When Venus Fell by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online

too many hard ones. I adored her, despite everything. She would say the same about me.
    Ella sighed. As I turned away she whispered, “Don’t be too hard on him. I saw a feather this morning. It means something. I think he’s somebody we can trust.” Her eyes filled with tears. Her pale, champagne-fine complexion was quickly streaked with them. “I still want to trust people,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
    Ella believed angels, or our parents, or, for all I knew, space Wookiees, watched over us. She was convinced the occasional bird feathers were good tidings from them.
    I glanced at Gib out a window lined with Ella’s feathers taped to the camper’s fake wood paneling. Playbills, newspaper reviews, ticket stubs, and publicity photos of us were taped nearby. Mom and Pop’s wedding photo hung in a small gold frame. “I saw a feather,” Ella repeated. “It’s a sign. Tell him about the feather.” She turned uneasily on her pillow.
    “It means a pigeon died,” I said under my breath.
    When I stepped out of the camper Gib was leaning against one of the trailer park’s metal picnic tables with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look pleased as he surveyed the lines of campers squatting on gravel lots under yellow security lights. When he swiveled his attention to me I gave a small curtsy. “Is this more acceptable to your meat-and-potatoes idea of how a decent woman should dress?” I gestured toward my T-shirt, baggy shorts, and sandals. I’d pulled my hair back. The mass of tight cornrows was heavy enough to keep my head tilted back, a decidedly superior posture. I carried a half bottle of wine and a pair of plastic wineglasses.
    “I miss the belly jewelry,” he said.
    “You’ve seen more than your share, I expect.”
    “How do you get past airport metal detectors?”
    “I distract the guards with my tattoos.”
    “Which one do they like better? The burning flag or the hammer and sickle?”
    I bristled like a cat. “It’s the smiley face on my ass that really gets their attention.” I sat down at the picnic table and unceremoniously removed the wine bottle’s screw top. “Hope you like discount chardonnay.” He eyed the plastic goblets just as he seemed to study every other detail of my world. He made me feel defensive without uttering another word.
    I poured wine. He neither took a glass nor said anything. His scrutiny focused suddenly on my bright yellow cornrows and braids. “I can’t figure out what kind of fashion statement you’re trying to make.”
    “I’m sure you’re used to women whose idea of a fashion statement is the bill they pay for a tease job at Lula Ethel’s House of Beauty every month.”
    “I like women with big hair. I admit it.” He sat down across from me slowly, gracefully, all long legs and broad shoulders, his knees brushing mine under the table before I twisted my legs aside. From his shirt pocket he pulled a folded sheet of notepaper and a yellowed envelope with a stamp so old it was peeling off. “Read this first,” he said, handing me the note.
    I frowned at the mystery as I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was spidery but strong.
    Venus—
    Gib found you for me. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. I believe your family’s friendship is a treasure we lost and have to recover. You and your sister are our compatriot survivors of life’s cruel fates. Now we’ve found you and you’ll prove me right. I also believe your family shares my family’s faith and hope. I believe that with all my heart
.
    It was signed “Olivia Cameron.” Next, Gib laid the old, fragile envelope in front of me. “My great-aunt Olivia kept this. She asked me to give it to you along with her note. Your mother sent it to her.”
    I plucked out a color snapshot of Mom, Pop, me at about five, and Ella in Mom’s arms. Little, dark-haired, innocent girls. A lump formed in my throat. “Read the inscription on the back,” Gib said. My hands trembling,