so Hennessy it was, whether I was a girl or a boy.”

The story was vaguely humorous, but so deeply poignant Townsend ached as vivid images assaulted her. A young woman dreaming of life so far beyond her station, a cheap billboard was her only life plan. She and the boy who’d knocked her up driving down a country road, so ill prepared they hadn’t bothered thinking of baby names. That dark-haired, blue-eyed baby, as innocent as they came. Named after the substance that would sour every chance she had of connecting with her mamma. The ache grew as she gazed at Hennessy’s stormy expression, filled with shame over a situation she had no say in.

“You know what?” Townsend asked, softly. “I’m feeling a little raw. How about a friendly, definitely non-sexual hug?”

“Cuddling sounds better.” Hennessy climbed onto the box spring and snuggled up against Townsend.

It was cool in the room, but Townsend’s body grew heated in seconds. They’d never been this intimate—had never been so close with so little fabric between them. Hennessy’s breasts molded against her, warm and firm. They both sighed as their bodies adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation, with Townsend praying they stayed just like this for a long, long time. Hennessy’s lips were close to her ear and when she spoke her breath was warm. “Did I promise a non-sexual cuddle, or did you?”

“That was me,” Townsend giggled. “You’re free to do as you please.”

“I’d like to kiss the back of your neck, then get onto that mattress before my hormones change my mind for me.” She lifted Townsend’s hair and tenderly brushed her lips against the skin. “Delicious.” After climbing off, Hennessy lay quietly for a moment then said, “Wanna know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“An embarrassing secret?”

“That’s the best kind.” She rolled onto her side and scanned Hennessy’s features. That was not the face of an embarrassed woman. Terrified? More like it.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone.”

Townsend stared at her, waiting for the punchline, but Hennessy didn’t add a word.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you—? What in the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re not just the first person I’ve been intimate with. You’re the first person I’ve ever
wanted
to be intimate with.”

“Hennessy,” she said, speaking before she had a chance to pick her words carefully. “We’re so far from intimate you can’t even see it from here. We’ve had one friggin’ kiss!”

Her tentative, hopeful expression vanished, replaced by hurt so vivid it took Townsend’s breath away. Wounding Hennessy was like kicking a damned puppy!

“To me, we’re really, really close,” Hennessy whispered, bravely continuing. “Closer than I’ve ever been or wanted to be. It scares me.”

What. The. Holy. Fuck.
Townsend gazed down at her, seeing vulnerability and pain reflected back. Banging strangers at fourteen was, admittedly, a bad idea. But never having had a sexual urge at eighteen was just as screwy. Which one of them was more fucked up?

“I don’t…I don’t know what to say about that,” Townsend finally managed. “Don’t you have some kind of counseling thing at school? Maybe you could talk to someone—”

“No, no, I don’t want to do that,” she said quickly.

An uncontrollable coil of annoyance moved through Townsend.
Right. It wasn’t as much fun to go to therapy yourself as it was to force other people to go, was it?

“I truly can’t fit another thing into my schedule. I…just wanted to let you know. You keep teasing about going to bed together, and I need to make it clear that I’m a long, long way from that.”

Summoning as much empathy as she could, Townsend tried to make her voice gentle and calm, as if she was completely used to people saying things like this. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Hennessy. We’ll just…take it slow.”

“Can you sleep on your tummy?”

“Huh?”

“If you can sleep on your tummy, you could dangle an arm down, and we could hold hands. I feel good when I hold your hand.”

Townsend rolled over onto her belly and dropped her arm, smiling when Hennessy grasped it and placed a gentle kiss on her pulse point. The last of her annoyance and shock ebbed away.

Hennessy murmured, “When I hold your hand I feel safe and warm and secure.”

“That’s how I feel when we’re together. Like I’m wearing a suit of armor that protects me, but that no one can see. It’s very cool.”

Suddenly, the trust Hennessy had shown by admitting to something so embarrassing started to make Townsend feel good rather than freaked out.

Fake it ‘til you make it, they said at meetings. She could do this. She could act like a trustworthy person. She could act like she wasn’t the biggest screw-up in any room. Everything was gonna work out. Her sponsor constantly reminded her that relying on Hennessy for support wasn’t smart, but that was bullshit. They relied on each other—just for different things.

On Christmas Eve, Hennessy
had packed up everything they’d need by the time Townsend sleepily stumbled down the stairs. “How’d you sneak out of the bedroom?”

“I snuck out two hours ago,” she said, smiling contentedly. “I’ve had breakfast, been to the market, now I’m all packed up for our adventure.”

“We’re going on an adventure?”

“Sure are, June Bug. We’re gonna have a real South Carolina Christmas. So shake a leg, put some warm clothes on, and come on back down. I’ll make you some cereal.”

“I can eat it dry if you’re in a hurry,” she said as she scampered back upstairs.

Hennessy just chuckled. Townsend had a funny way of looking at time. After waiting two hours for her to rise and shine, why worry about the time it took to splash milk into a bowl?

They drove to one of Hennessy’s favorite islands, just a mile long spit of sand that blocked some of the waves from taking over the mainland. A low-lying bridge connected the island, and she’d bet they were the first people to cross it that day. Tourists didn’t come out this way much, and it was too damned cold for South Carolinians to be out. But it was a heck of a lot warmer than Boston in December, and she’d decided to make the most of her vacation no matter the weather.

They parked in an empty lot, vaguely marked with faded yellow lines, piles of sand not showing a single tire tread. “I bought some firewood at the market,” Hennessy said. “I figured we’d find some things to make a fire blaze, but nothing to keep it going. Not much hardwood around barrier islands.”

They toted all of their gear over to a nice spot, far enough away so they couldn’t see the car, but close enough to not have to tote everything for days. Hennessy took off to gather anything she could to spark the fire, while Townsend arranged their bags on a blanket to keep the wind from carrying it off.

Patiently, Hennessy placed the logs in a nice square, then started to methodically arrange the driftwood and dried grasses to her satisfaction. “It’s not legal to build a fire, but this beach is hardly ever patrolled.”

“Hmm…if I were the police, I’d just scan the beach for smoke. Then I wouldn’t have to patrol at all.”

“Good thought,” Hennessy said as she lit the kindling at the base and stood back when the grasses roared into flame. “But people set fire to everything around here. Trash, yard waste, you name it.” She stood and looked toward the homes they’d passed to reach the beach. “There’s a fire right over there. It’d be impossible to tell which ones were from the beach. I clean up after myself, and I only do it when there’s no one else around. You’ve gotta have
some
fun.”

“Then let ‘er rip. I’d help, but the last time I built a fire, I was given an official warning to stay away from any incendiary materials. Not sure if that’s still in effect but…”

“You’ve got nothing but fire in your personality,” Hennessy said, as she tossed an arm around Townsend’s shoulders. “I hope you never lose that.”

She gazed up at Hennessy, with the warm sun highlighting the gentle contours of her face. “I don’t think I will. It’s surprised the heck out of me, but being sober hasn’t changed my personality. I feel more ‘me.’ Weird, huh?”

“No, I don’t think that’s weird. Alcohol screws with everything, including your personality. When we first met, you were so angry that I only saw tiny little snippets of what I’ve now discovered is the real you. The real you is damned sweet.”

“I sure hope you’re right. I’ve been called a lot of things—never sweet. I think I’d like to give it a try.”