The Patron Saint of Butterflies(45)

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.