My Name Is Venus Black(94)
He included his phone number again. I tuck the note back into the envelope, unable to hide my smile. But, at the same time, I’m stunned and angry and confused, too. Danny knew I was Venus Black all along? I need time to think about this.
“This is really nice, Piper,” I tell her. “A letter from Danny—you remember him?”
“Yes! The one you love!”
“I don’t love him, Piper,” I say, half laughing.
“But why does he call you Venus?” asks Piper.
I sigh. More proof that she’s already read the note. I’m hoping most of it went over her head, but of course she’d notice the name. I’m not in the mood to scold her, but I do have to answer her question.
“It’s just his nickname for me, Piper. Because I worked at the Big Dipper and he’s thinking about stars.”
Piper is quiet for a moment, and I can tell she’s not satisfied. “But what about—”
“Piper,” I say, standing up. “I’m done talking to you about Danny. I don’t want to talk about the note anymore. Let’s you and I have a fun weekend in Seattle.”
I can tell my tone hurt her a little, but she recovers quickly. That first night, we go roller-skating. It’s excruciating and hilarious and wonderful because I’m with Piper. On Saturday, we visit Pike Place Market and bring home some fish for Mike to make for dinner.
When Sunday rolls around, both Piper and I have to go. It’s a tearful goodbye, just like I knew it would be. But I had so much fun being Piper’s playmate. It was a great relief from having to process all the heavy stuff around Leo.
While I drive up I-5 toward Everett, the sun comes out and the sky clears, and despite it being cold, I roll down my window and let the air rush over my face and let my hair fly. I don’t know what to feel. What to do with my life. Where I will live or if I will have any money.
For now, all that really matters is Leo. When I arrive back at the house on Rockefeller, there’s a truck parked out front. I figure it must be the one Inez is borrowing from her friend Shirley.
I sit in the car for a moment, contemplating my situation. Finding Leo was as far as I ever got in my thinking—it never occurred to me he wouldn’t want to come home. When I phoned Inez from the Porters’ house, she sounded desperate and worn out. She begged me to come help with Leo.
I get out of the car and I’m walking toward the house when I spot a tipped beetle on the sidewalk. When I was younger, maybe nine or ten, I used to worry so much about these beetles. I’d walk all over the neighborhood looking for the ones in crisis and flip them back over.
When did that stop happening? Did the beetles stop tipping over or did I just stop noticing them?
I pause now and stoop down to stare at this one. She’s shiny, black, and her threadlike legs wildly claw at the air. I wonder how long she’s been like this and if she thinks the sky is blue ground and that she’s actually getting somewhere. When I can’t bear to watch her struggle another second, I gently tip her back onto her belly.
She scurries off, and I wonder if she’s grateful to be saved or if she just assumes this is how life as a bug works. You make one wrong move and your whole world gets turned upside down. And then, right when you think it’s hopeless, a giant black-haired goddess leans down to tip you over.
I go to the front door and knock. Inez doesn’t answer, so I try the door, but it’s locked. I can hear Leo inside, yelling and crying. I’ve heard Leo cry plenty of times in my life, but that was when Leo was little. This is the sound of a heartbroken adolescent boy.
When Inez finally opens the door, she looks angry and exhausted. “So. Did you have a nice weekend with whoever?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I say, moving past her into the house.
“He’s not happy,” she announces to my back.
“I’ve got this one,” I say. I follow the sound of Leo’s crying to his room, where I find him curled up on his old purple blanket in his closet. Beyond the word Tessa, I can’t understand what Leo’s saying, but I think I know what he’s feeling.
I sit down near him, just inches away. “Can I pat your back, Leo?” I ask. “Remember, like I used to?”
Since his back is to me, I decide to risk it. I pat in the old way, saying, “One pat, two pats, three pats…” When I get to ten, I feel something shift. I keep going, and gradually he begins to quiet. By fifty, he is calm. I pat his back a little longer, drawing strength from Leo for what I’m about to do.
I tell Leo I’m going to stop patting, and I do. Then I leave his room quickly, afraid if I don’t act now I’ll lose my nerve. I pass the dining area to reach the kitchen and at the end of it, the basement door. It’s unlocked, thank God. I practically charge down the steps, like I’m in a rush. At the bottom, I turn left into my old room and flip on the light. I gaze at the stripped mattress, packed boxes, and cleaning supplies.
A piece of art hangs on one wall, a watercolor of a single sunflower that my friend Jackie painted for me in sixth grade. Of course, I know why it was moved here and what it is hiding. I carefully take down the painting and look at the hole behind it. It’s larger than I expected, the edges charred and broken, thanks to the blast of Raymond’s gun.