I expect Venus to launch into her spiel about the stages of grief, but instead, she nods and slips her hand over mine on the table.“I’m sorry for Maggie.It must be devastating to lose a sibling… and an uncle.If it helps, talk to me about him.”
Over hot dogs and soft drinks, I spill dozens of good memories, along with the bad, like her permission has lifted the ban Mom put in place.It’s as cathartic as writing about Venus, allowing me to see his life and our stories from different angles.Sharing Jay with Venus also feels like making the memories last longer and giving them a new life, just as it does when I tell Olly our stories.
After our adventures in Seagrove, we return to Wilmington.At the fairy house, I help her tend to the gardens while she talks about New Zealand.
“You don’t have to choose between me and New Zealand, Venus,” I say, reiterating what I tried to express to her last night.“We’ll make it work if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she returns flatly, reminding me of her father, who said the same thing during our call.
“That’s how I felt when Jay left me the museum.I didn’t want the place.I was angry at him, overwhelmed by the aftermath, and I already had too much going on to take on a business.I felt so out of my depth that I put it on the market, ready to be done with it.”
She nods.“It does seem like a massive undertaking.What changed?”
“DeeDee asked, ‘What’s the rush, Henry?The decision will wait for you.’So, I waited for the right answer to come to me instead of chasing it.Taking the pressure off helped.I spent time in the place with Jay’s things and brainstormed possibilities without worrying over the details.I loved watching Olly get excited over arrowheads, old coins, and pirate lore.I talked to people, sought advice, and was surprised that Olly wasn’t the only one excited about it.Instead of being worn down by Jay’s death, I started to feel uplifted by good memories.Then, I read about Marnie.She’d transformed several small businesses into amazing successes, including the G&G.When she agreed to the project, everything fell into place.Besides, selling is always something I could do later, but I can’t take it back once it’s done.I’d rather take a chance now than regret it later.”
“That does put a different perspective on your decision,” she says in a troubled sigh as she picks weeds from an eclectic garden of flowers, vegetables, and herbs outside of the greenhouse.
“The place might fail, but I won’t regret trying.That’s all Jay would’ve wanted from me.You’ll figure out what’s best for you, and everything will fall into place.”
She stops tinkering with the garden and nods.“Thank you for the advice, Henry.I’ll take it under consideration.”
“No problem,” I say, taking over the hose.“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.I need your advice, too.”
She perks up.“I’d be honored to advise you.”
The entire story about my paper, “The Problem with Sunflowers,” Dr.Kwon, and her book proposal gushes from me in that excited, easy way that I remember talking to her as a kid.She listens intently as we work through the garden.She snickers over my pen name for her—Buttercup.And at the end of my spiel, she faces me, hands on her hips, and nibbles her bottom lip.
“What do you think?”I urge her finally.
A soft smile edges her lips, relieving my sudden nerves.“I think… that’s a book I’d like to read.”
CHAPTER40
Venus
Though Henry invitesme 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 getmyfield 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 whatIneed—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:
