“Oh, my!What’ve you gotten into?”Mom cries, zooming in on the stains.“Is that ketchup?What’s happened to Bun-Bun?”
“Bar fight,” Fred quips with a raspy laugh.
Her mood lightens slightly.She reaches for paper towels and dabs at the stains on his shorts while Olly drinks his weight in lemonade.I predict a sugar rush at bedtime and him having to pee on the ten-minute drive home.
“Baking soda and lemon juice,” she tells me when the paper towels don’t remove the stains entirely.“Work it into a paste, apply, and let it sit for ten minutes.The enzymes break down the tannins in the tomatoes.Or something.”She cocks her head in a thoughtful smile.“Venus taught me that.”
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Fred says fondly.
Olly pulls the empty cup away from his wet mouth.“Dad’s Venus?The one who climbs trees and goes on adventures and picks up snakes and makes treehouses?That Venus?”
Mom sighs.“There’s only one, thank goodness.”
“Olly, go use the bathroom and wash your hands.We have to go soon,” I tell him.
He puts all of his six-year-old might into pushing the door open—I almost get up to help—but it gives, and he races inside.
“You still think about her, don’t you?”Fred asks with a tender tone that doesn’t match his gruff exterior.
I fixate on the shrubbery lining their property as if I might see the lights from the fairy house through the woods when I already know I can’t.“Course I do.”
Mom groans.“You talk her up to Olly like she’s a superhero—it’s not good.”
“She’s the closest thing to a superhero I’ve ever known.”
“A superhero wouldn’t have made you sick with her shenanigans, traipsing through the woods and goading you up trees.Have you forgotten all the cuts, bumps, ticks, rashes, and bruises you came home with, thanks to her?Or the times she got you in trouble at school?I should’ve put a stop to it early on.If I’d been more attentive, I could’ve prevented you from nearly dying and at least from having your heart broken?—”
“More attentive?”I laugh.“Mom, you tracked me on my phone while I was in class… in elementary school!Wild animal tamers aren’t as attentive as you.”
Fred laughs good-naturedly.“He’s got you there, Mags.”
“Besides, Venus nevermademe sick,” I defend weakly.“My asthma and allergies did.She encouraged me to do things I never would’ve done without her.Venus made me strong.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing for Olly?Telling him about her?You want him jumping off roofs and setting fires?”she counters.
“Venus never jumped off a roof.I mean, not exactly.And the fires were contained.Mostly.”
Mom shakes her head and folds her arms.“She hurt you, Henry.Over and over.I don’t think you should idolize her to Olly.”
“I tell Olly stories, that’s all.You told me your stories, like when Uncle Jay taught you to roller skate, oh, and the time he carried you after you sprained your ankle?—”
“No more of that,” she snaps.“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“It’s okay, Mags,” Fred says gently.“Your brother was a great man, worthy of being remembered.”
“We’re creating a memorial at the museum,” I add.“Did you know he saved ticket stubs from every concert, movie, or comedy act he attended?I’m framing them into a collage.If you have any suggestions?—”
“No.I don’t.I don’t want to talk about him.”Her words are strained and borderline curt.Still, she folds up her obvious anger and tucks it away behind a barbed-wire smile.“I’ll, um, pack up some leftovers, so you don’t have to fix lunch tomorrow.”
She retreats inside.
I sigh.Fred takes a long swig of his beer.I guzzle lemonade.A dog yaps in the distance.
“She’ll get there,” he says.
“I’m pissed at him, too.It must be worse for her.”
“She feels betrayed that he didn’t talk to her.Blames herself.Blames her anxiety.She’s gotta go through her grief,” he says.
