Chapter 18
Henry
Marnie, Marigold, and Dot arrive at lunchtime for our meeting to discuss the museum’s progress.
When she first presented her plan to turn Uncle Jay’s campy curiosity museum into the Weird But True Museum in April, we thought it’d be a quick renovation—an updated design, a few new exhibits, an escape room add-on, and, of course, the upper garden.
But we’ve encountered problems ranging from termites to plumbing issues that have put us behind.
Today, though, there’s only one setback concerning the group.
“So, what’s the deal with the garden?” Dot asks. “We have the supplies. Want me to throw it together? I’m sure there’s a YouTube—”
“No, it’s a complicated process, and we don’t have the plants, regardless,” Marnie huffs, with one hand on her hip and the other hugging her Trapper Keeper.
“I’ve left a message for Dr. Blake, but Ivy tells me he’s traveling and won’t be home for weeks.
He purposefully left you in Venus’s care. I’m so, so sorry, Henry.”
Dot laughs. “Love-trapped, like I said.”
“Have you recovered from yesterday, or are you still upset?” Marnie asks.
“I’m not upset.” I motion to the spread I’ve arranged across the table—fruit, cheese, crackers, cookies, and lemonade. Marigold takes the bait, but the other two stare at me with scrutiny. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, how did the tiki bar reunion go, huh?” Dot tosses back a chunk of cheese, eyeing me suspiciously.
“We settled our differences,” I inform vaguely.
They share a bewildered glance. “You don’t seem pleased, though,” Marnie points out.
“Yeah, what gives?” Dot asks while Marigold peers over her sketchbook. “Will she install the garden at least?”
The three perceptive women await an explanation. My shoulders slump under the heaviness I’ve felt since Venus left.
“Um, well,” I start to say when a loud pound on the door interrupts. “I’ll get it. Enjoy the snacks.”
The man standing outside the front door wears a tattered t-shirt, worn blue jeans, old clown shoes, and a gap-toothed smile. “Henry? Is that you?”
“Yeah, I’m Henry Greene,” I say, extending my hand.
He slings the leather strap of a rectangular black case over his shoulder to accept my handshake. He’s in his fifties, bald with a beard, and with more tattoos than Venus, which says a lot. His tattoos are more traditional—skulls and swords stand out the most.
“Don’t remember me, eh? It’s been a while. I’m Eric the Sword-Swallower.”
He pauses, like this information should register with me, but my brow pinches unsurely.
“Eric Massie. I was good friends with Jay. We used to hang out here at the museum. Last time I saw you, you were half this height. How’d you get so tall?”
“Um, growing up does that to you.” A vague, misty recollection ghosts in my thoughts, but I can’t latch on.
He points to the counter behind me and edges inside. “It’s Jaybird! I carved that for him as a good luck charm. I’m handy with knives, you know.” He picks up the blue jay sitting next to the register and gives it a toss between his hands.
Once again, I don’t know how it got there, as it was on my desk upstairs this morning.
I shut the door and run a hand through my hair. “You’ve heard about Uncle Jay?”
His head droops in reverence. “I wish I’d been here. Been at sea with the cruise liners for a few years. I’m sorry for your loss. Jay was a good man—the best, really.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say as he meanders around the entrance.
“He always spoke highly of you, the history buff, and your kid. He said Henry and Olly would rule his kingdom one day,” Eric chuckles, motioning to the building around us. “Didn’t know that day would come so soon. But the last time we spoke, he seemed off to me.”
I gape at the emotional hit, hearing a stranger say that. “Really? How?”
His bony shoulders bob in a shrug. “He said he’d been tired, didn’t feel like doing much. The Jay I knew never sat still long enough to have a dull moment. You know?”
“Um, yeah, I know.” I think of his collection of concert tickets, the motorcycle we sold after he passed, and the ghost, alien, and monster-hunting adventures he’d tell us about at Sunday dinners, until he stopped coming. My regret sharpens for never questioning his excuses.
“When Jay slowed down, he spent too much time in his head,” he says with insight that impresses and irritates me at once.
But I start to remember him—an odd man in the corner behind the counter, leaning his chair back on two legs.
He asked Mom on a date a week after she kicked Dale out, and I remember being relieved that she said no.
He and Jay laughed a lot. Over beers. Over reruns.
Over weird YouTube videos of hauntings and possessions.
Over stories that often freaked me out as a kid, at least until I told them to Venus.
She would inevitably convince me that they were scientifically unsound—I appreciated that.
Still, I feel uneasy around him and troubled by our conversation. He either understood Jay’s distress better than his own family, who were right here, or he’s just saying he did, which makes him disingenuous. Either way, I’m not in the mood.
“Mr. Massie, it’s been nice to talk, but—”
“I hear you’re reopening the place soon. Mind if I take a look around for old time’s sake?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, but heads to the main room through the short hall, where we’re set up on a makeshift table and mismatched chairs between newly constructed displays and boxes of artifacts.
“Oh, hello, ladies.” He bows dramatically.
“Guys, this is Eric Massie, a friend of Uncle Jay’s,” I say.
“Eric the Sword-Swallower,” he says, shaking Marnie’s hand.
“Eric the Sword-Swallower,” he follows with Dot, who snorts.
“Eric the Sword-Swallower,” he says to Marigold, who offers a brief wave instead of shaking his hand.
He salutes her before he helps himself to the snacks on the table.
“Sword-swallower, huh? Is that some kind of euphemism?” Dot questions.
“Ah, no. I swallow swords for a living.” He hands them business cards from his shirt pocket. “I’m also a juggler, acrobat, and unicyclist. Jay used to let me perform here in the museum for tips. I was a big hit! I’d be happy to give a free demonstration.”
“No!” My abrupt refusal surprises everyone, especially me. “I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so harshly. It’s just—”
“I understand, Henry. Not everyone can handle swordplay,” Eric says. “I remember you were a bit squeamish.”
“I’m not squeamish,” I counter, pushing my glasses higher on my nose. “But we’re in the middle of our meeting. So, if you don’t mind—”
His hands go up submissively after he takes a handful of grapes from the platter. “Sorry, son. I didn’t mean to intrude. Jay wanted me to check in on you and the place.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m fine, but it’s not a good time. It’s been a strange few days, and we need to regroup.”
“Looky here, Mr. Sword-Swallower,” Dot says with authority. “Henry’s got a full plate with this place, Olly, and losing his uncle. Besides, he’s gone a bit bonkers over his first love showing up in town—”
“Venus is back?” he says, brightening. “Jay must be spinning tires on his Harley in heaven to hear that!”
“You know about Venus and me?” I ask.
“Jay thought you and Rapunzel would end up together,” he says, surprising me again with Jay’s nickname for her. “He told me you were lonely—that having a kid wasn’t the same as having a companion. If only he could get Venus back, he said.”
Marnie coos, “Aw, it’s like he knew.”
Dot nods. “Yep, he knew.”
“No, he didn’t. There’s no getting back with Venus.” I take a puff on my inhaler to fight the tight ache in my chest. “I never had her to begin with, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Again, my words are stern and very unlike me.
But I’m bothered by Mr. Massie’s persistence and inside knowledge.
He’s highlighting my pre-existing guilt over not being there for my uncle and, at the same time, rubbing it in that my uncle wasn’t so oblivious about me.
Jay not only noticed my loneliness, something I thought I hid well, but also worried about me, enough to mention it to this guy.
“Mr. Massie, may I show you what we have planned for the museum?” Marnie says with her usual chipperness, deflecting attention from my bad mood.
“Sure thing,” he says, following Marnie to some of the more finished displays.
Dot’s boots thud on the hardwood floor, and her wallet chain slaps against her dark jeans as she closes in on me.
Her hair always makes me think of black licorice, which mirrors her personality—sweet but tough, and maybe not for everyone.
But like Marnie, she understands people, and she’s quickly become a good friend.
“Henry, you okay? Your tension scale is registering about an eight.”
“More like a nine,” I admit.
She plants a hard slap on my back and says, “Your boxer briefs must be stuck high up there, huh? What’s gotten in your craw?”
Marigold winces at the question, and, finding such talk distasteful, she retreats to Marnie’s side.
“Don’t know if I like that guy,” I whisper.
“Marnie’ll keep an eye on him. Let’s chat in my office.”
Her office is the back of her tricked-out work van, where she swings the doors open, sits, and pats the metal beside her. I follow suit because why not let this day get weirder? I’ve already unloaded my internal drama on Marnie. Why not do the same with my contractor?
Overhead, gray clouds circulate, and the humidity is near stifling.
When I FaceTimed Olly this morning, he shared that his mom and Gregory, the fellow doctor she’s seeing, were taking him out on Gregory’s boat.
I wonder if they took the impending weather into account.
If he’s wearing his life jacket. Ifs, all the ifs.
“So, you came to a truce with Venus?”
“I misunderstood the entire situation. I wasn’t there for her, didn’t see her,” I breathe out. “And this guy shows up, reminding me that I didn’t see Jay either.”
“You saw what he wanted you to see,” she says, surely. “I expect the same is true with Venus.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re a sweet dude. You’re a great dad, always ten steps ahead of Olly, your students rave about you, and, whenever we’re here, you pamper us with drinks and treats.
You like taking care of people. I can’t speak for Venus, but…
” she says with a shrug, “Sometimes, people just want to be loved, Henry. Not helped. Not talked to or advised. Not taken care of. Loved.”
Her words mix with Venus’s from last night. “She left because she didn’t want to be my burden. She didn’t want me taking care of her. I get that now. But I don’t think she wants love, either.”
Dot scoffs. “Everyone wants love. Everyone, Henry. Anyone who says otherwise probably needs it more than most.”
“I just spent the best night of my life with her. That’s what we agreed to. It was her idea—one night together to let go and move on.”
She laughs, like she’s fully aware of the folly of our plan. “How’s that working out for you?”
“She’s been gone six hours, and I can’t think of anything else. There’s no future for us. I’m here. I have Olly. She’ll leave at the end of the summer. There’s no point in it. In us.”
“No point? Dude! As smart as you are, you can be really dense, my guy. Fuck the agreement. Fuck what happened when you were kids. And fuck broken hearts—you already have those, anyway. You care about this woman, and she cares about you. Why not love her while you have the chance and let the future take care of itself?”
Pelicans squawk overhead. Tourists line up for the river cruises on the Riverwalk, and the tiki boat bobs hopefully in the water.
It’s another beautiful, though gray day in Wilmington.
As I muddle through Dot’s direct advice, she rises from the space beside me and stretches like she’s crossed an invisible finish line.
“Thanks, Dot,” I say sheepishly. “Maybe you’re—”
The door pushes open, and Marnie ushers Mr. Massie outside. “We’ll be in touch,” she calls weakly down the sidewalk.
She turns, looking uncharacteristically bothered. “He volunteered an unsavory opinion about our new color scheme. I told him he had to go.”
Dot snort-laughs. “Don’t mess with Marnie’s color scheme.”
“Good. Thanks. Let’s get back to work.”