The Patron Saint of Butterflies(51)
“We’re not supposed to have any thing to do with that woman.” Agnes says the words through clenched teeth. “My father forbids it.”
“But she’s your aunt! You guys are blood relatives! Aren’t you even the least bit curious about what she looks like? What she might have to—”
“No,” Agnes interrupts. “I’m not curious in the least. My father told me that she was full of sinful behavior. That’s why he gets upset whenever Nana Pete even mentions her name.”
“What sort of sinful behavior?”
“I don’t know,” Agnes says. “He didn’t tell me. But it was bad.”
“Why was it bad? Because your dad thinks it was bad?” Agnes nods. I roll my eyes. “For all you know, Agnes, Lillian’s ‘sinful behavior’ could have been using a curse word. Or eating a strawberry.”
“No, I’m sure it was a lot more serious than that,” she says. “Besides, what she did is not the point. The point is that Nana Pete is breaking a major rule by letting us see her—and she’s making us break the rule, too. Against our will, I might add. Dad’s going to be furious when he finds out.”
“How’s your dad gonna find out anything, Agnes?” I say. “He’s history, remember? We’re leaving him and—” I stop as Agnes’s eyes get wide in the rearview mirror. “I mean … he doesn’t have to find out … ,” I stammer, trying to repair the damage I have just created. But Agnes isn’t listening. She’s withdrawn completely inside herself, staring out the window again, chanting her prayers.
I drive for a long time after that without saying anything. I guess I’ve said more than enough. I glance back once or twice, just to see if Agnes is okay, but her forehead is pressed against the window, and she seems lost in thought. I feel so sad all of a sudden, so lonely, as if the darkness settling down around us is going to swallow me up. A little while later, as the sun sinks completely behind the low green hills and the light disappears, I start to get nervous. The road is harder to see in the dark and I don’t like it. I elbow Nana Pete.
“Huh!” She sits straight up, as if someone has just pinched her.
“It’s getting dark, Nana Pete. And we just passed a sign that says Raleigh is twenty miles away.”
Nana Pete looks out the side window and rubs her eyes. “Lord Almighty, Honey, you did it. I think you can do just about anything you put your mind to.” She points to a motel billboard up ahead. “That’s where we’ll stay tonight. It won’t be fancy, but all we need are a few comfortable beds. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and then hit the road tomorrow, nice and refreshed.”
She pulls out her phone and dials a number.
“Hi, darlin’,” she says into the mouthpiece. “Yes, we’re here.”
AGNES
Lillian is prettier than I imagined she would be. She has curly strawberry blond hair, cut close to her head. Seven silver hoops run along the edge of her left ear, but there is nothing at all in her right one. Her nose is long, but not too long, and she has very small, square teeth, exactly like Dad’s. Her slight, graceful build is accentuated by a pair of lemon-colored corduroy pants and a white T-shirt. I try hard not to look at her for too long—(I will tell Dad later how I avoided her at all costs)—keeping my eyes on her shoes when she walks over and stands in front of us. Brown leather ankle boots with lug soles. The one on the left has a torn shoelace.
“You must be Agnes and Benny,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “And Honey.” Her voice cracks on the word “Honey,” which is what finally makes me look up. When I do, she looks away from Honey and gives me this great big fake smile. “I’m your aunt Lillian.” She extends her hand. I drop my eyes again until she lowers her arm. But then Benny steps forward, his good hand stretched out just a few inches. Lillian drops to one knee. “Benny.” She studies his face for a few seconds. “You look just like your dad.” I sidle a glance over at my little brother, whose hand Lillian is now gripping, and resist the urge to push his hand away from hers. He doesn’t know any better.
Benny reaches out and runs his finger along the display of silver lining Lillian’s ear. She doesn’t move. “You like those?” she asks after a minute. Benny nods. “I got one put in every year after I turned twenty-five.” She grins. “Helps keep me young. I hope.” I do a mental math check in my head. Seven hoops. She’s thirty-two.
“Well, let’s go inside,” Nana Pete says, running her hands up and down the sides of her arms. “I’m freezing.” Lillian stands back up and looks at her mother.
“Freezing? It’s at least sixty degrees out here, Ma.” She takes a step toward her. “You look a little shaky. Are you feeling okay?”
“Oh yeah,” Nana Pete says. “But lying down for a while wouldn’t kill me, either.”
“You sure you don’t wanna play, Agnes?” Lillian asks me. “Final round? Double or nothing.” I look up from my book that I am pretending to read and shake my head for the third time. Lillian, Honey, and Benny are sitting on the floor between the two beds, playing gin rummy. Lillian’s back is pressed up against the side of my mattress. Nana Pete is in the other bed, sleeping like a log.