Chapter 31
Henry
Letting her back into your life will only lead to heartache and disappointment. Why do that to yourself? Or to Olly? Mom’s words from Sunday night’s dinner echo in my head as I watch Venus, Olly, and Buster on the rooftop.
This is why.
Venus delivers the garden’s instructions, carefully describing the plants and how they function, but in a way that makes sense to a six-year-old, even when she uses scientific terminology.
She says that the Venus flytraps’ leaves look like faces, waiting for food, but that we shouldn’t touch them.
“It confuses them, like when something wakes you in the middle of the night, and you’re tired the next day,” she says.
“When they’ve done their job for the plant, they turn black.
That tells us it’s time to prune or pick off the dead ones. It’s like getting a haircut.”
My son hangs on every word, and relates, bringing up times when he’s been startled awake or gotten a haircut—he dislikes both, especially when hair stylists gush over his long locks and chubby cheeks.
She reports that she also experiences difficulty with unwanted touching.
And their bond thickens, like a tree that’s gained yet another ring of age in its trunk.
The other night over dinner, he asked me what language Venus speaks. When I said Latin, he decided he’d learn it, “That way, I can talk funny with her.” At the library, he checked out every age-appropriate botany book to “see what Venus does.”
I’ve turned my son into a fanboy. I get it—I was the original Venus Blake fanboy. She drew me in with adventure and the unknown and kept me close by encouraging me, making me feel clever, and delighting me with her rarely seen smiles.
She’s smiling now, naturally and easily.
It’s almost comical that she asked me for teaching advice—she knows how to teach. It’s her nerves and predispositions that prevent her. I’m honored that she sought my advice—she rarely used to.
But this enigmatic, beautiful woman isn’t the Venus I knew, but a more refined, intentional version.
She bravely prioritized her care, leaving home and the people she loved most to do it.
Words I never thought I’d believe flash through my thoughts—she was right to leave.
Leaving gave her what I couldn’t—the freedom she needed.
It’s like I told Marnie—sometimes, being alone is better. For a time, anyway.
I only wish I’d known. It breaks my heart more that she never felt safe enough to tell me—me, the one person she was supposed to feel safe with.
“What’s spelunking?” Olly’s voice catches my attention.
“It’s exploring caves,” she says, matter-of-factly.
“Where bats and bears live?”
She shrugs. “Yes, but I haven’t encountered bears, only bats. Well, bats, beetles, spiders, cave crickets, and salamanders. Caves are an oasis for insects and other troglobites.”
“Are they called that because they bite?”
She smiles. “No, but that’s a funny joke.”
Buster yaps at their feet as if in agreement.
I sigh—of course, she’s been spelunking.
The tutorial soon ends. Olly relinquishes Buster’s leash, and Venus affixes it around her waist again. Our typical Sunday to-do list beckons, and we’re due at Mom’s for our weekly dinner soon.
Even so, I hunt for reasons for her to stay. All weekend, I’ve forced myself to keep busy, hoping this unbearable longing for her might subside.
It hasn’t. Her gentle patience with Olly.
Her delicate smiles. The way the breeze flutters the scarf in her hair and catches her dress, pressing it to her curves.
The teasing lines of her leg tattoos, vanishing under the hem of her dress.
The others that I know are there and want to see again.
Her belly button ring sticks out behind the thin fabric of her dress just enough to make me desperate to twiddle it with my tongue again.
Fuck.
She’s going to destroy me all over again without even trying.
But it’s hard to care.
“I’d like to bring Olly over to see the gardens,” I say, breaking into their laughter as they walk ahead of me down the stairs.
She glances over her shoulder. “It’s a public garden—”
“No, I mean your gardens, your dad’s, and the greenhouse,” I clarify, stepping in front of her. “I’d like Olly to see the fairy house.”
It’s an unfair request. I’ve put her on the spot, asking in front of her doting protégé.
On cue, Olly takes my side and puts his hands together in a prayer position. “Oh, please, Venus?”
When she reaches the bottom step, she opens her mouth as if about to address us together, but Buster’s leash catches around her feet as he dashes toward the museum. Her feet get sandwiched together, and she loses her balance, falling into the nearest structure.
Me.
I could kiss that dog for giving me an excuse to touch her. Her hands go to my shoulders as I lean down, untying the leash from her waist and unraveling it from her feet. It slips from my grip. Buster takes off for whatever caught his attention, and Olly dashes after him.
“I’ll get him,” he says. “Buster, come here, boy!”
I stand slowly, letting my hand drift over her hip and lightly graze the belly button ring under my thumb. My eyes meet hers, and her irises have expanded to bright jade jewels.
Inches from her parted lips, I whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked like that. You can say no.”
Her head tilts slightly, considering me, and a light smirk corners her lips. “What Henry wants…”
Her voice trails off, not that she needs to finish her sentence, and every cell in my body cries out for her. My fingers curl, digging into her side.
I am so fucked.
I groan. “No… what Venus wants.”
Her smirk grows, like racy ideas are forming an itinerary, and I like imagining what that might include.
She brings her hand to my chest, resting it near my tattoo. She lightly fists the fabric of my t-shirt, but her brow creases with passing thoughts I cannot know. Still, she says, “Come for dinner Thursday at six.”
“We’ll be there,” I say, my grin rising with hers.
Olly rushes over with Buster in tow. “Got him, but barely.”
Our hands drop simultaneously, and I shift away from her. “Good job, Olly.”
She thanks him and secures his tether to her waist with a firm, “Buster, friends stick together. Next time, come when you’re called.”
Buster listens intently, perking his ears, and barks in response, like he might be agreeing or saying he’s sorry.
Olly giggles. “He’s a good dog.”
“Very good, until he chews up the laces of your hiking boots,” she says.
“Oh, Buster,” Olly coos, shaking his head like he’s known this dog his entire life.
My hand rakes through my hair, worried that Olly’ll start asking for a dog next.
“Will he be at the fairy house when we visit?” he questions without even knowing if she agreed.
“I don’t know. If I do a good job, Ivy might let Buster visit again,” Venus replies. “Maybe.”
“A maybe isn’t a no,” he says cheerfully—words I say to him often.
She timidly moves toward the foyer as she says, “Buster and I better let you two get on with your day.”
We walk her to the Land Rover, where she scoops Buster into her arms and allows Olly to pat him goodbye. I follow suit. Then, she gets into the driver’s seat with Buster on her lap.
Olly and I stand there until she turns the corner at the stoplight.
“Dad, I want to go spelunking,” Olly says.
“Yep, I bet.”
“Can we bring Venus flowers when we go to the fairy house?”
“What? You know she’s too old for you, right?”
He scoffs. “I don’t like her like that, Dad. But I like her. And she likes flowers, so…”
“You’re right. That’s a nice idea. Olly, you know she won’t be here long. You understand, right?”
“I know,” he says with a carefree shrug. “She has more adventures to go on.”
He says it like it’s understood, and I realize that I’m the one who needs the reminder.