Something stirs deep inside me, watching them. This, this is what Emmanuel almost beat me to death for doing? When they break apart, the man puts his arm around the woman and draws her in close against his chest. Together they walk down the rest of the path. I stare after them as long as I can, hoping they will stop and kiss one more time. If it was Days of Our Lives, they would still be kissing and music would be playing in the background. But just as quickly as they appeared, they turn a corner and disappear from sight.
I stand up and start walking around the outside of the hospital, looking at the sea of cars in the parking lot, the crest of hills in the distance. Halfway past the emergency room, I’m distracted by several peony bushes, some of which have already started to bloom, and a small cluster of Clouded Sulphurs, which are fluttering around one especially large flower. Leaning in, I study the butterflies, examining their delicate antennae, already heavy with nectar, and their pale yellow wings, which are the color of the sky just before a winter sunset. I count the butterflies silently. There are six of them. I will make a note of it later in my butterfly notebook.
I wonder if Winky found my note yet. The moon is just peeking out from behind a few wispy clouds in the sky, which means that the Yankees are probably already on. What will he do when he reads it? Anything? Nothing? I miss him already and it’s been only a few hours. I try hard to push him from my mind as I head back inside.
Nana Pete is sitting alone inside the waiting room, staring at a television set with the sound turned off. Some guy is on the screen, pointing at a toaster oven and waving his arms around like a nut. She starts as I come into the room and I realize I have woken her.
“Where’s Agnes?” I ask as she rubs her eyes.
She points at another room across the hall. “In there. She said she needed privacy.”
I peek across the hall. Agnes is facedown on the floor, her arms spread out on either side of her. God Almighty. When does this stuff end?
A faint ringing sound comes from somewhere on the floor. I look over at Nana Pete’s purse. She freezes as it rings again.
“What’s that?”
“My phone,” she answers. It rings again, a high, fluted sound. I lean over and watch as she flips open the top. It rings one more time as the words UNKNOWN NUMBER blink on the tiny screen. “Damn it,” she says, holding the phone away from her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Who is it?”
“It’s an unlisted number, which means it’s probably Leonard.” She rubs her nose. “I forgot that I gave this number to him.” It rings again.
“Just ignore it,” I say. “Put it back in your purse.”
But Nana Pete shakes her head. “He’ll just keep calling.” She looks out toward the other waiting room, where Agnes is. “Shut the door, will you?”
I close the door softly as she flips open the phone again, pushes a small red button, and holds the instrument to her ear. I can hear a voice, frantic and furious, on the other end.
“Mother?” Nana Pete winces and holds the phone away from her. “Mother? Is that you? Please answer me. Mother? Hello?”
Nana Pete closes her eyes and starts to bring the phone again to her ear. But I catch her arm, angling myself so that I can hear what he is saying. She takes a deep breath. “I’m here, Leonard.”
“Mother! Where are you? Where are the children? What have you done?”
Nana Pete gets up from her seat and begins to pace. I follow, still holding her arm down so that I can hear what is being said. Here we go.
“They’re here, Leonard. They’re right here. They’re safe. Benny’s hand is being operated on—”
“Operated? Operated! What are you talking about, Mother? Where are you? What are you doing?”
“The surgeon here said Benny would’ve lost his hand if I hadn’t brought him in,” Nana Pete says firmly.
There is no response from the other end of the phone. Then: “Okay, Mother. Okay, fine. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
Nana Pete inhales through her nose, her breath a single tremble. “They’re not coming back, Leonard. I’m taking them with me.”
“What do you mean, you’re taking them with you? Have you lost your mind? You can’t take them! They’re my children! Tell me where you are, Mother! Tell me right now or so help me, I’ll call—”
“No police!” I hear faintly in the background. Agnes’s mother. She’s crying. “No police, Isaac! Please! Remember what Emmanuel said about calling the police!”