Chapter 51 Henry
Henry
“I thought this was supposed to be an intimate gathering?” I ask Marnie as crowds gather outside the museum, twenty minutes before our private launch party.
“Um, yes. But then we invited Jay’s biker friends, and the queens from Queens and Dreams—”
“Well, they are catering,” I cut in, running a hand through my hair.
“Don’t forget the contributors,” Dot chimes in. “Like my wife and Jack Graham. You had to invite them.”
“And their families,” Marnie says.
“Oh, and I couldn’t leave out the ghost hunters club,” Eric says. “Or the alien geeks. Or the conspiracy podcasters, Beyond the Truth.”
“That’s debatable,” I huff.
“Who do you think’ll put this place on the map, huh?” Eric argues.
“Well, there’s the local TV station and that journalist, Cleo Spire. She did that piece about my business in February. I’m still getting calls from it,” Marnie says, tapping her pen against the guest list in her Trapper Keeper. “We need the free publicity.”
“Hell, is that a guy wearing an alien costume?”
Everyone peers out the window around me.
“Yep, that’s Ken, president of We Are Not Alone,” Eric reports. “You wanted weird, right?”
“Don’t stress out, Henry,” Dot says with a stern pat on my back. “It’s not a party without a guy in an alien costume.”
My shoulders tense as I take a quick puff off my inhaler.
“Sorry, Henry. We got overzealous with the invites,” Marnie says, face scrunched. “The good news is that so many people are excited and invested in your success. Right?”
“Right,” I say, though nerves rise under my shirt collar.
It’s been a difficult week with everything converging at once—Olly’s injury, courses ending, this place opening, and Venus leaving.
My best saving grace has been Mom, ironically.
When she showed up with Venus’s passport in her hand, my fear that I’d never see her again abated, along with my anger at Mom. I even hugged her.
But Venus’s silence tells me she’s still conflicted. Whether about us, the job, or both, I don’t know. She asked for time to think, and I’ve respected that, though I’m desperate to see her.
As if reading my mind, Marnie asks, “Any word from Venus?”
“No, not yet.”
“Buck up, Buttercup,” Dot says, making me smile. “She’ll be here, and she’ll love what you’ve done.”
“Nothing like last-minute changes to keep us on our toes,” Marnie says, her tone somewhat strained. “But everything’s ready—I think.”
Her attention turns to the window as the crowd continues to congregate outside.
“Dot, could you help with traffic control?” I suggest watching cars circling the block.
“Aye, aye,” she says, rushing outside.
“And Eric—”
“Yes, boss?”
“Entertain the early birds at the door?”
“Okie dokie,” he salutes before grabbing his sword case.
“I’ll do one last round of checks before the doors open,” Marnie says, disappearing down the hall.
I take another puff of my inhaler, my lungs feeling heavy and tightening with each breath. The wooden bluejay catches my eye—it’s perched beside the register. I scoop it into my hand.
“Well, Jay, this is it. What do you think?” A heavy sigh escapes. “Will she show?”
A light tapping at the glass door makes my shoulders pop. Mom, Fred, and Olly stand on the other side, peering in through the glare. I slip the bird into my jacket pocket and let them in.
“It’s a bit chaotic out there,” Mom says as they come inside. “That’s a good sign.”
Fred’s in a button-down, tucked in, with dark jeans, which is about as dressy as I’ve ever seen him. He pats my back, “Congrats, Henry. It’ll be a big hit if that crowd’s any indication.”
“Dad, Grandma says there’s going to be cake.
” Olly wears khaki pants with a grass stain on the knee and a green collared shirt that matches his green cast, which he’s already gotten used to wearing—he pretends he’s got one Hulk arm.
He musses his brushed hair and pushes up his glasses, awaiting my confirmation.
“Cake and Venus flytrap cookies,” I report with a grin.
“Real food first, Olly,” Mom says. She wears a green satin dress, soft and friendly, and her nerves seem contained, though her brown eyes land on Jay’s memorial, her brow perking as she takes in our work—she helped me finish it.
A graffiti-style blue jay wearing a black leather jacket serves as a backdrop for frames and shadowboxes, highlighting everything Jay, from his military service to the museum and how it’s changed over the years, to family pictures, concerts, hobbies, and trips.
It doesn’t represent a life lost, but a life lived.
I slip my arm around Mom as she takes it in. “You okay?”
“It’s perfect, Henry. I’m happy to celebrate with you. Happy to celebrate Jay, too… Any sign of Venus?”
“No, not yet.”
“She’ll be here,” Mom says unwaveringly.
Her words restore my confidence.
Soon, the doors open. Marnie and Eric greet guests in the lobby and funnel them into the museum, where Mom, Olly, and I invite them to explore the displays and enjoy the food and drinks.
Led by DeeDee, the diner queens circulate with hors d’oeuvres and drinks that sparkle under the ambient lighting.
Their sequined dresses sparkle, too, giving the open room a brilliant, colorful glow.
The museum soon fills with guests, delighting in lore, legends, and treasures.
I overhear phrases that fill me with pride:
Wow, I never knew that happened here.
It’s incredible to think that this is true.
Who knew this small town could be so interesting?
The historian in me—the teacher in me—finds instant reward in their amazement, just as I do in my classroom on good days. My hand rests on the bluejay in my pocket, knowing Jay would be proud to see it.
But it’s not perfect.
I move to the elegant staircase and perch on the fourth step.
From here, I can see almost everything in the main room—each carefully constructed section, the entry to the room of darker displays, the small buffet along the wall, and the new escape room, presently hidden under a curtain with one of Marigold’s signs: coming soon.
The quiet artist stands with her boyfriend near the entry, seemingly happy to be apart from the crowd.
Marnie and Grady mingle close by, smiling and holding hands.
Dot stands with her wife, Jaye, beside her contribution—early artwork from her graphic novels.
I spot Jack Graham and his wife, Rowan, laughing with the man in the alien costume and the reporter, Cleo Spire, next to Jack’s donations—his latest manuscript, lovingly and thoroughly annotated by his wife, the English teacher and our district’s current teacher of the year.
Carly and her boyfriend Gregory follow Olly as he gives them a tour of the place, while Mom and Fred watch in amusement, probably saying something about his endless excitement.
In the last half hour, I’ve been introduced to Lena and Ben Wright of Saddletree Farm and Café, where Hunter, The Return was filmed.
They not only provided the movie memorabilia, but Lena also baked and personally delivered a three-tier Wilmington-themed cake with ships, mermaids, fossils, flytraps, and pirates that Marnie had ordered for the occasion.
Lena fiddles with her gorgeous centerpiece while her stoic, but attentive husband puts his arms around her and leads her away to enjoy the party.
Delilah Duffy-Teague, the bookstore owner and Mystery Maven of Tipee Island, rests her head on her husband, Sam’s, shoulder as they ogle the leather starfish notebook and magnifying glass necklace she contributed—mementos from the cases she’s solved.
Her half-smile makes me wonder if she misses it.
Sam urges her over to meet Jack Graham, and the book lover immediately gushes over his romance novels.
Movement near the entry hallway catches my attention.
Dr. Blake and his partner enter. Dr. Blake seems as calm and relaxed as always, while Christie gushes and coos, waving a pink handkerchief in the air.
Ivy and Gil follow behind them, holding hands and gravitating toward Marnie and Grady.
With bated breath, I watch for Venus to enter next, but when Ivy catches my eye with a sympathetic, I-don’t-know shrug, my hope deflates.
Everywhere I turn, I see signs of loving relationships—the automatic touches, familiar smiles, and knowing looks. Normal couple things, I think with a measure of sadness. As perfect as all of this is, it’s incomplete. I ache for the woman who completes me.
“Dad! Is it time to cut the cake yet?” Olly asks, dashing across the room.
Mom and Fred scurry behind him, barely keeping up.
He barrels into my arms as I lean down. I lift him as I stand, and he rests on my shoulder, tucking his cumbersome cast to his chest. The time will come when he’ll no longer want to be held like this, and he’ll be too big for it, anyway, another thought that comes with a measure of sadness. But I’m grateful it’s not tonight.
“We’ll have cake soon,” I say.
“Wow. You can see everything from up here.”
“He’s a tad overstimulated,” Mom says.
“Aren’t we all?” Fred returns with a laugh.
“Want to help me do the toast?” I ask Olly.
“Yeah, Dad!” he agrees with unhindered enthusiasm that would be the same no matter what I asked.
“Go with Grandma to get your champagne,” I tell him, setting him down.
He smirks. “You mean grape juice, don’t you?”
I tussle his hair. “I can’t trick you.”
He races off with Mom and Fred while I notify DeeDee and Marnie. DeeDee and her team spread out amongst the guests, armed with glasses of champagne.
Marnie gives me a concerned look. “Are you sure? We could wait a smidge longer.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Everyone wants cake. Let them eat cake,” I say, resigned but still glancing at the hall entry.
“Oh, a Marie Antoinette reference… I’m not sure that’ll bring us good luck,” she notes.
“Actually, there’s no evidence she said that. It was a cliché attributed to her after her death,” I say sheepishly.