The Patron Saint of Butterflies

AGNES

The first thing I feel the next morning is the muscles in my calves aching. Although we ran just a single length of the parking lot, my legs had stretched and strained themselves, as if waking from hibernation. In the shower afterward, I massaged them gently, to avoid charley horse cramps. Now I lean up on my tiptoes to ease the tightness behind them and then relax again. I was shocked at how good it felt to run again—even better than I remember. There is something about moving that fast in the rain—it makes my heart beat faster, my legs stretch longer, my breath quicken in my lungs. I can’t think of a single thing to compare it to.

“Agnes!” Nana Pete calls. “Are you ready?” Sliding my arms back into my robe, I pin my hair back quickly into a knot and look in the mirror. I feel a little shaky inside, but at least I still look like a Believer.

Lillian wants to get back on the road right away, but Nana Pete says she’s not doing anything without her coffee first. We head across the street to a place called Perkins and slide into a green booth. Everything’s going along fine until Lillian orders pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.

“I’m gonna have the same thing,” Honey says.

Then Benny points to the picture of the strawberries and pancakes and nods his head up and down.

I give him a little elbow in the ribs. “Strawberries,” I say, shaking my head. “You can’t.”

“Is Benny allergic to strawberries?” Lillian asks. I press my lips together and study the blue rim of Nana Pete’s coffee cup.

“No,” Honey says finally. “He’s not. But Believers aren’t allowed to eat red food at Mount Blessing.” I can feel Lillian and Nana Pete exchange a look.

“Oh,” Lillian says. “Right. I forgot about that one.” She pauses and then looks over at me. “But we’re not at Mount Blessing anymore, Agnes. I’m pretty sure you and Benny can eat whatev—”

“No, we can’t eat whatever we want. Just because we’re not on the grounds of Mount Blessing, does not mean we have thrown away everything that makes us Believers!” I glare at Honey.

Honey’s face darkens. “Don’t start with your snippy little—”

“All right,” Nana Pete interjects. “I know both of you have a lot on your minds. And I also understand that emotions are running high, and sometimes words will be said.” She flicks her eyes between Honey and me as she talks. “But we have to support one another as much as we can right now, not tear one another apart.” She takes a sip of coffee and pats her upper lip with her handkerchief. “You know, when Leonard and Lillian were little and they used to fight, I wouldn’t let them leave the room until they had apologized to each other.”

“‘A divided house always falls,’” Lillian says, smiling at her mother.

Nana Pete nods. “Which means, girls, that we’ve got to stay on the same team if we want to make it. Okay?”

“But we’re not on the same team,” I say, pushing my plate away. “Remember? Benny and I are still Believers. You and Honey aren’t.”

Honey looks at me, confused.

Nana Pete puts her palm over the top of my hand. “You’re still my granddaughter, Agnes Little, and Benny is my grandson. That puts us on the same team.” Her eyes shimmer as she talks. “Okay?”

Just then our waitress reappears, her pad poised in her hand.

“You look so nice!” she says, staring at my blue robe. “Did you sing in the choir at church this morning, honey?”

I gasp, horrified, and stare at Nana Pete. “What day is today?”

“It’s … Sunday, I think,” Nana Pete answers. “Yes, it’s Sunday. Why?”

I clap my hand against my forehead. “We have to go to Sunday services!”

Nana Pete looks up at the waitress and smiles. “We’ll need just a minute,” she says sweetly.

“Sure thing,” the woman says. “You holler when you’re ready.”

“You don’t understand.” I jab my finger against the glossy green tabletop to emphasize my point. “I cannot miss a Sunday service, Nana Pete, and neither can Benny. We just can’t.”

“Get ahold of yourself, Agnes,” Honey says. “We’re traveling across the country, for crying out loud. What are we supposed to do?”

Nana Pete nods her head. “I do think there’s something called traveler’s dispensation, Mouse, which kind of clears you from going to church when you’re on the road.”

“Kind of?” I repeat. “Kind of isn’t going to cut it when the sun goes down tonight, Nana Pete!” My nose starts to wiggle. “We have to go to Sunday service! We have to!”

Across from me, Honey clenches a fist. “You know, I’ve bailed on tons of Sunday services, Agnes, and I have yet to disintegrate into a pile of ashes at sundown.”

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