The Patron Saint of Butterflies(21)
“You’ve been waiting for someone to take you out of here for years, darlin’, haven’t you?” she asks softly. I swallow hard and nod, trying not to cry again. She cups the side of my face with her palm. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore, Honey. I’m going to get you out of here. And Agnes and Benny, too.” I lean forward and bury my face against the side of her arm. My whole body feels loose and shaky, as if the bottom of the car has dropped out from under me.
“When?” I whisper.
“As soon as possible,” Nana Pete says, smoothing my hair. “Don’t you worry.” The only sound in the car is the light rasping of her fingers against my braids. “You know, it’s amazing,” she says. “My doctor just told me he wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to make this trip again.”
I sit up. “Why? Are you sick?”
“No, no, sugar. He just wants me to get some tests in August. That’s why I came up now, so I wouldn’t miss our visit.”
I lean back into her soft belly. “Thank God you did.”
Nana Pete kisses the top of my head. “I was thinking the same thing.”
AGNES
I wake with a start a few hours later and crawl out of bed, rubbing the deep pockmarks on my back where the rocks have pressed into my skin. The light outside is deep yellow, almost orange, and the shadows on the lawn are long. The blue digits on the clock on my dresser blink 4:45 p.m. Another hour until dinner. I walk through the house calling for Nana Pete and Benny, but it’s empty. Where could they have gone? And how could I have fallen asleep?
Walking into the bathroom, I splash cool water on my face and brush my blond hair. Honey always says I’m the prettier of the two of us, but I don’t think that’s true at all. My lips are ragged and sore from constant gnawing. Violet half-moons gaze out from under my eyes and there is a new splash of freckles across the bridge of my nose. I frown. I hope I don’t get as many as Benny. I turn slowly, regarding my profile. I am finally starting to grow breasts. I’m ashamed that deep down this fact thrills me. I am becoming a real woman. But I also know that things like breasts can cause trouble for a girl who is planning on being chaste for the rest of her life. Maybe I will bind them with tape, the way Joan of Arc used to do before going into battle. Something to think about.
I cut through the kitchen to get to the front door, nearly tripping over one of the kitchen chairs in my haste. Claudia Yen, who lives on the second floor just above us with her brother, Andrew, is standing in front of the stove, watching a grilled-cheese sandwich. Claudia is Mount Blessing’s doctor. She takes care of everyone here, from delivering babies to giving us our annual shots.
“Slow down,” she says irritably. “Andrew is sleeping upstairs.”
Andrew sleeps a lot. He is in a wheelchair because of a motorcycle accident he got into before he came to Mount Blessing. Andrew is kind of weird. For one thing, he has blue tattoos all over his upper arms. He also gives Benny a quarter for every frog he catches. Benny says it’s because he likes to pull off the legs, fry them up in cornmeal, and eat them for breakfast. It’s something I can’t even bear to think about.
“Sorry,” I say, catching the chair before it topples over completely. I slide it back under the table and resume my path to the front door.
“You all right?” Claudia calls out just as I close the screen door behind me. I stop. In all the years she has lived upstairs, Claudia has never said anything to me aside from “say aaahh” or “this won’t hurt a bit.”
I turn around, regarding her through the thin mesh screen. “Excuse me?”
Claudia shoves a spatula under the grilled cheese and flips it over. “You’re limping. Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m limping?” I repeat.
Claudia turns the heat off under the pan and slides her sandwich onto a ceramic plate dotted with blue flowers. She picks a dish towel off the counter and wipes her hands with it. “Walk toward me,” she commands.
I step out from behind the screen door and take several steps, placing my feet evenly before me.
Claudia watches, a small hand on her hip, and nods. Her dark hair, cut in a blunt bob, swings from side to side. “You’re clearly favoring your left side. It might be a pulled hamstring. Do you want me to take a look?”
I shake my head and take a step backward. “It’s not … ” I hang my head. I can’t tell another lie. Not today. “I was in the Regulation Room this morning.”
Claudia’s face changes instantly. “Ah,” she says softly, busying herself once again with her sandwich. “Okay.”
I turn and push through the door once more. It slams hard behind me, making me jump. I head down the length of Sanctity Road, in the direction of the frog pond, hoping beyond hope that I will find Benny and Nana Pete there. The black pavement stretches out, disappearing around a curve flanked with birch trees. The last time I was on this road I had raced it hard with Honey, who strained and breathed next to me, urging me along. That was two summers ago. My hips ache from the memory. I can feel my steps getting lighter, my walk changing to a bounce. Instinctively, my elbows align themselves on either side of my waist and my shoulders square themselves above my torso. My body, poised and tense, tips forward, and a lightness fills my chest. Suddenly I remember the words of Saint Teresa of Avila: Everything you do must be done for the greater glorification of God, never for the glorification of yourself. I put my hands on my hips and take a deep breath, ridding my body of anticipation. Then I reach under my robe and tighten my waist string once again.