Chapter 36 #2
Not anymore. And with Olly in tow, I lack the confidence.
“Sorry. My lectures on not inviting oneself haven’t clicked in with Olly yet. Son, if you have an idea, share it with me. You’re putting Venus on the spot.”
“I don’t mind,” she says again, like it’s her catchphrase when it comes to Olly. “But we can discuss it, if you’d like.”
Olly takes that as a yes and runs happy circles around us with Buster yapping in tow.
“We’ll see, Olly,” I say, rustling my kid’s sweaty head.
“We have enough veg for dinner,” Venus decides, grabbing the basket of tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, spinach, basil, and broccoli—though, if my son eats broccoli, I’ll buy a lottery ticket. “Let’s go inside and make dinner.”
Venus has apple juice for Olly, wine for us, and pre-made flatbreads with her father’s homemade sauce for the pizzas.
Olly is practically giddy about cooking dinner with her.
She sets him up with a cutting board and a small knife, stressing the importance of being careful and watching what he’s doing.
Then, she gives him the mushrooms to chop.
I offer to help, but she refuses, citing the small kitchen.
It’s strange, being sidelined. Watching Olly clumsily handle a knife also primes my anxiety.
She hands me a glass of merlot and says, “Relax, Henry.” And perhaps I am on edge.
Dinner is delicious. Prompted by Olly, she tells us about her adventures, which at first sound awkward until she relaxes into sharing them.
How lemurs attacked her camp in Madagascar, looking for food.
Her favorite villages in England and Scotland.
Octoberfest in Germany. Witnessing bioluminescence on the beaches of Puerto Rico. Experiencing her first storm at sea.
Her eyes find mine, assuring me that she thought of me.
“See? You tell great stories,” I say.
She nods sheepishly. “Depends on the audience.”
She and Buster walk us to the Jeep when it’s time to go.
“I can’t believe you still have this car,” she says.
“I love this car. This was our first taste of freedom, you and me. Well, freedom beyond traipsing all over this place.”
She nods, amused.
“Remember the first place you wanted me to drive you?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “The library.”
“Yep. I’ve never been prouder,” I say, remembering that day when I raced over, dangling the keys in front of her. Dale gave me a Jeep. Can you believe it? Let’s go somewhere. I’ll take you anywhere you want.
Olly grumbles, getting into his booster seat, and rubs his eyes. “Dad, can you hurry up?”
“He’s tired.” I shrug, standing at the driver’s side door with Venus. “Thanks for a fun evening. We had a great time.”
“Me, too.”
With my back blocking Olly’s view—not that he’s looking—I lean down for a quick kiss. “Tomorrow night,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow night,” she repeats.
An awkward beat passes before she takes a step back, tugging Buster with her.
“Good night,” she says before waving to my very sleepy son in the backseat.
That night, after Olly’s abbreviated bedtime routine, I plan for the weekend. I’m desperate to spend time with her and provide irrefutable data that she’s loved and wanted.
Once my plan is in place, I transcribe some impactful stories about Venus and me into a document and send the pages to Dr. Kwon. If something more comes of it, then I’ll only go forward with Venus’s approval.
But first, I wonder if Dr. Kwon will still find these new pages compelling enough for an entire book.
When I see Dr. Kwon waiting outside of my class the next day with an I-told-you-so expression, I have my answer.
“And you said you aren’t a writer!” she beams, slapping my arm.
“The more I think about Vee—I mean, Buttercup—the more I believe her story should be told. What kind of historian would I be if I didn’t document it?”
She nods, steering me through the crowd until we’re outside the front entrance. “It’s worth documenting. From what I gather, you believe Buttercup would’ve benefited from more autonomy, even in elementary school.”
“She was used to reading, exploring, and studying on her own. I remember days when teachers sent her to the library as a punishment, and she loved it—spent the whole day with her nose in books. She never had trouble in her art classes, either—at least the ones she deemed real art classes.”
Dr. Kwon chuckles. “So, no macaroni necklaces for her then?”
“No way. She called those ugly wastes of food.”
Students rush around us as we talk on the stoop outside. It’s hot and humid, but a coastal breeze sweeps some of the heat away.
“I like Buttercup,” Dr. Kwon says, “and so does my agent. I sent her your new notes, and I expect she’ll request a meeting. What should I tell her?”
I push my glasses up on my nose, considering it. “Um, I’m open to a conversation, but I need to discuss it with Buttercup first.”
Dr. Kwon’s eyes widen. “I didn’t realize you were still in communication with Buttercup. You sound so sad in your stories, like she’s gone.”
“She was,” I explain, hands sliding into the pockets of my jeans, “but um…”
The heavy double doors of the Environmental Sciences Building screech open across the wide sidewalk.
Venus pushes through as if desperate for air.
Students follow, crowding her on both sides.
She stops on the stoop, turns to face them, and engages in their discussion.
She appears controlled, blankly responding, but she fiddles with her rings and bracelets, one hand over the other.
I notice dark smudges on her fingers and on the side of her skirt where she must’ve wiped her hand during her art-fueled lesson.
Mid-sentence, she glances my way, and the softest, sweetest smile perks up her lips upon seeing me.
She must stumble over her sentence or stop talking altogether because her brow scrunches just enough to reveal that she’s been knocked off her train of thought.
I fucking love it.
Everyone notices, especially when I grin and wave toward her.
She waves back, but it’s the type of wave that says, “Give me a minute, Henry.”
“Oh, my word!” Dr. Kwon pipes up slowly. “Venus Blake is Buttercup? I should’ve known. Dr. Blake used to come to me all the time about her struggles at school. Ah, the artwork, the IQ, the proximity… I can’t believe it took me this long to put it together.”
I answer with a light shrug, unable to take my eyes off of Venus as she talks with her students, at least until Dr. Kwon shoves her phone in my face.
“Buttercup’s going viral. Did you know?”
Venus comes to life on the screen—it’s a recording of her artful lessons. My eyes drift to the views, shocked to find 301k and climbing.
“Look at this one from yesterday. It was meant to be a lesson on distributive patterns in the coastal plains, but she took her class outside and got sidetracked by explaining the importance and role of amphibians in healthy ecology.”
Venus appears on her screen, teaching her class while straddling a ditch.
Her skirt is hiked up her thigh to keep it out of the mud, and she’s holding a skink.
The striped lizard looks perfectly at home, perched on the back of her palm, as she explains the ecosystem of a ditch and compares it to that of a swamp.
“Admission inquiries have upticked since her students started posting. The school wants her to stay for another summer session. The marketing department has assigned a camera crew to record her classes. Isn’t it fascinating, Henry? Has the so-called worst student become the best teacher overnight?”
“She’s brilliant and can do anything. I’m not surprised. Does Venus know about this?”
“I’m sure she does,” Dr. Kwon says. “What a perfect ending to your book, huh? It’s practically writing itself.”
My throat tightens, forcing me to use my inhaler. “I’ll talk to her this weekend.”