The Right Time (37 page)

“I do. She’s been sober since July, and working hard to stay that way. But last night…” She trailed off, too sick with regret to continue. Townsend hadn’t been herself the whole damned day. And Hennessy had let it go, praying she was just in a bad mood. But there wasn’t a mood bad enough to change your whole personality. Even though Hennessy didn’t know the trigger, something had caused her to snap. The anger built like a hurricane, inexorably growing until it unleashed its fury on everything it touched. She wanted to slap herself for closing her mind to the clear signs. She’d let Townsend down. When she’d needed her the most. Her head dropped forward, until she was bent at the waist, the guilt so overpowering she was certain she’d slip to the floor.

The deputy reached out and gripped her shoulder, giving it brief, but firm pressure. “This girl needs help—lots of it. She’s determined to drink herself to death. I’ve never seen a kid more self-destructive.”

“I know it’s going to be hard,” Hennessy admitted, the magnitude of the difficulty that faced them hitting her with full force, “but I believe in her.”

The older woman gazed at her for a minute and gave her a half-smile. “Maybe that’ll be enough.” Standing, she said, “I can let you see her, but her mother’s going to have to come bail her out. Is she on the island?”

“Yes, but she’s sleeping. She usually doesn’t wake up until four or five.”

Once again the deputy’s eyebrows popped up. “Well, I’ve left many messages. I guess she’ll get them eventually.”

“Can I stay with her?”

Looking at her watch, the woman said, “I go off duty at six. I can let you stay, but only until my replacement comes in. He wouldn’t like my giving Townsend any special favors.”

Wiping at her tears again, Hennessy asked, “Doesn’t anyone on this island like her?”

The woman gave her a long look, then shook her head gravely. “Not many good people have reason to. The ones who do aren’t the kinds of people you’d want her to associate with.”

Nodding slowly, Hennessy followed the woman into the lock-up, staring at the crisp crease that ran down the back of her tan uniform shirt—concentrating hard so she wasn’t tempted to cry again.

There were two cells, and only one was occupied, by a slight, frail, pale body. Townsend was wearing only a set of hospital-green scrubs, and her color nearly matched the tone of the fabric. There wasn’t another thing in the cell save for a bare mattress and a plastic cup on the floor. Hennessy looked closer and saw the cup held some of the contents of Townsend’s stomach. “She’s sick and she’s freezing!” Hennessy gasped, stunned at the harsh conditions.

“I know that, but I was afraid she was a suicide risk, given how she was acting. I’d rather have her cold than dead.”

“I’ll be with her. Will you
please
get her a blanket?”

“Sure. I’ll get one right now. Just sit tight.” She went to the far end of the hall, leaving Hennessy to stare. Never had Townsend looked worse, and for a few moments, Hennessy wished she hadn’t come—to the lock-up, to the beach house, to Boston. But she swallowed her disappointment and dread and tried to put on a positive front.

The deputy returned with the blanket and Hennessy gratefully accepted it. “How long ago did she vomit?”

“I’ve been checking on her every fifteen minutes, so not very long ago. I’ll bring her a new cup. I’m sure she’ll need it.”

“Is there anything you can give her? Something for her stomach?”

“We’re not allowed to. It’s probably best for her to get rid of everything, anyway. I’m sure she’ll be all right.”

“Could I go to the store and buy her something to drink? She’s got to be dehydrated.”

Making a face, the woman hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just don’t bring any kind of medication back with you. No aspirin, nothing.”

“I won’t,” Hennessy promised, running out of the station as quickly as she could. She’d let Townsend down the night before, and had to make up for it now. But as the sun hit her face, and the salty sea air filled her lungs, she slowed, then stopped and turned her face towards the warmth. The temptation was overpowering. She could go to the ferry dock and get back to the mainland. Getting back to Cambridge would be tough, but walking sounded okay at the moment. That would only hurt her body.

She knew she looked odd, standing on the sidewalk, her face turned towards the sun. But her reputation on the island was already ruined. At home, she was the girl with the awful drunk parents. Here, she was the fool who’d chosen to be with Townsend Bartley.

Opening her eyes, she shrugged off her fantasies of escaping. She’d pledged her future to Townsend, and she’d never broken a promise that sacred. She wasn’t about to start now.

A few minutes later she pushed open the door to the police station, struck by the antiseptic smell she hadn’t noticed before. Hennessy dutifully showed the deputy she’d bought only a quart of an orange-flavored sports drink.

“I’ll take you back,” the deputy said, her keys jangling as she walked, straight and determined, for the cell. As she opened the door, she gave Hennessy a grim look. “Go on in.”

Hennessy held back, wishing the confident older woman would take her by the hand and fix this whole mess. But she wasn’t the little girl who police officers doted on any longer. She was an adult, and she had to gut it up and face her reality. Nodding nervously, she eased inside, approaching the bunk with trepidation. Townsend hadn’t moved, but the cup had been replaced with a new one. Hennessy knew she should wake her to get some fluid into her body, but she was dreading the “morning after” promises and self-recriminations that she’d heard far too many of. So she tucked the thin blanket around Townsend’s shivering body and sat down on the other bed. Townsend instinctively hugged the blanket to herself, looking so frail and broken and young that Hennessy started to cry again. She cried for Townsend and for herself and for her father and her mother and all of the millions of others who were affected by this crippling, soul-killing disease. Nearly an hour passed, and Hennessy’s tears were exhausted when Townsend moaned loudly, then dropped her head over the side of the squeaky bunk, grasping for the plastic container.

In a moment, Hennessy was at her side, holding her stringy hair up and out of the way, while Townsend retched pathetically, choking up nothing but the last remaining ounces of stomach acid.

Townsend fell back onto the bed, her body now covered in sweat. Panting from exhaustion, she managed to focus and mutter, “Hennessy?”

“It’s me.” She took off her sweatshirt and pulled Townsend into an upright position, then removed the sweaty, oversized top from her. Wiping at her pale, bare body, Hennessy managed to dry her off, then slipped the warm, clean shirt over her head. “Can you put your arms through the sleeves?”

“No,” Townsend said in a voice that sounded like a child’s.

Hennessy helped her with the task, then smoothed her hair back and lowered her to the bed. “You rest for a minute. I’ll get you a clean cup in case you’re sick again.” Hennessy was gone for just a moment, and when she returned, she had not just a new cup, but a cool cloth. Working gently but efficiently, she used the cloth to wipe Townsend’s fevered brow, then cooled her down by wrapping it around the back of her neck. “I’m going to help you sit up, and then you’re going to drink something.”

“Oh, God, I can’t,” Townsend moaned. “I’ll throw up again.”

“You might, but at least you’ll have something in your stomach. That last batch was just acid.”

Townsend didn’t argue, she just lay limply while Hennessy gently poured a small amount of the liquid into her open mouth. Abruptly, she sat up, gasping, “It’s coming right back up.” She gagged futilely for a full minute, but nothing else came out of her mouth. Soon she was lying in Hennessy’s arms, once more drenched with sweat. “I’m gonna die.”

“No, you’re not,” Hennessy said firmly. “I won’t let you.”

Blinking, Townsend obviously realized where they were and why they were there. Then the tears began, and Hennessy hugged her tighter, knowing they were in for a very long afternoon.

At five forty-five, the deputy came in and said, “I’m going off duty in fifteen minutes, Hennessy. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Has her mother answered yet?”

“No, I just tried again.”

Summoning all of her strength, Townsend stopped sobbing and asked, “Have you called my attorney?”

“You didn’t tell me you had one.”

“James Callaghan,” she said. “He’s in the book.”

“Oh, I know him,” the woman said. “I’ll see what I can do.” Hennessy gathered up her things, taking the empty sports bottle and looking regretfully at her shirt. “You’d better give me back my shirt, and the blanket. The new guy won’t like it.”

Townsend looked down and nodded, crying once again. The large shirt made her look so young and yet so old. She slipped the huge scrub shirt back on, then looked up at Hennessy helplessly.

“I’ll wait outside until your attorney comes,” Hennessy said. “Hang in there.”

“How…how can you still love me?” she asked, her voice shaking roughly.

With her face filled with sorrow, Hennessy gently stroked the pale, trembling cheek. “How can you not love yourself?”

Mr. Callaghan dutifully arrived no more than fifteen minutes after he’d been called. Hennessy sat on the rough, weathered stairs of the station after having been given a chilly reception by the deputy sheriff who’d just come on duty. A short time later, Townsend emerged, rumpled and sick and clearly in pain. The second the waning sun hit her face she tried to cover her eyes with both hands, but she had to squint enough to be able to walk down the few stairs. She was followed by her attorney, a distinguished-looking, older gentleman, wearing an immaculately tailored blue suit and a gold and navy rep tie. He was oddly upbeat, like a guy who was used to having things go his way. “This little scrape will require quite a few feathers to be smoothed, but I don’t anticipate too much trouble.”

Townsend nodded, then grimaced, the sudden motion probably too much for her head. “Thanks, Jim. I’ll be sure to tell my grandfather how helpful you’ve been.”

He smiled at her and patted her gently on the back. “Take care of yourself. I’ll let you know how everything turns out.”

She gave him a weak wave as he glided away and strode along the wooden sidewalk. “I would have introduced you, but I hope we never have to see him again.”

Hennessy swallowed, her feelings bruised. She never would have failed to introduce Townsend to someone she knew. But any illusions she’d had that they moved through the world in a similar way had been shattered. “That’s all right,” she said. “Ready to go home?”

“I want to get off this damned island.” Townsend looked up, once again shielding her red-rimmed eyes from the sun. “Could we go back to Boston? I feel safer there.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Hennessy said. Her roommates were supposed to be gone, but in case any of them came back early, she didn’t want them to see Townsend in the shape she was in. “Let’s go to Vermont.”

“Vermont?” Townsend asked, her eyes so swollen it was impossible to tell what color they were. “I don’t think so…”

“Then we stay here,” Hennessy said. “Your choice.”

Her head dropped and she nodded. “All right. It’s better than nothing.”

“I’m not sure how we’ll get there, though. Will your mom’s driver go that far?”

“He’s got nothing else to do, but I’d rather take a car. No big deal.”

“All right,” Hennessy sighed, unwilling to think of how much trouble that would be. “Let’s go get our things.”

“Leave ’em. I’ll have my mom bring them back with her.”

Hennessy gave her a long look. “My entire winter wardrobe is in my bag. I’d like to be able to change clothes at some point.”

Blinking slowly, Townsend grimaced and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“It’s all right. Let’s go tell your mother we’re leaving.”

“She won’t care—” Townsend began, only to be stopped by Hennessy’s sharp look.

“
I
care. And you should, too.” Squaring her shoulders, she began to walk down the sidewalk, leaving Townsend in her dust.

When they entered the
house, Miranda was clearly up, given the noise coming from the kitchen. Hennessy led the way, finding her impeccably dressed, blonde hair perfectly arranged, a tasteful amount of makeup rendering her skin flawless.

“Oh, thank God,” she grumbled, stepping away from the espresso maker, relief filling her gaze. Meeting Hennessy’s eyes, she said, “Could you possibly make me a cappuccino?”

Given the day she’d had so far, Hennessy thought she might be past being shocked. But both Bartley women were skilled at knocking a person off her stride. “Have you checked your phone?” She moved to the espresso machine and tried to replicate what they’d done the day before.

“I did.” She leaned against the counter, casually crossed one ankle over the other and gave Townsend a long look. It was tough to put into words how bad she looked, like someone who’d broken out of the hospital during a plague outbreak. But Miranda didn’t make a single comment. “I called over there and learned that Jim had already come to the rescue.” Half of her attention was on Hennessy, supervising the progress on the drink she was obviously very invested in, the other half on her daughter, her investment clearly less dramatic. “I can’t imagine why they left so many messages. Wasn’t Jim available?”

“I was too drunk to think of his name,” Townsend snapped, so angry Hennessy feared she might take a swing at her mother. “Thanks for helping out. It was really nice lying in my own vomit all night.”

Ignoring the comment, Miranda turned to Hennessy. “I take it you didn’t accompany Townsend on her night on the town?”

“No, ma’am.” She wasn’t going to say another word. The last thing she was going to do was get in the middle of the ongoing war between these two.

“She doesn’t drink,” Townsend said, sounding oddly protective.

A half smile settled on Miranda’s lips. “I thought you didn’t either?”

Hennessy glared at her. The woman looked almost pleased. What in the hell was this crazy dynamic? Whatever it was, she couldn’t wait to get away from it. As she stuck a pitcher under a steam wand and watched the milk start to foam she said, “We thought we’d cut our visit short, Mrs. Bartley. Do you have a car we could borrow to go back to Vermont?”