“Does Benny have a sudden craving for a Big Mac?” he asks, striding toward us. “Or are you thinking of leaving the hospital with him?”
“She’s trying to leave!” the nurse with the braces yells frantically. “I’ve been trying to explain things to her, but she won’t listen!”
Agnes and I stay close to Nana Pete as she shifts Benny in her arms. She beckons Dr. Pannetta out of earshot, and moves close to the opposite wall. Agnes and I follow.
“I do appreciate all you’ve done, fixing my grandson’s hand. I’m sure you saved his life and I will never be able to tell you what that means to me.” She takes a deep breath. “But please don’t prevent us from leaving now. I know the whole situation seems pretty bizarre, but we really do have to get moving.” She nods toward the nurses’ station on her left. “They have all my forwarding information. You can just send me the bill.”
Dr. Pannetta gives her a quick, tight smile. “This is a hospital, ma’am, not a jail. And we’re not wardens. You’re free to come and go at your discretion. I do have to warn you, however, that considering the rather—” He breaks off, upending his palms. “Well, to use your word—bizarre—circumstances in this case, we’re under a legal obligation to report the situation to Children’s Services.”
My stomach plummets when he says these words. I’m not sure what they are or what they do, but nothing about the words Children’s Services sounds good. We’ve got to get out of here now or we’ll all end up separated, placed in different homes. Maybe for good.
Nana Pete nods. “Yes, of course. I understand. And I appreciate your concern. But we really do have to go.”
Dr. Pannetta touches the edges of his beard with two fingers, as if deliberating this last statement, and then glances over at the nurses. The one with the braces nods. “Actually, I believe someone from Children’s Services has already been called,” he says, glancing down at the wide silver watch on his wrist. “They should be here in less than an hour, tops. Why don’t you wait until they come? They’ll ask you and the children some questions and when they’re done, I’ll sign you out.” He shrugs lightly. “Then you can leave. No big deal.”
I hold my breath, count to ten.
“I’m sorry,” Nana Pete says, turning away. “But we don’t have time to wait. We have to go now. Come on, girls.”
Dr. Pannetta reaches out and grabs her arm. “Just a minute, please!”
Nana Pete looks down at his hand. “I thought you said you weren’t a warden.”
“Yes.” Dr. Pannetta’s voice is tight, clipped, as he releases her arm again. He studies Nana Pete for a moment and then holds up his hand. “If you’ll just wait two minutes, I will give you Benny’s antibiotics.”
Nana Pete’s face turns white. “Oh. Well. Yes. Of course.”
We watch tentatively as Dr. Pannetta strides over to the nurses’ station, scribbles something inside a chart, and fills a small plastic bag with three or four bottles of pills. Handing the bag to Nana Pete, he takes Benny gently out of her arms and leads us down the hall.
“I had no choice but to sign you out AMA,” he says. “Against medical advice. That’s to cover our end of things. And I have to warn you it may not work to your advantage if anyone comes around later, asking questions.” He shifts Benny in his arms. “This little guy’s going to be just fine, as long as you make sure to give him his medicine regularly and bring him to someone professional to check his progress in a few days. A week at the most.”
“Thank you,” Nana Pete whispers. “I’ll make sure to do that.”
By now we are at the front entrance, a few feet away from the wall of sliding-glass doors. The Life Saver lady looks up from behind the information desk. She smiles at me and I smile back.
Dr. Pannetta hands Benny back to Nana Pete. “You take good care of him now,” he says. “I worked hard on those fingers.”
Nana Pete nods. “I promise I will.”
Dr. Pannetta looks over at Agnes and me. “And you make sure his hand doesn’t get stuck in any more doors, okay?” We nod. He walks toward the rubber mat in front of the glass doors. Agnes jumps back a little as they slide open.
“It’s okay, Ags,” I say, grabbing her hand. “They’re just automatic doors. They won’t hurt you.” But I have to pull her to get her all the way through. She keeps her hands up close to her mouth and walks on leaden feet. When we get outside, I glance back once. Dr. Pannetta is resting his arm on the front of the information desk, watching us. The Life Saver lady’s face is level with his elbow. I wave good-bye. The two of them raise their hands briefly in my direction, their faces clouded with bewilderment.
Agnes gets a little spooked out again when we reach the Queen Mary.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, I can’t. I can’t. We’re going to burn in hell for this. Please let’s go back. Please.”
“Get in, Mouse,” Nana Pete says. Her voice is stern and sharp. “Right now.”
Agnes gives her a blank stare and then gets in the back, biting the inside of her cheek. We get Benny arranged carefully on her lap and then Nana Pete peels out of the hospital parking lot. The next thing I know, the Queen Mary is flying along a road called Route 81 South, going so fast that the trees seem to blur. I don’t say anything, but I get the feeling that we’re not in Connecticut anymore.
No one talks for what seems like a very long time. I am, maybe for one of the first times in my life, at a complete loss for words. It feels sort of like we are riding along inside a soap bubble, a thin, transparent little thing that might pop at any second if the wind blows too hard or I breathe too loudly. And so I hunch down in the front seat of the car and just stay still. For a while, I stare out the window. To tell you the truth, I’m a little disappointed. Maybe it’s because we’re on a highway, or maybe the excitement of being out here for the first time is starting to wear off, but the outside world—at least from this vantage point—is pretty boring. All the commercials I’ve seen on TV have shown hot-air balloons soaring over wide green fields, shiny cars racing along winding roads, people running toward the ocean or sailing on huge boats. But all I can see, as far as I look, are trees and more trees. Mostly maple and oak, with the occasional scrubby pine. A field here and there breaks up the line of forestry, but even they are flat and full of dull, wilted-looking grass. I try to keep my eyes peeled for butterflies, but it’s nearly impossible with Nana Pete whizzing along like she is. We’ve passed five or six signs already that have indicated that the speed limit is sixty-five miles per hour, but she’s going at least eighty. At least.
After about an hour, however, I catch a glimpse of some houses. And although they are set back against the highway and not in a neighborhood, they still have yards and flowers in the front and in the back of one, a kid swinging on a tire. I crane my neck as we pass the kid on the swing and I want to ask Nana Pete to stop so I can get out and ask the kid his name and where he goes to school and how he likes living where he does, but of course I can’t. Then there are some big buildings—a tan one with bright red letters that spell out SHOP RITE, and a smaller one that reads RITE AID. People are hurrying in and out of both stores, their arms full of packages. I wonder what sorts of things they have purchased, and how much money they spent. What do things like toothpaste or soap cost, anyway? Finally we pass a whole line of stores, all connected together in one straight line. I read as fast as I can, but they pass by in a blur and the only one I can make out is ROY’S PIZZA. I sit back in my seat, feeling impatient and hungry.
“Nana Pete?” I ask finally.
“Yes, sugar?”
“What does a Big Mac taste like?”
“A Big—” Nana Pete looks confused.
“Dr. Pannetta said something about Benny having a craving for a Big Mac,” I press. “Are they that good?”
“Oh my Lord, darlin’, you’ve never had a Big Mac, have you?” She looks into the rearview mirror. “How ’bout you, Mouse?” I glance back at Agnes. She doesn’t move. “No, of course you wouldn�
��t have if Honey here hasn’t.” Nana Pete smacks both of her hands against the steering wheel. “Well, that, my fellow travelers, is the first business of the day.” She veers widely off the road, toward a green sign that says HARRISBURG. In a few minutes, we are sitting behind four other cars in a line outside a brown, squat building with a gigantic yellow M on the roof. “This here is called the McDonald’s drive-through,” Nana Pete says, looking more excited than I’ve seen her in days. “McDonald’s is the official home of the Big Mac.”
“What is it, exactly?” I ask. “A Big Mac, I mean?”
Nana Pete rubs her hands together. “A Big Mac, darlin’, is just about one of the worst things you can put into your body. It’s also one of the most delicious, which is why I make it a point to have at least three a month.” She sighs. “Two greasy hamburgers layered between three hamburger buns, slathered with ketchup and cheese and special sauce. Oh Lord, when you wash it all down with some french fries and an icy cold Coca-Cola, you’ll think you died and went to heaven.”
My stomach gurgles with excitement. “Man,” I breathe. “It sounds amazing. Can I get two?”
“Of course!” Nana Pete claps her hands together. “Get three if you want! It’s your first Big Mac!” She looks over the seat at Agnes. “How ’bout you, Mouse? You want to try one?” Agnes bites her lip and stares out the window. The car in front of Nana Pete finally drives away and she pulls up in front of a flat board covered with pictures of hamburgers. Then she starts talking into it! I almost fall out of the car when a girl’s voice shoots back at her, repeating her order.
“Holy cow, Agnes, can you see this?” She cuts her eyes at me and looks away again. I glance down at Benny, who is still drifting in and out of a light sleep. I feel sorry that he is missing all of this. Nana Pete pulls up to a window, where another girl is waiting to give her our food, and then places the brown, oily bags in the front, between us.
The immediate aroma when I open the bag hits me like a fist. A combination of salt and warm cheese fills the car as I unwrap a small, dense package sitting on top.
It’s better than I could have imagined, warm and slightly peppery with the tang of cheese in the background. I think I can taste a pickle, too, and maybe mustard. I close my eyes as I chew.
“Eh?” Nana Pete says, watching me. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Mmmm,” I answer. “Even better than I thought it would be.” I turn around, placing the bag on the floor next to Agnes and raise my eyebrows. “You gotta try this, Ags. Don’t let it get cold.”
But she only turns her head, affixing her gaze to another blurry patch of green outside, and reaches up around her throat for her consecration beads.
Nana Pete makes her way through a sandwich quickly, while I start on my second Big Mac. We share an enormous red paper sleeve of french fries and a gigantic Coke, and by the time I sip the last of it, I’m about ready to pass out.
“You must have a tapeworm in there, Honey,” Nana Pete laughs. She says that on every visit, surprised all over again that I eat so much. “Boy, you can eat a lot.”
“Actually, I don’t feel so good,” I say, unbuttoning the top of my jeans.
Nana Pete laughs. “That’s the thing about McDonald’s. The joy of it is so fleeting and then you have to pay the price.”
“Just like sin,” says Agnes from the back.
I start to turn around and then think better of it. She’s going to be like this for a while.
We’re just going to have to wait it out.
AGNES
I try hard to make Benny as comfortable as possible, arranging the blankets around him tightly and putting his head on my lap, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He just sleeps. The nervous feeling in my stomach isn’t letting up. I still can’t believe I allowed Nana Pete and Honey to talk me into this madness. And all because of the Regulation Room. What did Nana Pete call it? Child abuse! How absurd is that? She doesn’t understand. Well, of course she wouldn’t. She’s not a Believer. She doesn’t get how much we all need that kind of discipline, or the type of people we would turn into without it. We’d be … well, heathens.
The sun is low in the sky, which means morning prayers have probably just ended. I am too frightened to look out the window at everything. It’s too big, too scary. Instead, I pull on my consecration beads around my neck, close my eyes, and start chanting. The next thing I know, Honey’s talking about something called a Big Mac. I will my stomach pangs to go away, offering up each growl and twist in my groin for the horrible way I treated Benny, as the two of them slobber away at their food up front. It is no easy task, as the faint odor of the Big Macs lingers long afterward inside the car. It smells delicious and nauseating at the same time. When I’m sure Honey and Nana Pete aren’t looking, I tighten my waist belt one more time in an attempt to constrict my hunger, but the only thing it seems to be doing is making it harder to breathe.
Then, just as we pass a sign for Gettysburg, Honey asks Nana Pete if she can turn on the radio.
“Sure you can.” Nana Pete leans forward to click on the silver dial. “You just fiddle with those knobs down there until you find something you like.”
I know Honey can feel my eyes boring into the back of her neck as she starts pushing the buttons, but she just purses her lips and keeps pushing. Finally she stops as a woman’s voice comes over the radio. It is the strangest voice I have ever heard, simple and unadorned, but the words she is singing, about God being a slob like the rest of us, are shocking.
“Turn it off!” I scream. “Turn it off, Honey, before we go to hell!”
Honey jumps forward in the seat, clearly startled, but blocks the silver buttons with her hand, as if I have already reached over the seat and am trying to turn it off. “No!” she says. “I want to listen to it!”
I lean over and stuff two of my fingers into Benny’s ears. He doesn’t move. “This is exactly why we’re not allowed to listen to music!” I scream. “It’s blasphemy! Turn it off! Now!”
Nana Pete is watching me carefully in the mirror. She leans over and touches Honey’s wrist. “Turn it off,” she says softly. “Just for now, darlin’.”
Honey gives me a dark look and punches the off button hard with her index finger. “Happy now?” I don’t answer. She turns to look at me. “Blasphemy? You seriously think God’s going to send us to hell if we listen to music?”
“That lady was saying God was a slob!” I shake my head side to side, as if trying to empty the words out. “It’s as bad as breaking the third commandment!”
“Which one is that again?” Nana Pete asks.
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” Honey recites scornfully.
“It’s true!” I yell. “God could never be a slob! He’s perfect!”
“What’s interesting to me,” Nana Pete says, “is that your idea of perfect seems so off-kilter.”
I blink twice. “No, it’s not.”
“But it is,” Nana Pete says gently. “If God was perfect in every way, as you say he is, then that must mean that he is all loving and forgiving, right?” I nod carefully. “So how could he send people to hell for listening to music?” she asks. “Wouldn’t that go against everything that love and forgiveness are all about?”
I open my mouth and then shut it. “He’s not gonna send the people who listen to good music to hell,” I finally reply.
“And what’s good music?” Nana Pete asks. I don’t answer. “Tell me, Mouse.”
“Stuff that, you know, gives glory to him. Like the music Emmanuel plays on the piano.”
Honey groans and bangs her head off the seat. “Agnes. If the only music people were allowed to listen to in this world is that boring, horrible stuff he plays, people would go nuts!”
“People who are writing stuff about God being a slob are already nuts,” I retort.
“And doomed, I guess,” Honey says, rolling her eyes.
“Yes. They’re definitely doomed.”
No one
says anything for a minute. Then Honey turns around, as if someone has flipped a switch in her back. “Do you really want to go through the rest of your life thinking like a robot?”
I turn my head. “No,” I say calmly. “I want to go through the rest of my life thinking like a saint.”
“But you’re not a saint!” Honey roars. “Even the saints, when they were alive, busy leading their lives, weren’t saints, you moron! And you have to be dead for at least a hundred years before you can even be a saint! Is that what you want, Agnes? You want to live a life full of restrictions and punishments and whippings so that when you die—a hundred years after you die—someone will call you a saint?”
I stare at the cuticles on Benny’s good fingers, white and curved like small crescent moons. “If that’s what God requires of us, I do.” My voice is shaky. “It’s not up to us to question his ways.”
Honey’s face, bright with perspiration, deflates like a pink balloon. “Man, you sound just like Emmanuel,” she says, turning back around slowly.
I stare at the back of her neck. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Well, then you’re an idiot. It was meant to be an insult.”
My mouth feels cold. “I don’t even remember asking for your opinion.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t be offering it anymore.”
Just outside of Emmitsburg, Maryland, Nana Pete pulls into a wide parking lot and parks the car in front of a building that says WAL-MART.
“What’re we doing?” Honey asks. Nana Pete opens the door and stretches.
“Y’all are going to need a few necessities for the rest of the trip. And there ain’t nothin’ you can’t find in a Wal-Mart.”
Wal-Mart is so big inside that for a moment when we step through yet another set of automatic doors, I wonder if it is an actual city disguised as a store. The smell of stale popcorn hangs in the air and people are everywhere, pushing carts filled with blue jeans and coffee and sneakers across the shiny white floor. We arrange Benny in the back of one of the carts, piled on top of his blankets, and push him through the aisles.
The Patron Saint of Butterflies Page 13
