The Patron Saint of Butterflies(22)

…

Nana Pete and Benny are in the frog pond, knee high in the murky water. Since they are facing away from me, they do not see me as I approach. I sit down on the mossy bank, next to Nana Pete’s pink boots, and bring my knees into my chest. Nana Pete is hunched over a part of the water dense with lily pads, her arm around Benny.

“Wait, Benny,” she whispers. “Not yet.” Her khaki pants are rolled up midthigh; the water is up to her knees. Bobby pins stick out from her unraveling braids like knitting needles. Her cheeks are flushed pink and the front of her shirt is covered with splotches of mud. I don’t know if she has ever looked more beautiful.

There is a shout on the other side of the pond, behind the weeping willow.

“Got ’im!” Honey wades out from behind the willow tree’s heavy boughs, which hang as thick and as dense as a curtain. A frog the size of a small hamster dangles from her right hand, its pale belly gleaming white.

“Oh, man!” Benny yells. “You really did get him!”

I shudder and move back instinctively.

Honey waves to me with her free hand. “Hey, Ags!” Nana Pete and Benny turn as Honey calls my name.

“Mouse!” Nana Pete says. “How long have you been sitting there?” She plods heavily through the water, holding up the cuffed bottoms of her pants.

I shrug. “Few minutes, I guess.”

“You get your nap?”

I nod, studying her features carefully. Has she learned anything else about the Regulation Room in my absence?

“It’s almost time for dinner, I think,” Honey says, dropping the enormous amphibian into a dirty yellow bucket not three feet away from me. I jump to my feet and take another several steps backward.

“Geez, relax!” Honey says, laughing at me. “It’s not going to bite you, Ags.”

“Just don’t let it jump out,” I say, eyeing the bucket fearfully. “Please.”

“Don’t worry,” Honey says. She sticks a bare foot into the bucket. “There. He’s right under my foot. He’s not goin’ anywhere.” I shudder and cross my arms. Honey looks at Benny. “Tell Andrew I want fifty cents for that one. He’s huge. We’ll split it, okay?”

“Hold that pose,” Nana Pete says, struggling up the grassy back. Her feet make soft sucking sounds as they sink into the mud. “I’ve got a camera in my purse. I want a picture of the three of you.” I sidle in as close as I dare to Honey, keeping my eye on her foot and the bucket. Benny squirms in under my arm. “Say cheese!” Nana Pete says, holding the camera to her eye.

“Cheese!” The Polaroid square slides out of the front of the camera.

“Beautiful!”

“Can I see?” Benny asks, leaning over Nana Pete’s shoulder. I look too. Our images, blurred like smoke, appear from beneath a faint brown haze. Nana Pete takes pictures every time she comes up. I never tire of looking at them, especially since we don’t have any pictures of our own.

“Mother!” I jump as Dad’s voice, as sharp as glass, cuts through the warm air. “Mother! Agnes! Benedict! Are you down here?”

Nana Pete looks up and grimaces. “Aw, rats. We’re not supposed to be down here, are we?” She sticks out her arm. “Come on, Benny. We have to go get cleaned up for dinner.”

I run toward Dad, who is striding toward us, his jaw clenched tight as a fist. “Hey, Dad,” I say softly. “We were just getting ready to—”

“What are you doing down here, Agnes? I told all of you to go down to the house! It is Ascension Week! You know better!”

I nod and gulp over the mound in my throat. “I was, Dad. I mean, I know. I went home just like you said, and laid down for a while. I even fell asleep.”

“Did Benny go with you?”

I break into a trot to keep pace with him. “No, he was with Nana Pete down here, I guess. And Honey too.”

Dad’s eye twitches. “That sounds about right.”

I stare down at the ground, thinking about something Honey said to me just a few weeks ago. “Sometimes I think you’d sell your own brother, Agnes, just to save your own soul.” A pang of guilt surges over me. I quicken my pace again to catch up with Dad.

“But I don’t think they’ve been here very long, Dad … I was only asleep for—”

“Mother!” Dad yells, cutting me off again. “Benedict!”

They are sitting next to Honey, wiping the mud off their feet with one of Nana Pete’s handkerchiefs. Nana Pete lifts her hand, the dirty handkerchief dangling between her fingers like a peace offering.

Dad comes to a halt a few feet from them, his face shiny with perspiration and rage. “I don’t even have time to get into this with you right now, Mother,” he says. “You have to come with me immediately and get cleaned up for dinner. During Ascension Week, Emmanuel shares evening meals with everyone in the community and we cannot, under any circumstances, be late.”

Benny and I exchange a look. His eyes are wide with fear.

“Okay, okay,” Nana Pete says, patting her ankles with the handkerchief. “In a minute, Leonard.”

“Mother!” Dad says sharply. He glares at Honey as she stifles a giggle. “We have to go now!”

Nana Pete shoves the handkerchief into her front pocket and stretches out her arm in Dad’s direction. He pulls her to her feet and then turns, striding back down the road again. I stare beseechingly at him as I struggle to keep up, hoping that he’ll look over and cast me a forgiving look. But he storms ahead of us the whole way back and doesn’t turn around once, not even when I trip and fall, cutting my knee on a rock.