Chapter 40
Venus
Though Henry invites me to their weekly dinner at Maggie’s on Sunday, I decline. After our beautiful weekend, I need to prepare for classes tomorrow, and I don’t want to surprise Maggie until Henry has had time to talk to her—she wouldn’t appreciate it.
Henry shows up around dinner time, anyway. When I greet him and Olly at the Jeep, he hands over a black-and-white composition notebook with papers tucked inside. “I wanted you to have this. My notes, our stories, what I remember, anyway. I’ve been writing like crazy since you came back.”
“On paper?” I gawk slightly. “A laptop would be more efficient, Henry.”
He shrugs, his lopsided smile playing at his lips. “I like pen and paper—probably the influence of someone’s field journals.”
I smirk. I let the pages fly under my thumb—he’s filled the notebook with words in thick, black ink, and his heavy hand has caused the paper to ripple. Words jump out as I flutter through it—education, difficult, hallways, pedagogy, Shakespeare, trees, Darwin—and I’m nervous, but excited.
“It’s only fair that you get my field notes for once, right?” he says. “I can’t wait to hear what you think.”
So, that evening, I set aside Christie’s latest paperback for Henry’s notes, finding them to be even more romantic.
Big feelings swell and bloom over his pages, like his words are raindrops aerating the soil to allow room for the roots to expand and get what they need. This is what I need—to know Henry loved me through it all, even when he didn’t know how to show it. Or when I didn’t let him.
He compares me to the sunflowers we attempted to grow in our raised bed. That experiment failed miserably. Sunflowers need three feet in circumference and at least eight feet in height to thrive. They had neither in our small, overcrowded bed in the greenhouse. Nor did they have sufficient light.
It was a losing battle, especially against the tomato plants that took over the garden and crowded out the sunflowers.
Their stalks were thin, their blooms small, and eventually they slumped over from a lack of nutrients. Henry and I had a funeral for them over the compost bin.
He describes that event, too, by writing:
Buttercup felt that loss the way other kids might feel in losing a pet.
Everyone thought of her as this emotionless robot, but the opposite was true.
Buttercup knew more than most people and felt more, too.
Her big feelings clashed with her big brain, leading her to one erroneous conclusion—that she was a burden, impossible to love.
It’s like her father told me after she left: She’s a sunflower who believes she’s a cactus.
Everything he writes creates big feelings—the stories make me laugh, feel sad, and cry. But they also resonate and bring me to some alarming truths—he’s absolutely right. I felt trapped, where I couldn’t thrive, forcing my frustration and negative self-talk, until I believed a lie.
Dad loved me. Ivy loved me. Henry loved me. Even Maggie loved me in her own way. I think.
Why didn’t I believe it? Why didn’t I love myself?
I don’t put the notebook down until the middle of the night, and even then, I can’t sleep.
I leave the house early, but instead of driving to the campus for work, I go to Henry’s.
It’s barely 7:30 when I park outside the museum. Nerves arise as I sit there, twisting the steering wheel and practicing my Ins and Outs. It’s probably rude to come over without asking first, especially so early. I fear that Henry might not like the intrusion.
But I must see him. As I slam the door shut to the Land Rover, the museum door opens.
Henry and Olly spill out—Henry with his messenger bag strapped over his chest and carrying an extra-large travel mug, and Olly bouncing on his sneakers with his backpack and lunchbox—ready for school and camp.
They don’t see me at first, but carry on with an animated conversation as Henry locks the door.
He runs a hand through his hair while Olly pushes his glasses up his nose.
Then, Henry extends his hand, and Olly automatically takes it.
It may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
They look up at once, see me standing there, and flash me identical lopsided grins.
I stand corrected—that’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Venus!” Olly booms, glancing both ways and then rushing across the cobblestone street. He latches onto my side. “Dad showed me the picture of you climbing that tree. That was awesome!”
“Thanks,” I say. “Um, good morning, Henry.”
He leans in and kisses me on my cheek. He smells like coffee and soap, a pleasing combination. “Good morning. Everything okay?”
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but—”
“Dad, it’s Derek and Pepper,” Olly says, pointing to a man walking his dog on a grassy area nearby. “Can I say hello?”
“Yeah, sure,” Henry says with a light wave to their friend. “That’s Derek. You met him as DeeDee.”
I wave enthusiastically and call out, “Thank you for prom!”
“Anytime,” he waves back.
Returning my attention to Henry, the words I want to say jumble in my head.
Henry glances at my wiggling fingers and says, “You’re not intruding, Venus. You’re always welcome… Is something wrong?”
“I read your notes about us,” I manage, fighting back the emotional surge over his stories—our stories.
“There were so many times growing up that I felt alone, like no one saw me. But you did—more than I truly understood. And not just when we were together, building lean-tos or planting sunflowers. You saw me, Henry. My anxiety, my frustration, my hurt. The stories prove it.”
His head shakes, and his smile falls. “I saw you, but I did nothing. The stories only prove all the ways I let you down.”
“No, you didn’t let me down. I mean it. I never wanted you to join my fights or save me.
I would’ve hated you coming to my rescue.
Gosh, Maggie would’ve banned me permanently.
Where would I’ve been then? I would’ve been friendless, hopeless, and difficult.
I don’t want you to regret it… I want you to… I just…”
My words fail me as energy pulses through me.
He sets down his things, freeing his arms to slip them around me. “So, you have big feelings, and you ran to me? If I didn’t know any better, I’d call that romantic.”
Tension slips away in a breath as I nestle against him. “Not romantic. Necessary. I wanted to tell you right away that you’re an excellent writer, very insightful, and that I believe people could benefit from our experiences.”
His forehead presses gently to mine. “If you want me to write it, I will.”
“I want us to tell the full story, Henry,” I say, letting another burden fall from my shoulders and crash at our feet.
“You thought I was brave for speaking my mind, but there were times when I said nothing, and I should have. To Dad. To Ivy. To you. I shouldn’t have suffered the way I did in school—I don’t blame myself for it, but I regret my silence.
I regret not telling Dad. I thought making it harder on me made it easier on everyone else.
That wasn’t true. I don’t want to run from that anymore.
I want my family to understand. I want my story told. And I want you to tell it.”
He nods through the concern evident on his face. “We’ll tell it together—”
“Dad! Look!” Olly calls as he dances around with Pepper chasing him.
“Um, I should… let you get on with your morning.”
“Please, don’t go. We’re going to the same place. Let’s go together,” he says.
I accept his offer, and a rather blissful routine develops over the subsequent days—me, Henry, and Olly meeting each morning and going to our destinations together.
We share dinners, either at his place or at the fairy house, and we talk about our days, and in quiet moments, stories from our past. It feels like an existence we were meant to live, that’s been waiting for us until we were ready to accept it.
I invite him and Dr. Kwon to visit my classroom on Thursday—a crowded event already, with twenty-four students and other guests from around campus.
I must shoo visitors from Myla and Jayden’s usual seats, as they have become my assistants.
Dr. Kwon and Henry slip into the back of the class at the start.
His lopsided smile brings one of my own—full and wide—as if there’s no one else in the room.
“Is she smiling?” I hear Myla whisper to Jayden, which jolts me out of it.
“We have traveled across North Carolina, ecologically speaking, examining the rarest species, their environments, and conservation efforts, and today, we finally arrive at the coastal plain and the state’s rare taxa of carnivorous plants to which I am… personally connected.”
Laughter waves across the audience, though I don’t know what’s funny.
“Next week, we’ll examine these plants in person before our final exam.” Nerves rise as I turn to the whiteboard. I grab a marker from the metal tray, knocking another over.
Jayden holds up his phone. “What’ll it be today, Dr. Blake?”
I take a cleansing breath. “Something upbeat. Thank you, Jayden.”
An energetic song soon thumps through his portable speaker. Catching Henry’s eyes once more, an exchange of smiles moves me forward.
I succeed in focusing on science rather than Henry—a feat I’ve all but mastered over the last decade, but it proves more challenging with him in the room.
The class passes expeditiously, with a few slight diversions when my students ask questions.
My phone chirps its usual end-of-class warning, and, upon turning around to ask if there are any questions, my audience breaks into unsolicited applause.
“Class is over,” I say, my voice raised above the noise and putting a swift end to it.
My students chuckle, as if I’m being weird. I probably am, but I don’t like the attention.
I grab two erasers to clean the board, but I’m bombarded with people who want to discuss the lesson.
Myla and Jayden relieve me of the erasers and clean the board.
Amid the questions and accolades, Henry moves beside me and leans in to whisper, “Incredible class, Dr. Blake,” before introducing me to Dr. Kwon, who shares her excitement for the class and Henry’s future book.
Considering my abysmal teaching performance at the start of this experiment, it feels satisfying to hear such praise, especially from another educator.
Even better, it’s pleasing to hear it with Henry beside me.
After class, I retreat to Dad’s office and prepare for another meeting with Dr. McCullum.
He’s emailed me about dogs in their local shelter and the housing they’re providing—a stunning cottage nestled into a lush garden with a wrap-around porch.
A stained-glass cutout in the front door reminds me of the greenhouse.
I’ve never had my own place before, and though I’m still debating my future, it’s difficult not to picture myself there.
Even so, I take Henry’s advice—to stop chasing an answer and wait for it to present itself.
I have a little more time before summer classes end, Dad returns, and my sojourn here is over—I might as well use it.
Besides, I appreciate that freeing myself mentally has allowed me to be more present with Henry and Olly.
At the correct time, Dr. McCullum blinks to life on-screen. He’s in the same leather desk chair with bookshelves behind him as last time, but he’s moved the camera to catch his companion, a cheerful-looking yellow Labrador with sparkling eyes and a studded, pink collar that reads Daisy Duke.
“No fair, Dr. McCullum,” I say with a disapproving look.
He feigns innocence. “What? I went to the shelter to take pics for you, and ended up falling for her. Do you blame me?”
“I don’t,” I say sheepishly. “But you can’t woo me with potential pets.”
“But she has a sister, Calamity Jane,” he says, grinning. “Looks just like her.”
My shoulders slump, and his devious expression relents.
“Then, how can I woo you? Tell me,” he says, his voice lower.
I want to answer him with a definitive list, but all I can think of is being at sea, staring into the murky, choppy water, desperate to dive in. And then, that moment, when I hit the surface, and everything falls away.
That’s what New Zealand would be. Another ship. Another ocean. Another escape. This time, with a dog, a cottage, and a partner who values me as a scientist. I’m drawn to that life. It’s what I’ve wanted. It’s what I’m used to.
I’m not used to this existence with Henry, regardless of how much I want it.
I feel lost. And for once, feeling lost isn’t welcome.
“You should know that I am considering other offers, and that the decision has become… complicated.”
“Uh-oh, glad Daisy’s here to help me persuade you, then,” he quips before gauging my seriousness.
He leans toward the camera. “Of course you’re considering other offers, Dr. Blake.
I’d be shocked if you weren’t. But I’d guess that none will offer you the large-scale environmental impact of the difference you can make here. ”
I can’t argue his point, especially when he elaborates on their Blue Carbon Initiative and their alliance with Project River Recovery—just two of many impactful undertakings this position will afford me.
“You said in your email that I have another week to decide?” I clarify.
“Yes, ideally, we’d like you here and acclimated in early August,” he answers, petting Daisy.
I promise to have my answer the following week, if not sooner. Dr. McCullum stifles his clear disappointment with a gregarious smile. “If there’s anything we can do to win you over, let me know.”
Daisy Duke gives an approving bark before we end the call.