The Right Time (43 page)

“Of course I will.” She placed a tender, brief kiss on Townsend’s lips, then settled her onto her own feet and pulled away.

Townsend lunged for her, holding her tightly as she whispered, “Don’t forget me. Please don’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” She held Townsend’s face in her hands, gazing into her eyes until she felt as if she’d drown in their depths. “You’re in my heart. Forever.”

Tearing herself away from that frightened gaze, Hennessy opened the door and sank down into the grey leather softness.

Townsend reached inside and slipped her fingers through Hennessy’s. “I don’t think I can let you go,” she said, the tears starting to flow again.

“I don’t want to go. I wish…I truly wish we could be together for all of the days of our lives.” She blinked the hot tears from her eyes. “I pray to God that one day we can be.”

Townsend gave her a long, contemplative look. “I know you won’t call much, but will you write?”

“I’ll send you a note every night before I go to bed. Promise.”

“I guess…I guess I’ll take what you’ll give. Like I have a choice.”

Hennessy touched her chin, lifting it slightly so their eyes met. “You might not believe this, but I’d love to give you everything you want.” She felt her mouth reluctantly slide into a slow smile. “I wish a lot of things, but that’s one thing that’s always true. I want to be what you need…what you want.” She stuck a foot out and boosted herself up to Townsend’s level to kiss her cheek. “But now isn’t the right time.”

“Seems like it never is,” Townsend said, her eyes clouding with tears again. “I can’t believe I’m the one to say it, but you’d better get going.” Townsend waited for Hennessy to get back inside, then close the door. As the window lowered, she bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hold me in your heart. That’s the only place I feel safe.”

Placing her hand over her breast, Hennessy said, “You’re right here. Right where you’ve been since last summer. Right where you’ll always be.”

“Goodbye,” Townsend got out hoarsely. She stepped back, but didn’t release her death grip. The car started to roll away, and Townsend ran a few steps, her hand locked with Hennessy’s. Finally, Hennessy’s fingers loosened, and Townsend’s hand started to slip away, leaving a fraction of a second when the tips of their fingers connected—then broke apart.

Hennessy couldn’t bear to look in the rear view mirror. The mere sight of Townsend would break her heart. Instead, she brought her fingers to her mouth and kissed them gently, then placed her hand on her shoulder, hugging herself as she drove away.

It could go either way. Townsend had a backbone forged of steel, but she was impulsive and impatient and immature. There were a thousand mistakes just waiting to knock her down. But Hennessy had a remarkably strong belief in her. She’d seen her struggle and she’d seen her win. Townsend could do this. She was sure of it. But the entire weight of her challenge rested on her shoulders. Her frail, shaking shoulders.

On Sunday evening, Hennessy
sat in yet another diner. This one, just off Harvard Square, was an anachronism. Dated, grimy, reeking of stale coffee and grilled onions. Every booth filled with marginalized locals who’d lost every other reasonably-priced place in town to high rents. Her sponsor stirred sugar into her coffee, concentrating like it was a difficult task. Finally Angela looked up, flicked her long, dishwater blonde hair from her face and said, “I don’t want to lecture you, Hennessy. I really don’t. And I hate to be the kind of person who says I told you so—”

“You did tell me so,” Hennessy interrupted. “I thought of that five thousand times this weekend. It was too late, of course, but I kept reminding myself of what a mistake it was to think I was smarter than you.”

Angela reached over and poked her arm. “I barely got out of high school, so don’t give me that ‘I’m not smart enough’ bullshit. You’re the smartest kid I’ve ever met. You just let your heart talk your head into doing something dumb.”

“Really, really dumb. I might have derailed Townsend’s determination to stay sober, just because I wanted to see her.”

“Focus,” Angela said sharply.

Hennessy looked up, taking in her weary, lined face, watery blue eyes and limp hair. She’d just worked a twelve-hour shift as a parking enforcement officer and fatigue showed in every part of her.

“Focus on
your
actions,” Angela said. “We both agree you shouldn’t have gone away with Townsend. But you didn’t make her drink. She chose to. And you can’t make her stop. All you can do is offer whatever support you can, while not letting her pull you down into another co-dependent death spiral.”

“What can I do?” Hennessy asked plaintively. “How can I fix things?”

Angela’s pale eyes scanned over Hennessy’s features, quietly taking her in. “How serious are you about this program?” she finally asked.

“I’m
very
serious about it.” Hennessy’s voice took on added urgency. “I know I screwed up, but I’m going to focus. I won’t get into any more situations like this.”

“Okay.” She paused for a second, her gaze still pointed. “How do you plan to avoid them?”

“I’ll stay on my toes. Go to more meetings.”

Angela leaned over and spoke quietly. “I feel bad for Townsend. I really do. But I’m not working with her. I’m working with you.” She pointed at Hennessy. “Your first mistake was choosing to be with her. Your second is choosing to stay with her.”

Hennessy’s eyes closed briefly. “I can’t abandon her.” She could feel the tears start to come, but she only had a napkin to dab at them. “She’d give up if I did that. I’m sure of that.”

“Uh-huh.” Angela stared at her, unblinking. “How is that not typical co-dependent behavior? You chose to be with an alcoholic, Hennessy. You knew how troubled she was, and you jumped right in.”

“I didn’t jump
right
in,” she said, her defense of herself sounding awfully weak. But Angela ignored her, continuing to speak.

“Townsend made a good choice in picking you. You’re stable, giving, caring, and pretty drama-free. Hell,
I
have a little crush on you, and I’m straight as a stick.”

Hennessy looked up to see the teasing twinkle in Angela’s eyes.

“Townsend has one thing you like.” She poked Hennessy with her finger, then held it up. “One thing.”

Head shaking, Hennessy said, “There are dozens of reasons I love her.”

“There’s one. She’s an alcoholic you want to rescue. You’re trying to save your mother by saving someone who’s just like her.” Stabbing Hennessy with each word, she enunciated clearly. “You can’t do that. You will fail.”

“I don’t want to rescue her, Angela. I want to love her.” She stacked her fists on the table and let her forehead rest against them.

“Name five things you love about her. Fast!”

Stunned, Hennessy tried to come up with a list for the pop quiz. “She’s very bright. She’s got a load of potential. I think she can be a very good writer if she puts her mind to it. She’s…” Hennessy searched her mind frantically. There were so many reasons!

Shaking her head, Angela started to tick items off on her fingers. “She’s self-destructive. She throws a fit when she doesn’t get her own way. She’s unbelievably disrespectful to her mother. Check that. She’s disrespectful to all authority figures. She’s a thief. She lies whenever it’s more convenient than telling the truth. She tries to buy her way out of trouble. She pushes you to have sex before you’re ready. She drives when she’s drunk.” She stared hard at Hennessy. “Which of those things do you love?”

“None of them,” she admitted quietly. “But I didn’t mention the thing I love most about her. She wants to change. You don’t understand how hard she worked this year, Angela. She did everything I asked. Everything her sponsor suggested. Townsend threw herself into her recovery like you wouldn’t believe. I admire her so much,” she said, tears leaking out again.

Angela reached across the table and took Hennessy’s hand. Holding it for a moment, she said, “Then be her friend. Support her. Listen to her. But stop trying to be her lover. There’s nothing there to love—yet,” she added when Hennessy tried to interrupt. “There may be someday. But right now she’s nothing but trouble.”

Hennessy desperately wanted to argue, but she didn’t have one compelling piece of evidence. Townsend
was
trouble. More importantly, she was troubled. Deeply, deeply troubled. And Hennessy loved every broken, bent, torn piece of her.

The first day of classes sucked, but she’d expected that. All of her douchey classmates tried to impress each other with where they’d gone for spring break. Given who they were and why they were at the reformatory, they focused less on where they’d gone and more on how high they’d been. She could have had some fun and told the truth about her vacation, but shocking assholes wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. Even at seventeen, when you could get away with almost anything, it was a little sad to admit to spending a night making vague promises of epic blow jobs, hoping everyone got too drunk to want to cash in.

Classes were only from nine until three, with an hour for lunch, but even that was too much for her. By the time she’d broken free and was puttering down the road in her borrowed pickup, her whole body ached from being cooped up.

It was chilly, but she rolled the window down, sucking in the rich, moist air, filled with the woodsy scent of pine and new growth. It was just a two-lane road, lightly traveled at this time of day. The sun was low in the sky, nearly blinding her through the wide, deep windshield of the old truck.

On a curve, a huge logging truck started to drift. Immediately, her heartbeat pounded in her chest as she had to decide whether to veer to the right or wait him out. On pure instinct, she yanked the wheel to the right and skittered off the road, banging over the rocky, uneven terrain as she stomped on the brakes. The big truck came to a stop after slowly thumping over a good-sized tree branch, a sickening crack signaling either metal or wood failing.

Every part of Townsend was pounding. The blood in her veins pulsed so hard she could hear it, and her hands and feet tingled as if they’d had a live current attached.

It took a minute for her to get her breathing back to a normal pace, then she tentatively inched forward, hoping she hadn’t broken an axle. The truck obeyed and started to climb back up the short embankment as she let out a sigh of relief. Just before she goosed it to crest the hill, she reached over and buckled her seatbelt. If she was this relieved not to be dead, it seemed kinda stupid to ask for trouble.

The usual group was waiting at the VFW hall, with Art up at the front, getting a cup of the world’s worst coffee. Townsend took a seat in the back and waited for the meeting to start.

Four fucking days. She had four fucking days of sobriety. An image of the beach on the Vineyard came to her. Pale sand stretching out as far as she could see in both directions. The individual grains of sand were the future, each one a day she’d have to struggle not to drink. And the four tiny grains in her hand were all she’d managed so far. It was an impossible task. Like spitting into the ocean and hoping to change it to fresh water. There was no way to make a dent. Why keep trying?

After the meeting, Art and Townsend sat on the steps of the VFW hall, idly watching people walk down the street. Her truck was parked right in front, and he looked at it with a critical eye. “That your truck?”

“I drove it,” she said, skirting the question.

His sharp gaze moved along the old, pale green truck with the school’s name and insignia stenciled on the door. “Can’t believe they let you take it.”

“Didn’t say they did,” she admitted, waiting for the lecture.

He was quiet for a minute, then said, “What do you think the key to success in AA is?”

“Trick question?” A kid and his mom passed in front of them, with the kid on one of those plastic three wheeled scooters. She’d have given anything to jump on that thing and pedal away. It didn’t matter where she went. She simply longed to be away.