The Right Time (6 page)

Besides supervision, her main job was to be available to the girls in Sandpiper. That meant sharing their meals and being around when they had free time. Some of the other bungalow leaders liked to skip out—to hang with each other rather than the kids. But Hennessy liked her campers, liked their wide-eyed innocence and their desire to please. These were kids who’d been brought up to make the adults in their lives happy, and they sometimes reminded her of puppies, scrambling for attention. Of course, she also had one feral cat in the bunch, the one who hissed and scratched and made it clear you weren’t allowed to get too close.

And she wasn’t at breakfast.

As the sweep second hand in the classroom passed the twelve, Townsend came barreling in, obviously having risen moments earlier. Her hair was askew, shirt buttoned incorrectly, eyes so red it looked as though she’d had a severe allergic reaction. “Are you all right?” Hennessy asked, concerned. There were all sorts of bugs and plants around that a girl from Boston might never have been exposed to.

“Screw off,” she grumbled, dropping inelegantly into a chair.

Hennessy turned to the rest of the class. “Okay!” She clapped her hands loudly, noting that Townsend flinched as though she’d been hit by lightning. “I thought we’d spend some time having each of you read your stories. I know this can be a little intimidating, but it’s the best way to gain confidence in your writing.”

Soft murmurings spread around the circle. Nerves shot through the group in two seconds. Every experience seemed like a test for some of them—in this case, a test they hadn’t studied for.

Hennessy tried to reassure them before they broke out in collective hives. “This is camp,” she stressed. “Not regular school. I’m not your teacher. I’m just here to help you find your voice. You’ll never be criticized. Promise. And there aren’t any grades. Or tests.”

A few of them seemed to relax their postures, but only a few. “Now, who wants to start?” Hennessy looked at the six blank faces, pointed to a girl who was trying to sink into the fabric and said, “Yes, Alison. Thanks for volunteering.”

With her eyes nearly popping from her head, the fourteen-year-old stood and tried to begin, but she stammered painfully. Hennessy let her work it out on her own, just giving her an encouraging smile. Finally, Alison began to read, her voice thin and quaking. She managed to get through it, but she was clearly on the verge of hyperventilating during the entire ordeal.

“Excellent!” Hennessy’s voice boomed out. “Just great, Alison. Now, does anyone have any comments?”

One girl raised her hand and said, “I love ballet, too. I could almost see it when the prima ballerina took the stage.”

“Good feedback,” Hennessy said. “Anything else? Anyone?” She looked around again; six pairs of eyes staring at the floor. “All right. There’s no requirement that we give feedback, but it’s nice to hear from your peers. You’ll get plenty of comments from me and Andrea, but you’ll learn a lot from each other if you’ll take the risk.” No responses. “Let’s move on then. Townsend?”

Their eyes met, and Townsend broke the gaze, then shifted her eyes towards the floor. “I’ll just hand mine in.”

“I know it’s a little nerve-wracking to read your thoughts aloud. But it’s one of the ways we learn.”

The girl gave her a lethal glare. “You don’t
want
me to read this.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “We’re here to learn from each other.”

Townsend’s focus moved around the room, lighting on a few of the girls for a second or two. Damn. Maybe her writing was as weak as her sample and she knew it. It must have sucked to have a famous mother for everyone to compare you with. “You could have told us we had to read ’em aloud, you know. I didn’t write this for a crowd.”

“I didn’t want you to be nervous. Now, let’s give it a try. It won’t be that bad.”

“Your funeral,” Townsend said, now resigned, still reluctant. She cleared her throat, looked around at the assembled group once more and began to read.

“The Day The Earth Moved, by Townsend Jameson Bartley.

“I didn’t know her name. All I knew was that she was hot—sizzling hot.”

Five pairs of eyes shot open and each of the younger girls sat up a little straighter in their chairs.

“She picked me out as soon as she walked into the bar. She bought me a drink, but that was just to waste time. She lived close by and we went to her apartment. My clothes were off by the time we reached her bedroom, and I was on my back—my favorite position,” she said, swallowing nervously. Her eyes locked on Hennessy for a moment, like she was begging for a reprieve.

“Okay,” Hennessy said, stopping her cold. “It sounds like this story’s more appropriate for a different audience. Stay after class and we can go over it, all right?”

“I told you it was your funeral,” Townsend grumbled, shooting an angry look Hennessy’s way.

It was a struggle to make her expression anywhere near normal. “Who wants to go next? Clarissa? You look ready. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

A few minutes after class ended, Hennessy, Destiny, and Mary Ann all sat in the silent room. Townsend had already read the first paragraph, the one that had caused Hennessy to leap to her feet and stop her. Now Destiny and Mary Ann stared at the floor, both looking a little ill. But Townsend kept going, speaking quickly, like she was in a rush to get this over with.

“I don’t know how old she was—she probably should have been in college, but she didn’t look like college material.” She looked up, shooting Hennessy a look, obviously referring to her comment about Townsend’s college prospects.

“She smelled a little like gasoline, and there was grease embedded in the skin around her fingernails. Her hands were callused and rough, and she was rough with me, too. No hearts and flowers, no small talk. She had my legs open wide within seconds.”

The room was so silent that a pin dropping would have sounded like a bomb. Hennessy was humiliated for her. How awful it must have been to have so little self-respect.

“She spent a little time getting me ready—not enough, but she did the minimum—getting the preliminaries out of the way. She played with my tits, then worked on my clit for a minute. Not very exciting stuff. I was about ready to get up and bolt, figuring I could go back to the bar and find someone better if I hurried, but she brought this massive bottle of lube out and started to coat her fingers with it. That was interesting enough to make me give her another chance, so I waited until she slipped a finger into me. I don’t know exactly what she did, but right away I knew this woman knew how to finger-fuck.”

Destiny coughed, sounding like she was muffling a gasp. Townsend gave Hennessy an “I told you so” look, but Hennessy merely nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“With her finger working in and out of me, I started to get into it, and she popped another one in. That felt even better, and I didn’t even think of stopping her when she forced the third one in. It was a little tight, but I loosened up eventually, and when she put her little finger in—it sure didn’t feel little.” A smile started to form, then she looked around the room and it froze on her lips. Every set of eyes was staring at her like she’d dropped in from another planet.

“She squirted a gob of lube onto her hand, and I felt my mouth go dry—having a pretty good idea of what she was gonna do.

“I was sure I couldn’t take it, but I got the impression that I didn’t have an option, so I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. Suddenly, the woman spoke. ‘Don’t tighten up, bitch! Take a deep breath and try to push me out—that’ll open you up.’ She snapped a popper under my nose and the rush helped me do exactly what she said.

“Amazingly, I opened up like an oyster shell and she tucked her thumb against her palm and slid in. I screamed, but I think it was from shock as much as pain. Actually, it didn’t hurt much at all, much to my surprise. The most I’d ever had in me was three fingers—along with the occasional decent-sized dick, of course, so this was a pretty big accomplishment.”

Hennessy ached to stop her. To make her see herself like they did: a rootless, frightened kid who talked tough to cover up her pain. But she couldn’t. She had to let this play out. The descriptions sickened her, clenched her gut. The only thing that kept her from stopping the exercise was her certainty that Townsend had made the whole thing up. There was no way people actually did things like this. Then again… A flicker of anxiety bloomed in her stomach. Townsend seemed so precise with the details…

“I was just lying there, feeling like I was part of her arm, when she started to pump into me. Damn! It felt great to have that big, rough hand inside me, but when she started to move it I thought I’d die! It felt like she was fucking my whole body—not just my pussy. I started shaking all over, and before I knew it I came like I’d never come before.

“It hurt like hell when she tried to pull out, but after she waited for me to stop spasming, she got out without tearing anything. I’ve never had a baby, but giving birth to that fist was enough for me to cross that idea off my list.

“I’ve never been fucked that hard before or since—but that night, that grimy fingered, gasoline-scented woman really rocked my world.”

Her mouth seemed dry when she swallowed, said, “The end,” and sat down, staring at the floor.

“Thanks,” Hennessy said quietly, sure she was going to cry. “I know how hard it can be to share something so intimate. Mary Ann? Destiny? Do you have any comments?”

“No,” Mary Ann said, still unable to make eye contact with Townsend.

Destiny wasn’t shy. She stared right into those pale eyes and said, “When you write something like that, you aren’t looking for feedback. You’re trying to shock people. You did. Happy?”

Surprisingly, Townsend’s cheeks colored. She started to say something, then bit at her bottom lip for a second. Then, in a blink, her usual attitude returned and she stood up so forcefully her chair skittered across the floor when her legs banged against it. “Some writing program. Not one valid comment.” She stormed out, with Hennessy noticing that even her neck was red. Thank god she still had the capacity to feel shame. If she had that, she wasn’t lost.

The room was quiet for a minute, then Mary Ann said, “I know it’s only ten thirty, but I could use a bloody mary.”

“I want to wash my ears,” Destiny said. “My brain, too. I’ve got some mental images that won’t quit.”

“Let’s go over to my office. My sister came up last night and brought some pecan pie. I know Hennessy can’t refuse that.”

She stood and tried to smile, but she was heartsick. Simply heartsick.

Destiny couldn’t spare the time for pie, so Hennessy and Mary Ann made the trip alone. They sat in the office, with something about the scene reminding Hennessy of a wake.

“I suppose we need to talk about that cry for help,” Mary Ann said, picking listlessly at her pie. “But I sure don’t want to.”

Hennessy found her own appetite for pie, usually strong, had abandoned her. “That’s exactly what it was. She’s crying for help that we’re not able to give.”

Mary Ann reached over and opened her refrigerator. “You don’t mind if I have that drink, do you, honey? That story’s got me so tense I could spit.”

“’Course not. It’s only when people have to drink the whole bottle that I know to clear out.” She tried to make that sound like a joke, but both of them knew it wasn’t.

Mary Ann poured her drink, a stiff bloody mary, then sat back down. She took a long sip, then smacked her lips and looked at the glass curiously. “I put vodka into this, didn’t I?”

“Yes, ma’am. A pretty hefty dose.” Hennessy shrugged her shoulders. “Old habit. I always watch to see how quickly the bottle will be gone.”

Mary Ann opened the bottle again, sniffing at it. “Well, either Townsend brought a fifth of water to camp, or someone managed to remove the vodka and switch it out with water. Do you have any thoughts as to whom the culprit might be?”

Hennessy dropped her head into her hands. “Great! She’s not only the most troubled kid we’ve ever had here, she’s a cat burglar.”

“I definitely had my door locked. Granted, these aren’t the best locks in the world, but you’d need some experience to get in without leaving a trace.”