The Patron Saint of Butterflies(63)

But it’s not working. Agnes starts shaking her head as soon as I start talking about sticking together.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” She pulls Benny out from behind her and grips him tightly around his shoulders. “This is my family,” she says. “Benny and my parents and Emmanuel. They’re who I’m sticking with, Honey. Not you. Not Lillian. You do whatever you want from now on. I don’t care.” It’s the third shot Agnes has fired at me in less than ten minutes. I feel dizzy, as if I have been mortally wounded. I glance over toward the bed behind us.

“What about Nana Pete?”

“And Nana Pete, too, of course,” Agnes replies. “She’s always been family.”

“She’s my family, too,” I whisper.

Agnes sneers at me. “She just let you think that because she felt sorry for you, too. You’re not her real family. You’re no one’s real family. You’re—”

“N-no,” I stammer. “You’re wrong. I just found—”

“Shut up,” Agnes says. “I don’t want to hear any more of your stupid rationalizations for the way things are. They never make any sense anyway.”

I stare at her dumbfounded. Is this Agnes talking? I don’t recognize her. “You don’t have to worry about any of this anymore.” I step forward with my last bit of energy and hold out my hands, palms up. “Agnes. Come on. Remember what Nana Pete said? When we were little and I wanted to leave you behind in the nursery because you were too afraid to go down to the frog pond with us?”

Agnes shakes her head and pretends to study the orange and brown geometric pattern on the rug. “No.” Her voice is flat. “I don’t.”

“‘Don’t ever leave each other behind,’” I whisper. “‘Not here. Not ever.’ Remember?”

Agnes looks back up at me with her steely gaze. “Well, Nana Pete isn’t around to tell us much of anything anymore, is she?”

And with that sentence, I know I’ve lost her. For real. It’s as if she has gone through a door and locked it behind her. There’s no key, no hope. Nothing.

Things move pretty quickly after that. I watch for a few minutes, in a stunned paralysis, as Agnes moves around the room like a wind-up doll. First she goes over to the bed and draws the sheet Nana Pete is lying under up over her face. Then she makes the sign of the cross over her and presses her fingers to her lips. Finally she kneels down and blesses herself. Benny does, too. They pray together in silence for a few minutes. Benny lays his head down on Nana Pete’s sheeted thigh.

After a few minutes, Agnes reaches inside Nana Pete’s leather bag and pulls out the cell phone. She dials a number, sits down on a corner of the bed, and holds the phone to her ear. I can tell she is making an effort not to look at me as the phone rings once, then twice. Finally someone picks up.

“Mrs. Winspear?” Agnes says. There is a pause. “It’s Agnes. Yes, Agnes Little. Could I please talk to my father? Is he there?” She pulls on her earlobe as she waits. “Dad? Yes, Dad. It’s me.” Pink color fills her face as he begins shouting her name on the other end of the phone. She smiles and pulls Benny in next to her, holding him tightly. “Yes, we’re here, Dad,” she chokes out. “We’re safe. Yes, Benny’s fine. I know. I know. It was awful. I’m so sorry. Please, can you come get us, Dad? Please? We’re at Lillian’s. Yes. In Savannah. But we want to come home.”

I turn away, staring out the window as she gives him the exact street address.

“Dad?” Agnes says in a small voice. “There’s just one thing.” She takes a deep breath. “Nana Pete … um … died.” There is a long pause. I force myself not to turn around. “No, no, it wasn’t anything like that,” Agnes says. “It happened right here. We were sleeping. We all just went to sleep last night … ” She starts to cry. “I don’t know what happened. I really don’t.”

I drape my arms over the top of my head, shutting out the sound.

“Lillian?” she asks. “Um, I think she’s at work. She had to go in last night. But she’ll be back later, I guess. Maybe in the afternoon.”

“Okay,” she sniffles. “Yeah, okay, Dad. So you’re gonna take a plane? You’ll be here by tonight, then?” She cries harder as he answers. “Okay, Dad. We’ll be right here. We won’t move.” She wipes her eyes.

“And, Dad? Do you think we’ll be in trouble? When we get back, I mean? With Emmanuel?” I hold my breath. Agnes is holding her breath, too, I realize, waiting for the answer. “Okay,” she says finally. “Yeah, I know. Okay, Dad. We’ll see you tonight.” She closes the phone with a dull little click and stares ahead at nothing. I watch as Benny slides the tiny phone out of her hands, places it carefully inside Nana Pete’s satchel on the bed, and then sits back down next to his sister.

I don’t ask. I don’t need to. I already know what awaits them when they return.

Something slides into place just then, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, sealing something inside of me once and for all. This is the end of the line, I guess, for both of us.

“Okay, then,” I say, lifting up my hand and backing out of the room. “I guess this is it.” Agnes watches me with dull eyes. “I love you guys. I do.” I nod my head over and over again, as if the action will propel me closer to the door. “Good-bye.”