Olly giggles before turning his pleading eyes on me.
“Thanks, Venus.That’s kind,” I say.
“Dad, can I help Venus with the garden?Pleeeaaasssse,” he begs, clasping the fossil between praying hands.
Her eyes stay fixed on mine, her face expressionless, like she might be testing me, too.
“Um, okay, just for a few minutes.I need to talk to Mr.Massie downstairs, anyway.”I meet Venus’s eyes again.“Is this okay?Will you be alright?”
Disappointment outlines her face, like she’s offended at my uncertainty, but she says, “Of course.”
She points to the nearly empty bin of plants, showing Olly what’s left to do.“We’re plantingDionaea muscipulaandSarracenia flava?—”
“Venus,” I cut in, turning from the access door.“He’s six.Maybe don’t use Latin?It’s too advanced for him.”
Venus and Olly twist in my direction with highly offended, gaping stares.If looks could kill, I’d be dead twice over.
“Too advanced?”Venus begins to counter, but Olly chimes in with, “Dad, we got this.”
Venus’s brow cocks in a silent challenge.
Defeated, I back away and retreat to the museum.
CHAPTER27
Venus
I can’t comprehendthe mental complexities of being a parent.The idea feels too beautiful and overwhelming to consider for long, like my brain might combust with the effort.In this regard, I’m certain that Henry knows best and infinitely more than I do.
But this interaction felt like a test.Henry looked anxious, leaving me alone with Olly.Does he genuinely think I’m incapable of basic care or even momentary engagement with a child?
Olly steps up onto the large planter I’ve turned over for him to use as a step stool and asks, “What can I do?”
“You are going to finish this garden.”I hand him my gardening gloves.“Hands up, please.”
He lifts his hands and giggles as I put on the gloves.They’re too big, but they’ll have to do.The last thing I want is to discover the hard way that he’s allergic to peat moss or tree fern fiber.He smiles at me behind his floppy fingers, and I smile back.
It’s hard to believe that only moments ago, I was terrified to meet him.Of course, my nerves were all but obliterated by the fact that he knew all about me.I still feel warm over his embrace, like it preheated the oven for our relationship, such as it will be.I don’t know what to think about Henry sharing our stories with him.Flattered?Saddened?Annoyed?Proud?So, I file those wonderings away for later and refocus on the task at hand.
Olly is delighted to learn that the flytraps and pitcher plants rely on bugs for their food.He doesn’t appear bored when I explain in full detail how their digestive systems work.He even asks thoughtful questions.
“How do bugs taste?”
“They’re disturbingly crunchy, in my experience.I don’t like them, but plants don’t have taste buds like we do.”
“Can flytraps eat people?”
“No, we’re too large and complex for them.”
“Do the bugs feel it when they’re eaten?”
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I read a lot.”
“Dad says you’re a brainiac,” he says, giggling.
