The Patron Saint of Butterflies

But I am angry. I’m livid. And not just at Emmanuel. I’m aware suddenly of a horrible, frightening fury against my mother, who left me here with this monster. When I think about the disgusting word in red marker on my back, the fury transforms into a heavy, choking thing, like a giant sea monster sitting in my belly, reaching up the back of my throat with its long tentacles. Before I can stop myself, my arms and legs begin flailing, kicking, and pounding the inside of the car, the dashboard, the front seat, the floor, the door.

“I hate him!” I scream. “I hate him! I want to kill him! And her, too! I want to scratch her eyes out!” I pound the soft leather and kick the underbelly of the car until, exhausted, I sit limp and dazed, staring at the swollen ridge along the tops of my knuckles. Nana Pete is frozen next to me, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth. But then she opens her arms and pulls me inside them. She is warm and soft and she smells like nail polish and peppermint gum. I cry so hard and for so long that when I am done I feel sick. My nose is running in one big snotty ribbon down the front of Nana Pete’s shirt and when I sniff, it makes a gurgling sound. Without a word, Nana Pete reaches over me, extracts one of her handkerchiefs from inside her purse, and presses it against my cheek. I blow hard and then sit up. My ears are ringing.

“You’ve been waiting for someone to take you out of here for years, darlin’, haven’t you?” she asks softly. I swallow hard and nod, trying not to cry again. She cups the side of my face with her palm. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore, Honey. I’m going to get you out of here. And Agnes and Benny, too.” I lean forward and bury my face against the side of her arm. My whole body feels loose and shaky, as if the bottom of the car has dropped out from under me.

“When?” I whisper.

“As soon as possible,” Nana Pete says, smoothing my hair. “Don’t you worry.” The only sound in the car is the light rasping of her fingers against my braids. “You know, it’s amazing,” she says. “My doctor just told me he wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to make this trip again.”

I sit up. “Why? Are you sick?”

“No, no, sugar. He just wants me to get some tests in August. That’s why I came up now, so I wouldn’t miss our visit.”

I lean back into her soft belly. “Thank God you did.”

Nana Pete kisses the top of my head. “I was thinking the same thing.”





AGNES

I wake with a start a few hours later and crawl out of bed, rubbing the deep pockmarks on my back where the rocks have pressed into my skin. The light outside is deep yellow, almost orange, and the shadows on the lawn are long. The blue digits on the clock on my dresser blink 4:45 p.m. Another hour until dinner. I walk through the house calling for Nana Pete and Benny, but it’s empty. Where could they have gone? And how could I have fallen asleep?

Walking into the bathroom, I splash cool water on my face and brush my blond hair. Honey always says I’m the prettier of the two of us, but I don’t think that’s true at all. My lips are ragged and sore from constant gnawing. Violet half-moons gaze out from under my eyes and there is a new splash of freckles across the bridge of my nose. I frown. I hope I don’t get as many as Benny. I turn slowly, regarding my profile. I am finally starting to grow breasts. I’m ashamed that deep down this fact thrills me. I am becoming a real woman. But I also know that things like breasts can cause trouble for a girl who is planning on being chaste for the rest of her life. Maybe I will bind them with tape, the way Joan of Arc used to do before going into battle. Something to think about.

I cut through the kitchen to get to the front door, nearly tripping over one of the kitchen chairs in my haste. Claudia Yen, who lives on the second floor just above us with her brother, Andrew, is standing in front of the stove, watching a grilled-cheese sandwich. Claudia is Mount Blessing’s doctor. She takes care of everyone here, from delivering babies to giving us our annual shots.

“Slow down,” she says irritably. “Andrew is sleeping upstairs.”

Andrew sleeps a lot. He is in a wheelchair because of a motorcycle accident he got into before he came to Mount Blessing. Andrew is kind of weird. For one thing, he has blue tattoos all over his upper arms. He also gives Benny a quarter for every frog he catches. Benny says it’s because he likes to pull off the legs, fry them up in cornmeal, and eat them for breakfast. It’s something I can’t even bear to think about.

“Sorry,” I say, catching the chair before it topples over completely. I slide it back under the table and resume my path to the front door.

“You all right?” Claudia calls out just as I close the screen door behind me. I stop. In all the years she has lived upstairs, Claudia has never said anything to me aside from “say aaahh” or “this won’t hurt a bit.”

I turn around, regarding her through the thin mesh screen. “Excuse me?”

Claudia shoves a spatula under the grilled cheese and flips it over. “You’re limping. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m limping?” I repeat.

Claudia turns the heat off under the pan and slides her sandwich onto a ceramic plate dotted with blue flowers. She picks a dish towel off the counter and wipes her hands with it. “Walk toward me,” she commands.

Cecilia Galante's books