My Name Is Venus Black(73)

She lets me in and I shut the door behind me. For a second we both stand there, shivering from the blast of cold air we let in. I set my heavy suitcase down, my arm burning with relief. Her arms are wrapped around her body, and she’s wearing a thick gray cardigan I don’t recognize.

“You could at least offer to take my coat,” I say. “Or is this a bad time?”

“Oh no!” she says, looking stricken. “I’m sorry! I’m just surprised. But glad surprised.” She reaches for my coat and I raise my hand to stop her. I shrug out of the parka I got from Goodwill and hand it to her.

While she hangs it in the small coat closet, I notice how strongly the house smells like the past, and it makes me want to run for my life. I also notice a glass of wine on the coffee table. “You could offer me some wine, too,” I say, surprising myself. “Since I see you’re already at it,” I add.

I hadn’t planned to sound so bratty, much less to ask for a drink.



She looks embarrassed about the wine, and I wonder if she still drinks too much. I can see her debating whether to act like a mother and remind me I’m not old enough to drink—or go with the flow. I kind of enjoy her fluster.

“Okay,” she says in a shaky voice. “I’ve got a good bottle of red, if that’s okay…”

“That’s fine.”

While she heads into the kitchen, I take a seat on the bizarrely familiar plaid couch and survey the living room. A black faux-leather recliner has replaced Raymond’s shabby olive-green one—but otherwise it all looks creepily the same. How could she stay here?

I hear the pop of a cork from the kitchen just as I notice the framed photo of Leo on the side table. There used to be a picture of me there, too—in a matching frame. I can’t help wondering whether she threw it in the garbage or packed it away.

This trip to Everett was never my plan—until that reporter wrote a feature for The Seattle Times about my story, including where I work. Julie had turned out to be right about people’s curiosity, and pretty soon I felt the way I’d thought I would. Like a monkey in a zoo.

I never liked monkeys anyway. In fifth grade, we took a field trip to the Woodland Park Zoo and there was a sign on the monkey enclosure saying not to knock on the window—so of course I had to. I knocked really hard and the monkeys went nuts. It’s one of the few times I ever got in trouble at school. But it seemed worth it at the time and still does now. I’ve a mind to go do it again.

Inez returns with an open bottle of wine and a ruby-colored goblet like the one she’s already using. The glasses are so familiar, and it seems bizarre that after all these years I’m going to get to drink from one. Inez sets it down on the oak coffee table, which is also weirdly familiar. I could have told the story of every water ring I made because I didn’t use a coaster.

It seems that while I’ve spent the last six years going out of my way not to trigger old memories, Inez has found a way to be at home among them.



She turns the black recliner so it’s facing more in my direction. In the awkward silence, I watch her fill my glass and top off her own. She sits in the chair, takes off her ratty slippers, and pulls her bare feet onto the seat, curling up like she’s trying to feel safe. “I’m so glad you’re here, Venus,” she says.

“I’m not glad to be here,” I tell her. “And I’m not really here to see you.”

Given her pained expression, I might as well have slapped her face. I know I shouldn’t be so mean, especially since I’m here to ask for money.

“Okay,” she says softly. “That’s fine. So how can I help you?”

“I changed my mind.”

“About…?”

“About the money. I want to take you up on your offer.”

“That’s great,” she says with a genuine smile. “Does this mean you’re going to enroll in college?”

“I already told you why I can’t go to college, especially around here,” I answer.

I take a sip of the wine. It’s probably really cheap, but I wouldn’t know. The extent of my drinking at Echo Glen was a few gulps of contraband liquor someone snuck in—and I hated it. I never drank, because I didn’t want to be like Raymond and Inez, who both drank too much.

“But I want to get a car and move to California. And that takes money,” I continue.

“Oh. California,” Inez says, clearly disappointed. She’s wearing absolutely no makeup, but she is still pretty for her age.

“Where are you moving?” I ask. “I saw the COMING SOON sign out front.”

“Yes. That. I don’t know where I’ll land. Here in Everett, most likely. In a smaller place. I have friends here….”

She finally reaches for her glass and takes a couple of swallows.



“So, are you going to make me ask how much you can…?” I wasn’t about to say give to me. I figure she owes me this money.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought about it yet—”

“It seems like five grand is the least you can do,” I say.

I can tell by her face that she’s taken aback. “I can’t do that, at least not yet,” she says. “First I have to sell the house….”