“The injury is to the extremities, is that correct?” He has a deep, rumbling sort of voice and a neatly trimmed white beard. A pin on the front of his shirt identifies him as Dr. Pannetta.
“His right hand, Dr. Pannetta!” The nurse has to shout over Benny to be heard. She has a silver ring in her nose. “Second and third digits!”
Dr. Pannetta slides a gloved hand under Benny’s wrist and then leans in to get a closer view. He grimaces, as if he has just come into contact with a horrible smell. “What the hell is this?” The other nurse, who is shorter than me, leans up on her tiptoes, looks over at Benny’s fingers, and gasps. Dr. Pannetta looks at Nana Pete. “What is this?” he asks again. “What happened here? Did someone try to sew these fingers back on?” Nana Pete drops her eyes, as if searching for the right words somewhere on the floor.
Out of nowhere, I step forward. “It was Emmanuel! He healed him! My father said it was a miracle!”
Dr. Pannetta is staring hard at me. His eyes rove across my robe, as if seeing it for the first time. Honey and Benny do not have their robes on. I feel self-conscious suddenly, as if I am naked. “Who the hell is Emmanuel?”
“He’s the leader of the Believers,” I say without thinking. “At Mount Blessing. Where we—” The look that crosses Dr. Pannetta’s face makes me stop talking.
Nana Pete comes to my rescue, gesturing loosely with her hands. “Actually, he’s … he’s just … someone we know.”
There is a pause as Dr. Pannetta’s eyes sweep back over Benny’s fingers.
“Well, whoever he is, he’s certainly no doctor,” he says. He looks over at me, still holding Benny’s injured hand. “I hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but this is no miracle. This is just about the worst hatchet job I’ve ever seen. This Emmanuel, whoever he is, has put this kid at serious risk of losing his fingers for good, not to mention the possibility of contracting a blood infection.” My stomach flip-flops inside of me.
Dr. Pannetta, all business again, addresses the two nurses. “Let’s prep him and take him up to Operating Room 3. And page Dr. Francis and Dr. Stella.” I stand back, dazed, as the nurses wheel Benny out of the room. Dr. Pannetta follows and then pauses at the doorway, as if remembering the three of us still standing there.
“I’m going to have to undo everything that Emmanuel guy did,” he says, talking directly to Nana Pete. “And then I will try to salvage what is left and reattach those fingers the right way.” He grimaces. “It’s going to be a complicated surgery, but you came to the right place. I know what I’m doing. Try to get some rest in the waiting room, and I’ll come down afterward to let you know how he’s progressing.” Nana Pete nods gratefully. Dr. Pannetta gives her shoulder a light tap and strides from the room.
“Wait!” I plead, rushing out into the hall.
Dr. Pannetta turns. He is so tall that when I look up, I see his Adam’s apple first and then his face. “Yes?” he asks.
My nose starts to wiggle, but I need to know.
More than anything, I need to know.
“Emmanuel didn’t heal him? There was no miracle?”
Dr. Pannetta gazes curiously at me for a long moment. His eyes are gray with little specks of blue in them. “No,” he says gently. “There was no miracle.”
And then he is gone. The two words reverberate through my head.
No miracle. No miracle. No miracle.
Behind me, Honey’s hand descends lightly on my shoulder. It feels like a thousand pounds.
“Don’t touch me,” I say, shrugging her off. “I mean it. Don’t touch me.”
HONEY
Nana Pete leads both of us into a small waiting room filled with dark blue chairs. The walls of the room are the same color as the chairs and the rug and it feels as if the heat has been turned on. Very cavelike. Maybe they want people to fall asleep in here. Except for a television mounted on the wall and a green plastic tree in the corner, the room is empty. When Nana Pete and I take a seat, Agnes moves purposefully to the other side of the room and, with her back to us, kneels down on the floor and stretches out her arms. I roll my eyes as she begins to whisper the familiar Latin chants and stand up.
“I’m gonna go outside.”
Nana Pete looks over at me. “I don’t think—”
“Just to get some fresh air,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I walk for a while along the white halls of the hospital, reading signs that say things like PEDIATRIC UNIT, THIRD FLOOR, and VISITING HOURS WILL BE ENFORCED. I can’t believe how big it is! Long, immaculate corridors filled with closed doors stretch out like pearly highways and then disappear around a curve. Every few minutes I jump as a female electronic voice fills the air, informing people that visiting hours are almost over. Then, when I turn a corner just beyond a door marked SCRUBS, a horrible shrieking sound fills my ears. A large blue sign on the opposite wall indicates that I am at the PEDIATRIC BURN UNIT. Suddenly a woman with a paper mask over her mouth rushes past me, toward the room where the screaming is coming from.
“How’d you get in here?” she barks. “You’re not sterile! You have to leave!” She pushes open the door to the room. The horrible screaming gets louder, the sound of someone being tortured. Sounds I’ve heard before. I turn around and run in the other direction. A hundred yards down the opposite hallway are the front doors to the hospital. I make my way toward them and stop in surprise as the wide glass frames slide open automatically. I’ve seen these kinds of doors on Days of Our Lives lots of times. Someone is always rushing through them just as the music swells and the picture fades. Turning back around, I walk up to the doors again so I can see them yawn wide, like magic. I do it once more. And a fourth time.
“Those doors aren’t for playing around with, young lady.”
Startled, I turn around to see a woman frowning at me over a pair of pale blue glasses. She is sitting at a desk with INFORMATION in gold on the front, tapping a pen against the bottom of her chin.
“Sorry. It’s just … I’ve never seen … I mean, I’ve never gotten to use doors like that before.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?” the woman asks dryly. Her lips are painted a bright orange color and she has pale, watery eyes. Coils of long blond hair are piled so high on top of her head that it looks as if they have exploded straight out of her skull. She unwraps a roll of red circular candies and holds the tube out in my direction. The silver paper on the outside reads CHERRY LIFE SAVERS. “You want one?” Red food. Forbidden.
“Why do they have a hole in the middle?” I ask, popping one into my mouth.
The lady sucks on hers and studies me for a minute. “Where’re you from, Mars?”
I look up at her, suddenly aware of how stupid I must sound. We’re out here now. In the real world. I’ve got to get a grip. Quit asking so many dumb questions. Taking a step backward, I give her a small laugh. “Yeah, Mars,” I say nervously. “Next stop is Pluto.” I wave. “Thanks for the candy. And stuff. Bye.”
The cool air hits my face as I step outside and slump down on an empty wooden bench. It feels good against my sweaty skin and I sit for a minute, letting it wash over my face. The cherry candy makes a sour pocket on the back of my tongue, but it tastes good, like it’s waking me up. I reach inside my pocket and take George out.
“Hey, buddy.” I stroke his broken ear gently. “How you doing? You okay?” George blinks and then gives me a little nod of his head. I take a deep breath. “We’re out of there, George. For real. Mount Blessing and Emmanuel and all the rest of the Believer freaks are history.” I close my fingers around his tiny shape. “I’m not gonna tell anyone else this, George, but I’m a little scared. I really am. I don’t know what’s going to happen or even what we’re gonna do next. I don’t want Nana Pete to get in any kind of trouble. I was thinking on the car ride here that, you know, if anything happens, like Emmanuel coming to get us, or Agnes’s parents finding us and dragging us back, that I’m just gonna run away. I can’t go back ther
e, George. Not ever. As scary as it is out here, it’s ten thousand times worse back there. I’ve gotta go my own way now.”
Without warning, a man and a woman burst out of the automatic doors and run down the cement path. I shove George back into my pocket.
The woman, who is about my height but heavier, is running ahead of the man. She is wearing a white skirt with yellow tulips along the bottom, a white sweater buttoned up to her chin. She is laughing and making whooping sounds. The man, dressed in a light green coat and blue jeans, follows her. Suddenly the woman stops and, turning, throws her arms around him. When she kisses him, her hands move around toward the back of his head, through his dark hair. He kisses her back deeply.
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!”
I close my eyes, remembering what Mrs. Little is referring to. Three years ago, there was a slight uproar when a young woman named Anna Storm told Emmanuel she was calling the police after he took her into the Regulation Room. True to her word, two police officers arrived a few hours later. One of them, an Officer Marantino, informed Emmanuel that he was conducting a “thorough investigation regarding Anna’s abuse allegations.” He stayed for nearly eight hours, interviewing first Emmanuel, then Veronica, and finally numerous random adult Believers. No one admitted to ever receiving any kind of abuse by Emmanuel. Worse, after Officer Marantino asked to see the Regulation Room, he came out of it scratching his head.
“I can’t imagine what Ms. Storm is talking about,” he said. “That there is one of the nicest TV rooms I’ve ever been in.” He shook hands heartily with Emmanuel, nodded politely at Veronica, and left the grounds with his partner, shaking his head. No charges of any kind were filed and the abuse accusation was eventually erased from the record. Within minutes of Officer Marantino leaving the grounds, however, Emmanuel called for a mandatory meeting of all the Believers, including the children. His face was purple with rage and when he talked, spit flew from the corners of his mouth.
“If any Believer dares to call the police department to investigate my actions again, he or she will discover the real consequences of my wrath,” he roared. “Get out if you are not happy here! I am warning you! Get out!”
“Just tell us where you are, Mother.” Mr. Little pleads now. “Please. We’re not going to get the police involved, and Emmanuel doesn’t even have to know about it. Please, just let us come get the kids and we can forget any of this ever happened.”
Nana Pete shakes her head. “No one’s going to forget anything, Leonard. I know all about the Regulation Room.” There is a dead silence on the other end of the line. Nana Pete swallows hard and I can tell she is blinking back tears. “How could you let this go on, Leonard? How? They’re children! They’re my grandchildren!”
“Mother.” Mr. Little’s voice is shaky and light. “Just wait a minute, all right? Just hold on. Before you jump to any kind of conclusions, just let me explain … ”
“Nothing you say to me right now, Leonard, could possibly explain what you have been putting your children through. Nothing.”
“Mother!”
But Nana Pete clicks the phone shut again and turns the ringer off.
“Wow,” I say softly. “That was great. You were really strong.” But she is trembling. “Hey, it’s all right.” I put my arm around her and lead her over to the chair. “C’mere. Sit down. You’re gonna fall over.”
She sits down heavily and puts her purse on her lap. I keep my mouth shut, just in case I end up saying the wrong thing. After a few minutes, she turns and looks at me.
Her eyes are sort of glassy-looking. “This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Honey. And I don’t even know what we’re going to do next.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “We have to get Benny fixed up and then we’ll just start driving to Texas. Okay? Just like we talked about.” Nana Pete swallows and nods her head, but I don’t know if she’s really listening. She’s getting scared; I can tell. Quickly I grab hold of her arm. “You know what else? You should probably take some pictures of my back with that camera you brought.”
Nana Pete looks at me, bewildered. “Your back?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pushing back the dread that is beginning to rise in the back of my throat. “I have belt marks on my back from the Regulation Room. Maybe you should take a picture in case we have to show anyone. You know, later, if we have to prove our case.” Nana Pete starts fanning herself with her handkerchief.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, moving the handkerchief faster. “Little lightheaded all of a sudden. I’ll be okay in a minute.” After a few minutes, she drops her handkerchief back inside her purse and pulls out the camera. “Okay.” Her voice is shaking. “Let’s do this.”
I turn around and, before I lose my nerve, lift up my shirt and lean against the wall. Nana Pete gasps. I stare at a groove in the blue wall, try to imagine myself sliding into it, disappearing completely.
“That word,” she whispers. “Why did he write that word on you?”
The soft part behind my eyes burns, like I have a fever. Why does it feel that Emmanuel has, after all this time, managed to take a little part of me? “I kissed a boy,” I murmur. “Please. Just take the picture.”
I can hear Nana Pete bring the camera up to her face. She clicks once, twice, three times. The camera makes a whirring sound as each picture slides out. I pull my shirt down and sit in one of the blue chairs. Nana Pete puts the photos in her bag and sits next to me.
The Patron Saint of Butterflies Page 11
