The Patron Saint of Butterflies(38)

Wiggle, wiggle. Getting up on my knees, I hold my arms out on either side and start to chant evening prayers. “Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem … ” The block of pain does not lessen inside my chest, but I can feel my breathing start to slow as the familiar words flow through my lips.

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.

Nana Pete pokes her head into the room. “Mouse?” I keep praying. “Mouse? The nurse said Benny just got out of surgery. We can go see him now, darlin’.”

Benny’s room is all white with blue and pink curtains hanging over a single window. For some reason, it smells like mashed potatoes and gravy. A television floats from an angled metal arm above the bed, and a small picture of orange marigolds hangs on the wall. Benny is in the middle of the bed. He looks terribly small. Green plastic tubes snake out of his nostrils. His hand, which is wrapped in gauze all the way up to the elbow, reminds me of a butterfly cocoon Honey showed me once.

I stare at him for a minute, thinking back to the day last year when he came out of Emmanuel’s room wearing his glasses for the first time. They were much too big, and although Emmanuel had fashioned an elastic strap that anchored them around the back of his head, they still slipped forward along the bridge of his nose.

“They’re horrible, Ags,” he’d said, staring down at his shoes. “All the kids are gonna make fun of me. I hate them.”

I got down on one knee. “They’re a little big. But they’re not horrible, Benny. You’ll grow into them. And you let Honey know about any kids that make fun of you, okay? She’ll take care of them.”

Benny looked at me. “And you too?”

I nodded, although I knew very well I would do nothing of the sort. Getting into physical altercations with the bullies of the playground was not saint-wannabe behavior. Now I take his little hand in mine. Why haven’t I been a better sister? What is wrong with me?

Nana Pete steps inside the room, rubbing the sides of her arms. “I just talked to Dr. Pannetta. He said the surgery went better than expected and that he was very pleased. He expects Benny to gain full use of his fingers again in another month or so.”

“When will he wake up?” I ask.

“Probably in a few hours. At least that’s what the nurses said.” She looks at me. “He’s okay, Mouse. Really. It’s just from the anesthesia. He’ll wake up soon.”

“Well, we should call home,” I say. “Let Mom and Dad know where we are. They’re probably worried sick.” Nana Pete and Honey look at each other and then back down at the floor. “What? We’ve got to at least tell them when we’ll be back.”


“We’re not going back,” Nana Pete says quietly. From the windowsill, I can feel Honey staring at me. I know that look. It’s the look she always gives me just before we are about to go into Emmanuel’s room to be questioned for something we’ve done wrong, a look so full of willpower and stubbornness that it can’t help but penetrate my fear. Usually I wait for it, like a talisman that I can glimpse and then rub before the ordeal begins. Now it makes me nervous.

“What are you talking about?” I laugh lightly. “Of course we’re going back. Benny has to get back home so he can get better. And we have—”

“We’re leaving, Agnes,” Honey says evenly. “All of us. We’re going back to Texas with Nana Pete. To live.”

The floor beneath me feels as loose as quicksand. I steady myself on the edge of the bed. “What? Why?”

Nana Pete steps forward. “Because I cannot, in all consciousness, allow you to stay in a place like that anymore.”

“A place like what?” I am aghast. “Like Mount Blessing?” Nana Pete nods. I look over at Honey. “Honey!” I plead. “Tell her! It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with Mount Blessing.”

Honey bites her lip and then shakes her head. “No, Agnes.”

I look at Nana Pete again. “But you’ve been coming up to Mount Blessing for years! Why all of a sudden do you want to take us away from it?”

Nana Pete clears her throat. “Because I didn’t know about the Regulation Room before.” When she starts talking again, her voice is stronger. “That in itself is reason enough to burn that place down to the ground. It’s sick, Agnes. Sadistic. No one should ever have to undergo what y’all have been through in that room. And then, with Benny’s accident and Emmanuel sewing his fingers back on … ” She pauses, shaking her head. “Maybe I’ve had blinders on all these years, but I just had no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is not the way normal people live, darlin’. Emmanuel belongs in a mental institution. Or jail.”

“Jail? What are you talking about? Emmanuel doesn’t belong in jail! He’s in charge of us. He’s the holiest person I know. He’ll never let you—”

“Emmanuel is not in charge of us,” Honey asserts. “And he is not holy. He just thinks he is and he’s made everyone else in that place think he is, too. He’s a monster, Agnes.”

I blink, trying to separate the words I am hearing from something shifting in my heart. “What about Mom and Dad? They’re not monsters, Nana Pete. I know you don’t get along and everything, but … ” I struggle to hold back the tears. “But you can’t do this to him. We’re his kids, Nana Pete, whether you like it or not.”