The Patron Saint of Butterflies (18 page)

Suddenly I notice that Benny is pointing at something outside of the cart. “What is it, Benny?” He points toward the wall of hair ornaments. I extract a beautiful barrette, as thin as an emery board, with tiny, tentacle-like decorations coming from the center of it. Each pink feeler is secured at the tip with a small silver bead. It looks like a gorgeous flower. “This?” Benny nods his head vigorously and then points at me. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. Benny points to my head. “You think it would look good on
me
?” He nods, his eyes wide as I hold it against the side of my head. “Yeah? Really?”

Next to the barrettes is a small selection of handheld mirrors. With the barrette firmly in place, I walk over and stand in front of one until I can see myself. It’s so pretty! And it looks just right in my hair, not too large, not too small, just the right shade of pink against my skin. I turn to look at Benny, full of excitement, and then—

And then I remember number two of the Big Four:
Clothe the body. Adorn the soul
. How many times have I heard Emmanuel say that during Sunday services?
Do not concern
yourself with the outer trappings for the body. They mean nothing in the eyes of God. Our bodies will die. Souls live forever. Spend your time on this earth clothing your soul.

Slowly, I put the pink barrette back on the shelf. Benny kicks his foot against the inside of the cart and points angrily at the barrette.

I shake my head. “It’s okay, Benny. Really. I don’t need it. Actually, we shouldn’t be spending any time at all in this dumb store. We don’t need anything in here.”

Benny stares at the barrette forlornly as I push the cart back down the aisle.

I pull out the bottle of fancy shampoo and put it back on the shelf. In goes the Johnson & Johnson. “This is all we need, buddy. Okay?”

He stares at the floor through the small silver squares of the cart and sticks his lower lip out. Just as I turn the cart around, I catch sight of Honey. She is standing at the end of the aisle, watching me.

“It’s okay to get something you
really
want, you know,” she says, walking toward us. She pulls the pink barrette back off the shelf and throws it inside the cart. “Benny’s right. It looks great on you.”

I lean back over and extract the barrette. “You get the things you need, Honey,” I say evenly, “and I’ll get the things I need.” Hanging the barrette back on the hook, I push the cart firmly past her and make my way to the front of the store.

Nana Pete pays for everything with a credit card, swiping the paper-thin rectangle through a little silver machine and signing her name with an odd-looking pen. The cashier is a
tall, lanky boy with pale arms and pimply skin. For some reason, the lights behind him look very bright. I stare at his T-shirt with a picture of Jesus on the front. The bearded image blurs, comes back into focus, and then blurs once more. I squint hard, trying to make out the words underneath Jesus’s face.

I DIED FOR YOUR SINS, it reads, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT?

I turn around to make sure Benny doesn’t catch sight of it, but the whole room starts to undulate, as if I am riding a wave. I reach out blindly for something to hold, but the floor comes rushing up at me.

And then, blackness.

HONEY

Nana Pete freaks when Agnes faints in Wal-Mart. Luckily, I am standing right behind her and so when she goes down—like a ton of bricks—I catch her just before she hits the floor. Nana Pete shrieks so loud that people in the other aisles start rushing over. That dork of a cashier kid looks over the conveyer belt with a stupid expression on his face.

“Uh, what happened?” he asks. “Should I call an ambulance?”

Benny grips the sides of the shopping cart, looking out at us with huge eyes.

Adjusting her carefully on the floor, I lean in and put my ear to Agnes’s mouth. “She’s breathing,” I announce to the worried stare of onlookers. “I think she just fainted.”

A second later, Agnes’s eyes flit open.

“Yeah.” I nod. “She’s okay. She just needs to eat something.”

Nana Pete falls to her knees next to us.

“I don’t think she’s eaten for a few days,” I say in a low voice. “She does this sometimes.”

“Does what?” Nana Pete asks, bewildered.

“Fasts. You know, like the saints. To atone for any sins she’s committed.”

Agnes tries to sit up, but Nana Pete stops her. “Don’t, darlin’. There’s a hotel right across the street. We’re going to go there now, get you something to eat, and put you to bed.”

“We are?” I ask.

Nana Pete nods. She is clutching the front of her shirt with one hand. “It’s been a long two days. No one’s slept at all in the past twenty-four hours. We’re all running on fumes. A good night’s sleep is what everyone needs.”

Nana Pete takes Benny’s hand and I wrap my arm around Agnes so she can lean on me as we make our way inside our room at the hotel.

“I’m okay,” she whispers hoarsely, trying to wriggle out from under me.

I tighten my hold on her. “Just relax. It’s not a sin to let someone help you after you’ve just become personally acquainted with the floor.”

The room itself is not very large, but it’s clean and smells like pine needles. A large window at the opposite end looks out directly on the front lawn. There are two beds in the middle, draped with orange and brown comforters, one long bureau against the wall, and a gigantic black television set.

“Let’s put Benny and Agnes in that one,” Nana Pete says, pointing to the bed closest to the wall. “And you and I will share this one.”

I help Agnes under the covers as Nana Pete gives Benny one of his pills from Dr. Pannetta.

“Hey,” I say, taking her hand. “Nana Pete just bought us new pajamas. Let me help you change so you’re more comfortable.” Agnes shakes her head and lays her head weakly on the pillow.

“I don’t need anything,” she whispers.

I pull my hand out from hers. “Would you stop acting like a martyr for two seconds and just let me help you?”

Agnes’s face scrunches up like she might cry.

Nana Pete rushes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Honey. Please. Be kind.”

I shake my head, defeated, and plop down on the other bed next to Benny.

“Agnes,” Nana Pete says, using her no-nonsense voice. “You must get into some comfortable pajamas. No arguments, darlin’. Now, let me help you.”

Agnes blinks and then brings her arms up weakly alongside her ears. Nana Pete helps her out of her robe and then her shirt as Agnes sinks back into the pillow, arms crossed over her chest. There is a sudden, audible gasp.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Nana Pete points to the string around Agnes’s waist, which is barely discernable among the bruised folds of skin. “No wonder you fainted!” she says, trying to pull the string off. Agnes cries aloud. “My God, Agnes, you can barely breathe with this thing on! Honey, go out to the front desk and ask the man there for a pair of scissors.”

I don’t move. “What’s that, another penance thing?” I can barely hide the rage in my voice. “You get that from
The Saints’ Way,
too?” Agnes just stares at the floor. I turn away, disgusted, and march out the door.

The skin around Agnes’s waist looks even worse after the string comes off. It’s so raw that it’s actually slimy, and sections of it are tinged with blood. Nana Pete rushes back over to Wal-Mart and returns with two bottles of hydrogen peroxide,
bacitracin ointment, and white gauze. I keep Benny occupied on the other side of the room, playing with the new deck of cards Nana Pete got us, as she wipes down Agnes’s wounds. Agnes makes tiny, muted cries as the peroxide and then the ointment is rubbed into her skin.

“Promise me you won’t do something like this to yourself again,” Nana Pete says, as she wraps the last of the gauze around Agnes’s middle. Agnes just looks away from her. “There’s no need for it. God already knows what a wonderful person you are, Mouse. You don’t have to try to convince him.” Agnes closes her eyes.

Later, Nana Pete orders something called room service, which is almost as cool as the McDonald’s drive-through, except that it takes way too long to arrive. Benny and I get grilled-cheese sandwich platters with french fries, coleslaw, and baked beans, and Nana Pete orders a taco salad with beef chili and sour cream. She spends a long time trying to convince Agnes to pick something from the menu, but Agnes won’t talk.

“Just order her a turkey sandwich,” I say exasperatedly. “I’ll shove it down her throat if I have to.” Agnes presses her lips together tightly.

But when the food comes, it’s a different story. Agnes’s meal turns out to be a soup-and-sandwich combo, and when Nana Pete takes the lid off the bowl of chicken-corn chowder and passes it under Agnes’s nose, her eyes actually fill up with tears.

“Eat it,” Nana Pete says gently, pushing the bowl into Agnes’s hands. “Please.”

She takes a tentative spoonful, sliding the utensil between
her teeth, and when she swallows, her whole face relaxes. In three minutes, the soup is gone. Ten minutes later, her sandwich, side of potato chips, and three pickle spears have vanished as well.

“Thank God,” Nana Pete whispers, after Agnes finally falls asleep. Next to his sister, Benny is curled up like a little puppy, his face nestled in tightly alongside her ribs. “Maybe now she’ll start feeling normal again.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

But Nana Pete isn’t listening to me. She’s punching numbers on her cell phone.

“Who’re you calling?” I ask.

“Lillian.” She puts the phone to her ear.

“Lillian?” I repeat. “I think I heard Agnes mention her once, a long time ago. Is she your daughter?”

Nana Pete nods. “My only daughter and Leonard’s only sibling.” She holds up an index finger. “Hold on. It’s the machine. I have to leave a message.” She pauses and then speaks into the phone. “Lillian, darlin’, it’s me. Call me on the cell phone. We need to talk.” She clicks it shut and leans back heavily against the headboard, closing her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Just tired.”

“You know, Agnes told me she’s never met Lillian. Is that true?”

Nana Pete rubs the deep wrinkles above her eyebrows with two fingers. “Leonard and Lillian had a falling out just before Agnes was born. She didn’t like where he was living and, well, Lillian had her own set of problems that Leonard didn’t—or wouldn’t—tolerate. They haven’t spoken since. One
of the rules I had to abide by so I could come visit my grandchildren was that I never talk about her.”

“So in order to come to Mount Blessing, you had to promise Mr. Little that you would never talk about your own daughter?” Nana Pete nods. “That’s mean,” I say. “That’s actually kind of horrible, when you think about it. He just erased Lillian completely from Agnes’s life. Like she never even existed.”

“Yes,” Nana Pete answers softly. A strange, faraway look comes into her eyes. “Yes, you’re absolutely right, Honey.”

I stay still, waiting for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead she hands me a black rectangular piece of plastic. “Why don’t you watch some TV?” she asks. “I’m going to take a shower and then hit the hay.”

I pick up the instrument. It’s very light. “What is this?”

Nana Pete smiles at me and takes it back. Pointing it at the TV, she pushes a button. Instantly, the screen blazes to life.

I jump back. “Wow! It’s color!”

“Of course it’s color, silly.” Nana Pete tosses me the black rectangle again. “Here. This is called a remote control. You use this to change the channels.”

I study the multitude of colored buttons on the front of the rectangle and then turn it over. Nothing on the back. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so cool. Winky would
love
this. After a minute, Nana Pete disappears into the bathroom. I have just started to flip through the hundreds of channels when Nana Pete’s phone rings.

I grab it and run toward the bathroom. “Nana Pete!” I strain to keep my voice low. “It’s your phone!” There is a brief pause and then the door opens just a crack.

Nana Pete’s wet hand snakes through. “Thank you, darlin’.”

I head back over to the bed. But instead of picking up the remote again, I start to prowl around the room. The mirrored closet has just four wire hangers hanging on a bar inside. I flip up the bottoms of the comforters and peek under. Nothing. I wonder how dark the room will be when all the lights are off.

“Lord,” Nana Pete says, coming out of the bathroom and collapsing on the bed. Her long powder blue robe is buttoned up to her chin, and a white towel is wrapped around her head. “I’m tuckered clear to the bone.”

“Was that Lillian on the phone?” I ask.

She nods. “She’s going to meet us halfway. Just outside of Raleigh, North Carolina.” I am just about to ask why when she points to her purse sitting on the bureau. “Honey, get me my purse, would you?” I remember something all at once and hold my breath as I bring the bag over to her.

Chewing my bottom lip, I watch as Nana Pete extricates a plastic bottle from inside the bowels of her purse. “Aha! Here you are, you little bugger!” She unscrews the top, palms a large green pill, and then tosses it into her mouth.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

Nana Pete waves her hand and leans back against one of the pillows. “Just vitamins.” She throws the bottle back inside and hands me her purse once more. I place it back on the bureau, breathing a sigh of relief. When I turn back around, Nana Pete has just removed the towel from her head. I try not to gasp. Her gray hair, damp and tangled, hangs down past her elbows. It is so thin on top that I can see the pale pink of her scalp. She looks so … old.

“Wow,” I say when I find my voice again. “You look so
different. I’ve never seen you without your hair pinned up in those braids.” Nana Pete grimaces as the comb gets caught in a snarl. Wiry strands catch between the plastic teeth like little bits of Brillo.

“It’s not my best look,” she says with a grin. “Don’t tell anyone.” She rebraids her hair as I hold out the tiny blue rubber bands for her to secure the ends. Even without a mirror, she pins each braid back up expertly along each side of her head.