Chapter 50 #2
It’s evidence that soulmates exist, and Henry is surely mine. Even Maggie sees it.
“But if you believe that,” I say, “then why…”
“I reacted out of fear, Venus. Olly’s accident wasn’t your fault…
neither was Henry’s back then. My remarks were cruel and unfounded, and I only said them because I was upset.
I apologize if you felt you had to run because of me.
It kills me to think that I caused you and my son heartbreak. Then and now.”
My irritation retreats, but I don’t know how to respond.
I don’t blame Maggie for our heartbreak the first time—that was inevitable.
We weren’t ready for each other then. Our solo adventures were necessary based on the results.
Along with my travels and education, I gained self-acceptance and confidence.
Henry got his education and Olly. It was meant to be.
But it’s difficult to accept her apology when she’s always mattered so much to me, and I’ve only ever disappointed her.
“I have a rotten tendency to misplace blame when I’m upset…
or scared. Henry’s everything to me. Trying to protect him brought out the worst in me.
I’m sorry you became a target,” she goes on, tears collecting on her eyelashes.
“I’m working on it in therapy, but it’s obvious that I don’t handle my emotions well.
I think that’s why Jay… well, he couldn’t talk to me. ”
“Jay’s struggles weren’t your fault, Maggie.”
Her brow pinches, but a weak smile emerges. “Thanks for saying that. I don’t expect you to forgive me, Venus. I hope you do, but that takes time. For now, just know that… I’ve always loved you as a daughter. Truly, I have. And I’d love to have you as a daughter again now, if you’ll let me.”
Pesky tears threaten my eyes now, too. She digs into her bag for a tissue pack, hands me one, and takes another for herself, reminding me of Henry and his arsenal. “Why do I bother with mascara? Oh, and… I brought you supporting evidence.”
“Really?”
“You love evidence, right?” She smiles. “I pulled these out of the closet the other day, and thought you should see.”
The front door opens, and Dad steps out awkwardly with a tea tray. He sets it on the table between us with a loud clatter, smiling at me and giving Maggie a huff of disapproval.
“The cookies are for Venus,” he warns her, though it still sounds nice somehow.
“Richard, I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused Venus and your family,” she says, resting her hand over his on the tray. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”
“Hmm,” Dad says, glancing from her to me and back again, unsurely. “Well, that’s up to Venus.”
“Thanks for the tea. Will you join us? I, um… You should see this, too,” Maggie says, motioning to her box.
I offer him a reassuring nod, and he says, “I shall fetch another cup then.”
Maggie sifts through the nondescript brown box, first handing me a clunky file folder. “Henry wanted me to pass that along. He’s been busy.”
I flip through the pages of calendars, dates, flight schedules, and miscellaneous information ranging from New Zealand food costs to interesting tourist destinations.
Dad returns with his cup and serves the tea. The scents of ginger and lemon fill the air, instantly comforting me as I take in the information.
“What is this, exactly?” I finally ask.
Maggie grins. “Henry’s worked it out with Carly. Should you go to New Zealand, Henry and Olly will be there, too, as much as they can be, anyway. If you’ll have them...”
“I-I…” Words fail me.
“He wants you to know that he’ll do whatever it takes to make it work,” she adds softly.
Tears crest my eyelids, falling onto Olly’s school schedule, as I imagine the three of us traveling together, not just to New Zealand, but everywhere.
My mind maps out milestones in Olly’s education—me teaching him Spanish, French, and Latin; currencies and customs; the scientific method; art and music; and advising him on his first experiment.
And Henry… kissing him under waterfalls, on trains, in museums, in the rain.
I’m overrun with so many fantastical dreams that the tea splashes in my trembling hand.
“Here’s what I wanted to show you,” Maggie says after a long pause.
On top of Henry’s plans, she sets a green scrapbook with worn corners and flips to the first page.
It features Henry in kindergarten—his school portrait, class picture, report cards, and samples of his school work.
It’s striking how much Olly resembles him.
She turns the page, revealing more of the same, and I smile over his clumsy handwriting and oversized grin. His first-grade year is featured next. But when the page flips to second grade, I gasp.
It’s me—my school portrait—right next to Henry’s.
A copy of my report card is posted beside his with a message from my teacher requesting a parent-teacher conference.
I vaguely remember running home through the woods with Henry on report card day, and him proudly handing it over to her in expectation of treats for his good grades.
Her voice echoes in my thoughts, “Venus, your turn. Let’s see it.
” She’d read it over, brow raised, before saying, “You’re brilliant enough to do better, but it’s a good effort,” and handing me treats, too.
She must’ve made a copy while Henry and I gorged on cupcakes or chocolate cookies.
Page after page, I’m showcased almost as much as Henry. Pictures of us playing are wedged between drawings I gave her and homework she saved. The elementary school essays we wrote every fall on what we did during summer vacation mirror each other both on the page and in the narratives.
This summer, Venus and I….
This summer, Henry and I…
Tears slip from my eyes over our history, collected and preserved, and how desperately I want more. More pictures. More momentos. More Henry and me.
“Hmm, this is… lovely, Maggie,” Dad says, scratching his head. “I was never much of a scrapbooker.”
She shrugs, eyes fixed on me and my ceaseless tears. “Well, I’m a librarian. Documentation and collecting make me happy. You and Henry were inseparable back then. It wouldn’t be his scrapbook without you.”
Third-grade me had wild hair, but the following year, it was braided. Maggie taught me how. By fourth grade, I wore scarves and bandanas and clunky costume jewelry that she gave me to “Give my hands something to do.”
The icy numbness I’ve been trying to achieve to accept New Zealand and plan my departure thaws as warmth spreads through me. Maggie must love me. And like me, she struggles with big feelings, too.
“I kept them through high school.” She lifts the other albums from the box—there are five more, thick, with pages peeking from their edges. “You should keep them… take your time. There’s a lot to see.”
My brow cocks as I look up at her. “You’ll leave them with me? Here?”
“Of course,” she says. “I brought Olly’s scrapbook, too. I thought you might want to—”
Her voice stops at the screech of my chair as I stand.
She’s handing me the best moments of my childhood—memories she saved and cherished.
And Olly’s, too? Overwhelmed by these beautiful books and her trust in letting me hold onto them, I fist my hands, energy surging.
They stare at me, wide-eyed and stilled, like I might explode.
It feels like that.
I race inside. The door slams behind me. I climb the stairs, taking two at a time, and rummage through my open and overstuffed backpack. When I have what I need, I thump down the steps and bang through the door.
Dad and Maggie look perplexed by my urgency, but their expressions change to surprise when I hand over an item that I treasure—my passport.
“My collateral against your loan,” I say. “I’ll exchange your scrapbooks for my passport… when I’m ready. If that’s acceptable.”
She tugs the passport from my hand, looking baffled over my gesture. I wonder if my action seems weird to her, but it’s my way of thanking her and comforting Henry.
“Hmm, it’s customary to secure an arrangement between borrowers and lenders with something of similar value,” Dad says, validating me.
“That’s fair. Thank you,” she says, tucking my ability to travel in her purse. “May I let Henry hold on to it, though, for safekeeping?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “That would be acceptable… My job decision is still pending. I have much to consider. But I promised Henry I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. This assures it.”
“Whatever your answer, Venus, it has to work for you… But perhaps you’re ready for a new adventure.”
“New Zealand?” I ask.
“No... What’s scarier or more exciting than love and parenthood?”
Dad laughs. “Isn’t that the truth?”
“I’d better get going.” She rises from her seat, but digs through her purse again. She pulls out a postcard-sized paper and pushes it to me. “Your invitation to the museum’s launch party. Bring the whole family. Henry wanted to make it official.”
Dad reaches the invitation first and answers for us. “It’d be an honor to celebrate Henry’s achievement with him. We’ll be there.”
She steps toward the deck railing, but turns and smiles back at me. “Oh, and Venus… the rest of that box is filled with scarves. I never stopped collecting them for you.”