Chapter 36
Henry
I’m worried. If I thought there was even the tiniest hope that she’d stay, it’s obliterated now. There’s no way she’ll turn down her dream job for us, and I wouldn’t ask her to.
But damn, I wish she’d stay. I want her for more than a summer. I want her for always.
Still, I don’t offer feedback on New Zealand, except to say the obvious—that it’s an incredible offer, and she deserves incredible.
I refuse to add pressure, or even hint that I don’t want her to take it.
One negative remark from me about the distance or anything else might dissuade her from an amazing opportunity.
I want what’s best for her, especially since her entire life until now has been about what’s best for everyone else.
She deserves to explore whatever jungle, mountainside, cave, ocean, or swamp her heart desires.
And I want to be that guy—her guy—supporting her every step.
That’s what this summer is about. Us. Now. Me being there for her as many times as she needs. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I made back then by designing a future for us that we weren’t ready for and that wasn’t right for her, for us.
If she stays, it needs to be because it’s what she wants. Not what I want.
So, we set aside thoughts of the future for now.
The following afternoon, Olly bounces in his booster seat as I turn the Jeep into the dirt lane that leads to the fairy house. He’s not used to taking treelined, dirt driveways, and laughs like this is a game and we’re about to step into an enchanted forest.
I suppose we are—there is no place in Wilmington like this.
Sunset glows through the trees and over the house, creating shadows and dim corners.
When the fairy house comes into view, Olly gasps with awe, as the place lives up to its name.
The house is enchanting, from its triangular roof to its pops of blooms and greenery, to its endless string lights, which fill the dark pockets in a delightfully intentional way.
The place glows and makes you wonder—is this a house in the woods or did the forest grow a house?
Wood, glass, and light nestle amongst the trees and wild landscape as if nature intended it to exist there.
Olly unbuckles and slides out of the Jeep as soon as I park. “Come on, Dad.”
From the passenger seat, I grab the bouquet that Olly and I picked out together—bold purple irises, delicate lavender, and, my favorite, brilliant sunflowers.
Venus appears almost goddess-like on the glittering front deck, all smiles and beauty. Buster looks up from her feet and yaps sharply.
“I told you—we’re having guests for dinner. Olly and Henry are here,” she says to him, in her level tone.
Olly stops abruptly and retreats to me, but only to grab the flowers. “Venus, look! We brought you these. It was my idea!”
Arms full, he bobbles up the stairs and thrusts the arrangement at her.
“Helianthus annuus, lavandula, and Iris versicolor,” she lists, admiring them.
“Latin!” he identifies triumphantly. “I call ‘em flowers.”
She smirks. “These are some of my favorites. Thank you.”
“I knew you’d like them.” He yanks his new treasure from his pocket and holds it up. “I brought Mango, too.” Then, he drops to his knees to play with Buster.
I stroll up the steps behind him, catching Venus’s green eyes in mine. Her soft smile makes me ache to touch her.
“Hi, Henry. I’m glad you’re here.” A lovely, rosy color shades her cheeks. “Thank you for breakfast and lunch.”
“This’ll make three meals together in one day,” I point out with a cheesy grin. “Thanks for having us. Oh, and here. I thought you might need these.”
She eyes the boot laces I picked up for her with surprised amusement. “I do. How thoughtful.”
“No chewing on her new laces, Buster,” Olly instructs with a laugh. Buster barks.
Venus ushers us inside. “Make yourselves at home,” she says, heading to the galley kitchen.
Olly takes off with Buster, roaming shamelessly through all the rooms and then marching up to the loft. While he explores, I follow Venus into the side pantry off the kitchen, where she tries to reach a narrow metal pail on the upper shelf.
I wedge into the small space behind her. “Let me get that.”
I only have a few inches on her, but it’s just enough to grab the pail. She turns to face me, and we grin simultaneously at how close we are.
“Where’s Olly?” she asks.
“Looking under your bed and going through your medicine cabinet upstairs.”
“Good.” Then, her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, dragging me closer for a greedy kiss. My entire body hums with the contact, and I sink into her touch.
“You’ve missed me,” I accuse coyly.
Her brow pinches. “It defies logic. It’s only been three hours since you kissed me goodbye. But yes, I’ve missed you.”
“Best to go with those feelings, not try to reason them out,” I smile before kissing her again.
“Campus walks, lunches… office hours,” she says, breathless at my lips and blushing again, “are all nice, but for this experiment to work, we need more data. I need more time with you.”
“That’s what I want, too. Come over tomorrow for dinner and spend the weekend with me. I have a plan.”
“What Henry wants…” she smirks, turning the corner out of the pantry as Olly rushes into the kitchen.
“Dad! You won’t believe it!”
“Believe what?”
“She’s got plants everywhere, Dad. And drawings. And a notebook full of pictures with your name on it.”
“Olly, you shouldn’t go through people’s things,” I say, using my stern voice.
“Dad, Venus doesn’t mind,” he says, as if he’s known this woman all his life.
In a way, he has.
“I don’t mind.” Venus holds up the pail. “This is for the flowers. Want to help?”
Olly nods enthusiastically. Venus fills it with water and sets it on the table beside the flowers. He takes her side, following her lead as she unwraps them.
“Why do you write notes to Dad?”
Her perfect lips ease into a light smile. “He’s my best friend. I take him wherever I go.”
Olly’s face pinches. “Can you start writing notes for me, too?”
“Notes? You’ll get full letters with illustrations and treasures,” she promises, “if I go away again.”
My head spins over the word if.
“If that’s okay,” she adds, turning to me for parental permission.
“That’s a great idea… if you go away again,” I repeat—not to pressure her, but just to acknowledge her use of a hopeful if.
Her tiny smirk edges upwards. Olly plops flowers into the pail like she does. Before long, it’s bursting with blooms.
“Beautiful. Thanks, Olly,” she says. “Now, I need your help in the garden.”
She hands him a wicker basket. “Let’s go on that tour, and, while we’re at it, we’ll pick our dinner. We’re having veggie pizzas.”
Olly announces his approval, and they march ahead of me out the back door.
The gardens mesmerize him. He examines the flytraps and pitcher plants with an oversized magnifying glass that Venus provides—a scientific investigator.
I take adorable pics of him peering up at me through the glass, big-eyed and smiling, and others of him, discovering nature with Venus.
I share them in the family chat with Mom and Fred, hoping to defend Venus’s return to our lives better than I did last weekend at dinner.
She squats in the dirt next to him when a ladybug lands on her finger, and he climbs into her lap with his magnifying glass to examine it more closely. “Coccinellidae,” she says, while he holds her hand and the red beetle moves up and down her ringed fingers. “Ladybug… but they aren’t all ladies.”
He laughs and leans his sweaty, tired head against her shoulders. I think to rescue her, but when her hand goes around his stomach, bracing him there, I realize that she doesn’t mind.
“Funny name, then,” Olly decides. “Your dad named you after the Venus flytraps?”
She slumps slightly. “Yes. He’s the expert on them.”
“You’re lucky.”
“You think so?” she questions, surprised.
He sits up to see her face. “He named you after his favorite thing, and it’s the coolest plant ever!”
“Um, yes. You’re right. I am lucky.” Venus’s brow quirks before she smiles, like she means it.
“I thought they’d be bigger, though,” Olly admits.
She laughs, squeezing him gently to her. “Yes, they get that a lot.”
As I take more pictures, my phone chimes twice in quick succession. A text from Fred:
Adorable! Olly looks like he’s learning a lot from Venus.
From Mom:
Don’t complain when Olly’s covered in ticks and mosquito bites.
I tuck my phone away, determined to wear down Mom’s antagonism the same way I do with bad attitudes in my classroom—with kind and gentle perseverance.
Venus leads us through the public garden to the private one. Olly twirls in the greenhouse’s multicolored lights, prompting more pictures. And he insists on a “hammock ride” when he sees where Venus sometimes sleeps.
“Dad, can we do our first campout here? With Venus?” Olly asks as she swings him back and forth.
“This isn’t a campground, son,” I say.
“It’s better. Here, we can practice, and we’ll have Venus so that you won’t be nervous,” he answers.
That Olly understands my anxiety about camping shouldn’t be a surprise. He’s an insightful kid, and the fact that the camping equipment I was eager to buy still sits unused in our kitchen clearly indicates my second thoughts. He keeps asking when and where we’re going, but I keep giving excuses.
Venus cuts me a curious look as if to say, “Why would you be nervous about camping?” And embarrassment tickles my cheeks.
We camped all the time growing up. In the early years, Mom would check on us nearly every hour, only to find us doing the same things we would inside the house, just in a tent or around a fire pit managed by Dr. Blake.
Venus would draw, and I would read. Or we’d tell campfire stories—something I was good at, but Venus struggled to be dramatic.
Dr. Blake took us to actual campsites when we were in middle school to further our outdoor education.
With them, I always felt like the king of the woods.