Free The Patron Saint of Butterflies by Cecilia Galante

discern any bit of information from him, but he has drawn his knees up under his chin and buried his face into the top of them.
    Nana Pete finally screeches to a halt, coming so close to the edge of the frog pond that I gasp and rear back. She shuts the engine off and turns sideways, looking at me with wild eyes. Her mascara has started to run and her overly rouged cheeks are shiny with perspiration. She looks like a first-class lunatic.
    For the first time, I am frightened. “What?”
    Nana Pete swallows. “What is the Regulation Room? What is it, where is it, and what happens to you inside there?”
    I am so shocked at her barrage of questions that for a moment I am speechless. Then I realize I don’t know what to say. Except for a few painful details here and there with Agnes over the years, I have never discussed the Regulation Room. With anyone. Ever.
    “How’d you find out about that ?” I ask finally, struggling to keep my voice from shaking.
    “Agnes.”
    “Agnes?” I repeat.
    “Well, sort of,” Nana Pete says, glancing over at Benny. She is gripping the top of the seat so hard that the soft leather is indented. “Her parents mentioned something earlier about the two of you having been sent for by Emmanuel and well, I don’t know, something about that particular choice of wordsgot me thinking. Then I saw her limping and I kept pestering her to tell me what was wrong … ” Her voice trails off.
    “It was my fault!” Benny wails, lifting his head. “I asked about it on accident.” His face crumples behind his glasses, as if he has just realized the magnitude of his admission. “I didn’t mean to, Honey. I didn’t know … ” He lowers his face again and begins to sob, his little shoulders heaving up and down. Nana Pete reaches out and touches his knee with her fingertips.
    “Agnes wouldn’t tell me anything,” she says. “But the way she bolted out of the car when I pressed her about it makes me think there is a lot to tell.” Her hand freezes on Benny’s back. “I just want to know if any of you are being hurt, Honey. Please. Tell me the truth.”
    My heart is hammering inside my chest. The tips of my fingers feel tingly. I realize all at once that if I tell Nana Pete the truth about the Regulation Room, a chain of events will probably be set into motion that I will not be able to stop.
    “It’s … just … this room,” I say.
    “And?”
    “And … what?” I bite my lip, unsure why I am stalling.
    “And where is it?”
    “It’s … um … behind Emmanuel’s room.”
    “ Behind Emmanuel’s room? Like a hidden door or something?”
    I shrug. “It’s not hidden, really. But there’s a door.”
    “Okay. And what would I see if I opened this door, Honey? Hmmm?”
    My mouth tastes bitter, just thinking of it. “A kneeler,” I say quietly.
    Nana Pete’s face blanches. “What’s a kneeler?”
    “It’s a bench thing you kneel on.”
    “To pray?”
    “No,” I answer. “Not to pray.”
    Nana Pete shakes her head slowly. “What’s it for, then?”
    I stare at the top of Benny’s head. The hairs are so white that it is hard to distinguish them from his scalp.
    “Honey?” Nana Pete presses. “What’s the kneeler for?”
    I wince, thinking of this morning. “He makes us kneel on it and then lean forward.”
    “On your stomach?”
    “Yeah.”
    Nana Pete swallows hard. “Why?”
    A picture of me bent over that damn thing, naked from the waist down, flashes through my head. Suddenly I remember where my shoes are. They had been covered with mud and Veronica made me take them off before I went into Emmanuel’s room. “I don’t want your smelly shoes stinking up the room,” she had said. Her lip curled over the top of her teeth. “Get rid of them.” I was glad that Agnes and Peter had already left; it was humiliating to have to hide my dirty shoes under the bench, and even more awful to walk back inside in my bare feet, which smelled even worse than my