Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

half-full. A picture of him and some friends, or cousins maybe, stands next to
it, all of them holding a papier-mâché planet they made in class or in summer
camp. I lean in close, seeing the same smile on him that I see on Clay’s
sometimes.
“He looked like he was going to be Jensen Ackles someday,” she says,
sadness in her voice.
I look over, seeing she’s still hovering in the doorway, leaning against the
frame.
“He was a cute kid,” I tell her.
“Dynamite personality, too.” She sighs, smiling and crossing her arms.
“He would draw spiders on the toilet paper and replace my yogurt with
mayo.”
I walk over toward the window, checking out his view. “And what did
you do to deserve that?” I tease.
As if he was the instigator. If I know Clay at all, he was simply
retaliating.
“I may have replaced the filling in his Oreos with toothpaste,” she says.
I grin.
The room is spotless. Tidy, clean, not a speck of dust. Someone cleans in
here regularly, and I’m guessing it’s the one room Clay’s mom doesn’t let
anyone touch but herself.
“You loved him a lot.”
“I didn’t realize how much.” She nods. “He was annoying and we fought
a lot, but when he got sick, I almost couldn’t breathe.” I hear the tears thicken
her voice. “It wasn’t fair for him to go through that. I just wanted it to stop.”
There’s no sign of his illness in this room. No medical equipment. No
prescriptions. I have no idea if he died at home or passed in the hospital, but I
can bet the family was with him every hour.
Clay’s breathing shakes, and I see her trying to hold back the tears. I walk
over, taking her face in my hands.
“Why were you so patient with me?” she whispers. “So tolerant? I didn’t
deserve it.”
I lean in, her silky hair brushing the backs of my hands. “Happy people
don’t fixate on things they hate,” I explain. “They move on. I knew it was
coming from somewhere, Clay.” I glide my hands down her body and circle
her waist as we hold each other, and I stare into her eyes. “It doesn’t matter
how much money we have or don’t have or how stable our home is. Anyone