The Patron Saint of Butterflies(50)

“Hey, Nana Pete?” I say gently.

Her head jerks at the sound of my voice, and she licks her lips. “I’m trying to make it to Raleigh before it gets dark, but I can’t drive another minute, darlin’. Do you think you could give it a try?”

Agnes sits up straight in the back. “Wait, you mean Honey drive?” she asks. It’s the first thing she’s said all day. “The car? She can’t drive!”

Nana Pete looks over at me. Her face is a map of deep lines and shaded circles. I’ve never seen her so tired.

“It’s okay, Ags,” I say. “I’ve driven Mr. Schwab’s tractor before. It can’t be much different.” My voice sounds confident, but as Nana Pete pulls over and I switch places with her in the front seat, I’m shaking like a leaf. Will it be much harder than driving Dorothy? I put my head down and listen as carefully as I can to what Nana Pete is telling me.

“Now, the Queen Mary is an automatic, sugar, which means you don’t have to do much of anything except steer once you put her in drive.” Nana Pete points at the two pedals just under my feet. “Just use your right foot when you want to speed up or slow down, all right? Let your left one sit off to the side. Think of it as just being along for the ride. It’s not going to do anything.” I run the insides of my hands up and down the smooth ridges of the steering wheel. It’s much smaller than Dorothy’s wheel. And there is no clutch, thank God. That was the hardest thing to learn with Dorothy. “Keep your foot down hard enough on the gas so that this little red stick”—Nana Pete leans over and points to the speed gauge—“stays around sixty-five. Don’t go past seventy, no matter what. The last thing we need is to get pulled over by the police. Keep it level. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“What if I have to turn?” I ask.

Nana Pete shakes her head. “We’ve only got another hour on this highway,” she says. “Straight through to Raleigh. No turns.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I can do this.”

And I really believe I can.

As I step on the gas, my breath collects itself into a pocket at the top of my lungs and sits there like a balloon waiting to be released. My hands grip the steering wheel with white fingers, swerving the car nervously to the left and then to the right and then back again. I try not to think about the fact that Dorothy doesn’t go any faster than twenty-five miles per hour and I am traveling now at almost three times that speed. But after a while, my fingers loosen and my hunched shoulders relax.

“Beautiful,” Nana Pete says approvingly. “Just beautiful. You’re a pro, Honey. I knew you could do it.” Her words relax me even more, and soon I can feel my lower back sinking into the seat. The muscles in my legs begin to unknot themselves and my breathing goes back to normal. Even when I glance over at Nana Pete, whose head is lolling heavily on her chest, I don’t panic. I’m driving a car. I’m doing it!

“Ags!” I whisper, sitting up a little so that I can see her in the rearview mirror. “Look at me! I’m driving!”

Agnes looks away, but Benny, who is curled up against her like a puppy, looks up and grins.

“Hey, Benny boy! How ’bout this? Huh?”

He nods and smiles. I look back over at Agnes. Her face is set like stone.

“You better watch the road,” she says, still looking out the window. “You’ve only been doing this for about thirty minutes, you know. Don’t get smug.”

I bounce up and down in the seat a little. “I think I got it figured it out, though! It’s not too hard once you sit back and relax a little. Take in a little of the scenery, even, instead of staring at the little yellow squares in the middle of the road.”

Agnes rolls her eyes. “Now you’re a pro all of a sudden?”

I giggle. “Yeah. How about that?”


Agnes’s jaw tightens. “When were you at Mr. Schwab’s?”

I stop bouncing. “Oh, you know. Just a couple times with Winky when he had to go over and get stuff for the garden.”

She’s holding my gaze. “And he let you drive his tractor?”

I nod, looking back between her and the road.

“You know that’s forbidden,” she says. “Going off the grounds like that.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well I guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

She turns away when I say that, as if I have reminded her of something painful.

I try to change the subject, but she won’t look at me. And while I know we’re miles away from being on the same page, for some reason right at this moment, I’m desperate for her to talk to me. “Hey,” I whisper. “You want to know a secret?”

Agnes’s eyes flit to a spot away from the middle of the window, but she doesn’t turn her head.

“We’re on our way to see your aunt Lillian. Right now.”

Agnes’s head whips around on her neck like a spring. “What?”

I nod. “I don’t know all the details, but Nana Pete said she’s meeting us halfway. I guess so she can help out with the trip and all.” I pause. “She’s the one you’ve never met, right?” I talk quickly, hoping my words will overtake the shadow that is crossing Agnes’s face. But it’s not working. She glares at the back of Nana Pete’s head with hateful eyes and then sits back in the seat. Her lips are trembling. “Now, don’t get all worked up,” I say. “I know you’re not supposed to talk about her or anything, but—”