My Name Is Venus Black(43)

Piper comes up as the cashier is putting the receipt in the bag. “There’s no paper box,” she says.

“I’ll take that,” I say, and put the receipt in my wallet. Piper looks at me suspiciously. When we get outside she says, “We spent too much, didn’t we?”

“No, we didn’t. We spent just enough.”



* * *



—

WHEN PIPER AND I get home from shopping, Mike and Curtis are in the middle of a romantic steak dinner. They even have a candle going. Piper and I say hurried hellos, grab peanut butter sandwiches and some potato chips, and disappear upstairs.

“Do you like Curtis?” she asks me after we’re done eating. I think we were both starved from shopping.



“He seems nice enough,” I say. Curtis looks Japanese to me, though I can’t be sure. “Mike told me he’s a pharmacist.”

“What’s a farmist?” asks Piper.

“A pharmacist. It starts with a ph. They fill your prescriptions when your doctor gives you medicine.”

“Oh. Do you want to play crazy eights?”

I think about it. “Actually, Piper, I’m tired. If you don’t mind.”

Later, when I go to tuck her in, she’s wearing the green bandanna. “Oh my gosh, it’s so cute!” I screech. “It makes your eyes as green as a lizard.”

“A lizard? No!”

“A leaf?”

“No!”

“Okay, how about as green as apple-flavored Jolly Ranchers?”

“Yeah!” she says. “That’s it!”

She wears the bandanna for the next four days, until we have a little talk about matching and what colors go together. I can’t help but think of Leo. He would say Piper’s bandanna is the wrong green.



* * *



—

A FEW DAYS later, while Piper and I are doing dishes, I mention Leo. I might not have if Piper hadn’t been talking about her twin cousins—baby Abel and baby Asher.

“I have a brother,” I announce.

She stops in the middle of drying a plate to turn and look at my face. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Where is he? Where does he live?”

“To be honest, he’s been missing for a long time.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

I should never have brought Leo up. What was I thinking? “We’re not sure if someone took him from a house he was staying at or if he ran away.”

“What’s his name?”



“Leo,” I say. For some reason it feels good to say his name to Piper. “Leo is thirteen now.”

Piper looks thoughtful. She wipes a fork. “Are you sad?”

Am I sad? “I miss him a lot,” I tell her.

“But why did he run away?”

“He got lost, Piper. He wasn’t as smart as normal kids, and one day he got lost and then we couldn’t find him.” Oh my God. Saying this so matter-of-factly to Piper makes it sound so awful. “But I like to think he’s in a good place,” I hurry to add. “I’m almost positive that a good mother found him and she took him home and she is taking good care of him.”

I can see Piper processing all this while she stares at my reflection in the window.

“Leo,” she says softly, like she has a new possession.





One thing about working at the Big Dipper is that I’ve gotten totally addicted to coffee. I try to limit myself to two cups in the morning and one after lunch—but sometimes I sneak in a bit more. I always eat my lunch sitting in a booth by the window. I people-watch or sometimes read the paper or a celebrity magazine.

I’m doing just that—wrapped up in an article about Rod Stewart—when Inez sits down across from me.

Gloria certainly wasted no time, did she? But it feels like an enormous stroke of luck that I’m on break—and Julie is busy with customers.

I gaze at Inez flatly, trying to muster a glare, but a glare seems premature—and immature. “Gloria, I suppose,” I state matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” she says, brushing rain off the shoulders of her tan trench coat. “Gloria told me where you work.”

“Are you here to cause problems?”

“Of course not, Venus.” The creases around her eyes are deeper. Her damp hair is still black, long, and straight, but gray roots show along her part.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to see you, Venus.” She speaks softly, like she’s approaching a dangerous animal.



“Okay. See me?” I say. “Now you’ve seen me, now you can go.” I realize I sound more like Piper than a grown woman.

“Can I have coffee with you? Actually, I’d like to talk to you about something important.”

She sounds so sad that I instantly go to Leo. “Is it Leo?” I ask hopefully.

“No, it’s not Leo,” she says wistfully. “It’s about you….”

“What about me?”

She looks out the window, and the dark metal flecks in her gray eyes match the rain outside. “It’s nice here,” she says, glancing around. “I’m so glad you found a job—Annette?” She chuckles softly, nodding at my name tag.