Honey looks at me and shoves her sleeves up past her elbows. “You ready?” I lift my leg, bringing my heel up against my butt. “In a minute.”
“Come on!” Benny yells, waving his hands. “My arms are starting to fall asleep!” I smile a little when he says that. It’s been a while now since he finally got the bandage around his injured hand taken off and all the stitches removed, but his hand is still stiff. But, the doctor down here in Savannah praised whoever had operated on him, saying that Benny would regain full use of his fingers in no time.
Honey kicks the ground with the toe of her new sneaker and hops from side to side like a boxer getting ready to fight. “These new sneakers might give me some leverage against you,” she says, watching me out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe for the first time.”
I pull on the toe of my own new sneakers, which Lillian bought us a few weeks ago. They’re blue and white, with little swoops on the side. Something called Nike’s. Lillian’s got a lot of money now, since Nana Pete left her everything in her will. I never knew Nana Pete was so wealthy, but then, I guess there were a lot of things about her I didn’t know.
The three of us live with Lillian right now, after a judge in Connecticut said that we couldn’t have any contact with Mom and Dad until the trial starts, which is sometime next year. Emmanuel and Veronica are the ones who are really on trial, but Mom and Dad are considered “accessories,” which basically means that they didn’t do enough to help us when we were being hurt all the time, and so they have to go, too.
I hate thinking about it, but of course I do. All the time. We’d all still be together if I hadn’t stood up that day and showed the policeman the pictures of Honey and then lifted my own shirt to show him the marks on my back. Once I did that, all the other kids began to come forward. Pretty soon the police had people from Children’s Services Center called in and by the end of that day, sixty-four separate charges of child abuse had been filed against Emmanuel, complete with photographs, documentation, and sworn, signed statements. After the investigation, Mount Blessing was shut down completely.
“Okay,” Honey says, placing her fingers on the edge of the grass and kicking her legs out behind her. “This is it, Agnes.”
I stare out at my little brother, who is hopping up and down in the sun, still waiting for us to come toward him. Since we moved to Lillian’s house, he sleeps next me every night. I don’t mind. If you want to know the truth, it actually makes me feel better, too. He keeps a picture of Nana Pete under the pillow and after he falls asleep, I pull it out and tell her good night. And thank you.
Honey was a little freaked out for a while after we moved down here, with no news of Winky or where he ended up. She pestered the pee-willy out of Lillian to find out what had happened to him, and then just a few weeks ago, we found out that Winky and his older brother had reunited and bought a farm in upstate New York. Apparently there’s lots of room for a butterfly garden.
Now I bend over and raise my hips to the sky.
Waiting for the trial has been hard, but not nearly as hard as being separated from Mom and Dad. Emmanuel’s cruel ways may have been exposed, but my parents are still my parents. And no matter how many mistakes they made, that’s not going to change. No matter what. Still, I don’t know what I would say if I saw them just now. For as much as I miss them, I also feel betrayed. All those lies about Lillian and Honey and Nana Pete. It just doesn’t make any sense, especially since we were all supposed to be trying to live like saints and lying is such a terrible sin. Keeping the fact that Honey and Benny and I are all family hidden from us was just so … wrong.
And so maybe the distance between us right now is a good thing. Until I can sort things out, try to make peace with everything that has come between us. Lillian’s been trying to help me do just that by having me talk about everything to a therapist. Benny too. Her name is Dr. Tipper and I’ve been to see her only twice so far, but I think she’s going to be okay. She’s got a huge fish tank in her office, full of blue and orange fish and she lets me feed them before we start talking. Lillian told me that the courts have also ordered Mom and Dad to see a therapist. She keeps using the word “brainwashed” when she talks about them, which sounds like someone went inside their heads and scrubbed their brains clean. But I guess that’s exactly what Emmanuel did to them, making them believe he was so powerful that they couldn’t object to anything he said—even if it was wrong. They lost the ability to think for themselves. I hope the therapist they are seeing helps them figure out how to get it back.