I step out from behind the screen door and take several steps, placing my feet evenly before me.
Claudia watches, a small hand on her hip, and nods. Her dark hair, cut in a blunt bob, swings from side to side. “You’re clearly favoring your left side. It might be a pulled hamstring. Do you want me to take a look?”
I shake my head and take a step backward. “It’s not … ” I hang my head. I can’t tell another lie. Not today. “I was in the Regulation Room this morning.”
Claudia’s face changes instantly. “Ah,” she says softly, busying herself once again with her sandwich. “Okay.”
I turn and push through the door once more. It slams hard behind me, making me jump. I head down the length of Sanctity Road, in the direction of the frog pond, hoping beyond hope that I will find Benny and Nana Pete there. The black pavement stretches out, disappearing around a curve flanked with birch trees. The last time I was on this road I had raced it hard with Honey, who strained and breathed next to me, urging me along. That was two summers ago. My hips ache from the memory. I can feel my steps getting lighter, my walk changing to a bounce. Instinctively, my elbows align themselves on either side of my waist and my shoulders square themselves above my torso. My body, poised and tense, tips forward, and a lightness fills my chest. Suddenly I remember the words of Saint Teresa of Avila: Everything you do must be done for the greater glorification of God, never for the glorification of yourself. I put my hands on my hips and take a deep breath, ridding my body of anticipation. Then I reach under my robe and tighten my waist string once again.
…
Nana Pete and Benny are in the frog pond, knee high in the murky water. Since they are facing away from me, they do not see me as I approach. I sit down on the mossy bank, next to Nana Pete’s pink boots, and bring my knees into my chest. Nana Pete is hunched over a part of the water dense with lily pads, her arm around Benny.
“Wait, Benny,” she whispers. “Not yet.” Her khaki pants are rolled up midthigh; the water is up to her knees. Bobby pins stick out from her unraveling braids like knitting needles. Her cheeks are flushed pink and the front of her shirt is covered with splotches of mud. I don’t know if she has ever looked more beautiful.
There is a shout on the other side of the pond, behind the weeping willow.
“Got ’im!” Honey wades out from behind the willow tree’s heavy boughs, which hang as thick and as dense as a curtain. A frog the size of a small hamster dangles from her right hand, its pale belly gleaming white.
“Oh, man!” Benny yells. “You really did get him!”
I shudder and move back instinctively.
Honey waves to me with her free hand. “Hey, Ags!” Nana Pete and Benny turn as Honey calls my name.
“Mouse!” Nana Pete says. “How long have you been sitting there?” She plods heavily through the water, holding up the cuffed bottoms of her pants.
I shrug. “Few minutes, I guess.”
“You get your nap?”
I nod, studying her features carefully. Has she learned anything else about the Regulation Room in my absence?
“It’s almost time for dinner, I think,” Honey says, dropping the enormous amphibian into a dirty yellow bucket not three feet away from me. I jump to my feet and take another several steps backward.
“Geez, relax!” Honey says, laughing at me. “It’s not going to bite you, Ags.”
“Just don’t let it jump out,” I say, eyeing the bucket fearfully. “Please.”
“Don’t worry,” Honey says. She sticks a bare foot into the bucket. “There. He’s right under my foot. He’s not goin’ anywhere.” I shudder and cross my arms. Honey looks at Benny. “Tell Andrew I want fifty cents for that one. He’s huge. We’ll split it, okay?”
“Hold that pose,” Nana Pete says, struggling up the grassy back. Her feet make soft sucking sounds as they sink into the mud. “I’ve got a camera in my purse. I want a picture of the three of you.” I sidle in as close as I dare to Honey, keeping my eye on her foot and the bucket. Benny squirms in under my arm. “Say cheese!” Nana Pete says, holding the camera to her eye.
“Cheese!” The Polaroid square slides out of the front of the camera.
“Beautiful!”
“Can I see?” Benny asks, leaning over Nana Pete’s shoulder. I look too. Our images, blurred like smoke, appear from beneath a faint brown haze. Nana Pete takes pictures every time she comes up. I never tire of looking at them, especially since we don’t have any pictures of our own.
“Mother!” I jump as Dad’s voice, as sharp as glass, cuts through the warm air. “Mother! Agnes! Benedict! Are you down here?”
Nana Pete looks up and grimaces. “Aw, rats. We’re not supposed to be down here, are we?” She sticks out her arm. “Come on, Benny. We have to go get cleaned up for dinner.”