Venus’s voice pipes up in my thoughts like a monotone announcement coming over loudspeakers in a store.“The Kübler-Ross model predicts five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.These can be applied to any loss and don’t have to be linear.Where are you in terms of your parents’ divorce?”
I remember smiling and saying,“Acceptance.I jumped straight to acceptance.”
She grinned because she understood more than most what my father was like.“Excellent.”
We lost Uncle Jay nearly four months ago, and Mom’s stuck on the angry stage.Losing her older brother, especially like that, I can’t blame her.
“She’s seeing her therapist again,” Fred offers.“Maybe you should, too.”
“Yeah, maybe.”It’s not a bad idea, if I can find the time.Therapy has helped multiple times in my life.After Mom divorced Dale, we attended family sessions to help us heal from the abuse.Mom insisted again when I was in college and struggled to get myself together after Venus.I went again when Olly was a toddler, while living with Carly and trying to make our family work.
Now, those dark fingers feel like they have a grip on me again, dragging me to places I shouldn’t go.I glance toward the shrubbery wall and towering treeline.A barn owl hoots overhead, and an ominous breeze stirs the trees, bringing tension with it.
I want to duck behind the shrubs, find our path, and make my way to the fairy house.Do something bold to make me brave again.I can find my way, despite the overgrowth and darkness.When we were teenagers, we could walk it blindfolded—we tested each other, taking turns covering our eyes with Venus’s scarf.“We should always be able to get to each other, no matter the conditions.”
Alwaysrepeats in my head—Venus was careful in her use of absolutes.We could always reach each otherthen.
The tightness in my chest intensifies as we head home and begin our bedtime routine.Olly insists on a Venus story, instead of choosing a library book from the stack Mom gave us.Too tired to argue, I begin the story of Frank the Bullfrog for the thirtieth time.
“Once upon a time, Venus heard a fellow fourth grader claim that touching frogs causes warts…”
Olly giggles.“Warts.”
“Venus didn’t like it when people talked badly about others, especially creatures unable to defend themselves.Ever the scientist, she decided the only way to confirm that frogs were not to blame for warts was…”
“An experiment!”
“Right.We were the test subjects, along with an irritated bullfrog I named Frank.”
Olly giggles again.“Frank.”
“Venus discovered Frank in a drainage ditch and pulled him from the muck, bare-handed, like a trophy.All hail, Frank, the king of the bullfrogs,” I coo, making my son laugh and snuggle to my side.
“Frank is my favorite frog,” he says, sleepily.
“Mine, too.Venus held him for five minutes as he croaked—I timed her.Then, she pushed Frank toward me and said,‘Your turn.’Well, I wasn’t thrilled about holding Frank, as nice as he seemed.Venus could tell that I was reluctant.‘Henry, I will be honest.He’s squishy and moist in an unpleasant way, but he’s a perfectly gentle creature living his innocent frog life, and he deserves justice.Friends help each other disprove wrongful claims.Please, be brave, for Frank’s sake.’Then Venus smiled, something she didn’t often do—it made me warm inside.She had the prettiest smile.It made me forget the risk of warts.”
Olly snickers into my shoulder, barely moving this time.
“So, she slowly handed him over,” I say, my voice softer.“His long legs flailing, his croaker croaking.He wiggled and squirmed.But I wrapped my hands around him, palms to his belly and fingers around his lumpy, bumpy back.We came face to face—his bulbous black eyes shifting over me, his thin lips seeming to smile, and his, yes, very moist and rather unpleasant body nuzzled against my skin.Holding him worried me at first, but I resisted those thoughts that told me to be scared and realizedI was doing it.I was holding a bullfrog.And Frank was strangely okay with it, which made me feel okay, too.Brave, for the first time.And Venus smiled like she could see my courage grow.‘You’re holding him perfectly, Henry,’she said, and I felt even prouder.The five minutes blew by, and before I knew it, she said,‘Time’s up.We did it.’She offered to take Frank back for his release, but I wanted to do it.Frank and I connected, you see.We both had a croaking problem, at least.I balanced over the ditch, one leg on each side.Venus thanked Frank for his participation.Then, I set him free into the watery muck.”
Olly’s body feels heavy beside me, his breathing soft and rhythmic.
“We checked ourselves each day for a week, and we never got warts.Thank goodness, because I wouldn’t have wanted to explain that to your grandma.Venus, Frank, and I lived happily ever after.The end,” I finish in a whisper.
I hesitate, still and quiet, for a solid three minutes.Then, I inch out from underneath my sleeping son with the skill of a cat burglar making his escape.
But we didn’t live happily ever after, I think, as I prepare for tomorrow.Venus would say that happily-ever-afters don’t exist in real life.They’re a narrative device, invented by writers to create satisfying endings.Otherwise, the story would go on forever, and readers would see the truth—that happily-ever-afters are impossible because no one is happy all the time and nothing is ever perfect.
Back then, I would’ve argued.Ididargue, especially after we’d watch classic rom-coms from Mom’s collection, only for Venus to bash the ending.
But she wasn’t wrong.
CHAPTER6
Venus
I can’t sleepin the loft’s upgraded guest bed, despite its plush linens and comfortable mattress.By three in the morning, I’m irritated and restless.I tug my boots on, grab my hammock, creep outside, and attach my trustworthy sling of a bed between the weeping willow and crepe myrtle at the back end of Dad’s garden.
