Nun After the Other

by Alice Loweecey

  “Steve! Stop it!” Sister Olive reached for a plastic jar of Milk-Bones on a high shelf and rattled it. The dog abandoned the papers and sat up like a meerkat at her feet. He took the bribe behind the hot water heater to consume it in private.

  “We keep the papers to donate to the local animal shelter fundraising drive, but we missed it this year. Steve thinks they’re his personal chew toy tower.” She shook out an oversized knitted sweater. “If Kathryn hasn’t told you yet, we’ve had two break-ins in the last four months. Two we know about, that is.”

  “Did you report them to the police?”

  “Of course, but they don’t care. We lost a batch of clothes from the dryer the first time. Total value approximately sixty dollars. It would cost more to complete the paperwork.” She snapped the hem straight on a t-shirt. “We got Steve the next day. We knew he wouldn’t be any use in home defense, but he’s a great alarm system when he’s not distracted by treats.”

  Giulia began to pair up socks. “What about the second break-in?”

  “Three weeks ago. Steve woke up Diane first. She got me and Dorothy. We huddled together at the top of the stairs like teenagers in a horror movie. Nobody wanted to be the first to go down. When we heard noises from the front parlor Diane said she could get to the baseball bat.”

  “Why didn’t you call 911?”

  Olive insulted Giulia’s intelligence with a glance. “The only phone is in the front hall. Dorothy and I stayed on the bottom step while Diane got the bat, then we followed her into the parlor. A teenager in ragged jeans and a black t-shirt was pawing through our bookshelf. God knows what she thought we were hiding.”

  Giulia finished the socks. “She was looking for money hidden in a hollowed-out book.”

  Olive’s laugh was harsh. “Only an addict with a completely fried brain would think a bunch of nuns living in a house like this would be hoarders. She was an addict, by the way.”

  “Her brain wasn’t too fried if she read Victorian penny dreadfuls as a hobby.”

  “Read what?”

  “Short, cheap books known for their shock factor. I recall an entire series about misers who lived in abject poverty, but after they died people found money hidden throughout their houses. Where do you want the socks?”

  “In the blue milk crate. Diane didn’t crack the book hunting thief’s skull, in case you’re wondering. Steve ran between our legs and dug his teeth into her jeans. She screamed and saw the bat and passed out cold.” Olive wrinkled her nose. “I’m surprised she didn’t pass out from her own body odor.”

  “Perhaps you should’ve gotten a traditional guard dog. A Rottweiler or a German Shepherd.”

  “Hold this for me, please.” Olive handed Giulia a brown milk crate and filled it with folded shirts. “Large dogs are too expensive to feed and maintain. Bart knows a vet in training who checked out Steve for free to make sure he was healthy. Besides, we didn’t want to risk a trained attack dog inflicting harm on anyone, not even a home invader.”

  The nun stacked filled milk crates along the back of the folding table. “You listen to me now, Ms. Driscoll. We have a duty to help the needy. Eagle Developers doesn’t care about our duty. Why should they? You have to find a solution which won’t interfere with our mission.” She hefted the last crate, piled with jeans. “And make sure you pin Matilda’s murder on them while you’re at it.”

  Sixteen

  Giulia took her interview turn at the kitchen table. Even though less than forty-eight hours had passed, Sister Kathryn looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

  “Detective Driscoll covered everything. I don’t know what else you could ask me.”

  All lead-ins should be so easy. “Do Sister Olive’s views on Eagle Developers represent all of you?”

  She got a crooked smile in return. “You’ve proved me wrong with one sentence. No. Sister Olive’s views are mostly her own. The more venom she indulges, though, the more some of us are coming around to her views.” She fiddled with the napkin holder. “Matilda’s funeral is tomorrow. She had no living relatives. She has no one to seek justice for her.”

  Giulia put a hand on the fidgeting ones. “Yes, she does.”

  Sister Kathryn started to cry. “I’m sorry,” she gulped between sobs. “I should be setting an example of resignation. Or hope. Or whatever it is we’re supposed to project when a nun passes.”

  Giulia, who never cursed, with difficulty refrained from saying “Bull—.” Instead, she shook out a napkin and held it to Sister Kathryn’s nose. The nun honked into it as though Giulia was her mother. After soaking a second napkin with tears she took a deep breath and sat up.

  “Sister Olive has some justification for her opinions. Eagle is relentless. I’m given to understand such tactics are their standard.” She recited a list of actions which could be construed as harassment. “In a way, the worst is sending the neighbors to us to tell us how terrific the buyout money is and how much better they’re living now. After they leave, I feel like I’m betraying the Sisters by not using my authority to take the offer and somehow find us a new place on my own.”

  “The Order will take the money and decide where you’ll be living?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “Yes and no. We have jobs, so they more or less ignored us until Eagle swooped in.” She stood and tossed the napkins in the trash. “There’s not enough room for us all in the Motherhouse. They’ve agreed to allow us enough from the buyout to find a new place, but it has to meet with their approval.”

  “What are the chances they approve anything in better shape than this house?”

  “Less than ten percent. I see you still possess the skepticism required to negotiate with the Superior General. You’ll need it.”

  When Giulia drove past the empty coffee shop, the sign on the door confirmed it was closed. It kept odd hours: five a.m. to ten a.m., six p.m. to eleven p.m. She left herself a voice memo to talk to the owner tomorrow morning. He was the only other resident in the two-block radius who hadn’t caved to Eagle.

  She continued to her next stop: The church where her sister-in-law was secretary.

  The thin woman with limp hair sitting at a weathered picnic table looked nothing like the skeletal LSA addict who’d fainted on Driscoll Investigations’ office floor two months earlier.

  Since today was the first day of school, Giulia thought she knew the reason for Anne’s air of sitting in the midst of day three of a three-day rainstorm without an umbrella.

  The lawn muffled Giulia’s approach. Anne started when Giulia sat across from her, her half-eaten apple bouncing on her flattened lunch bag.

  “Giulia? Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

  Giulia smiled at her. “You sound like my mother used to when I called her any time other than Saturday morning.”

  Anne’s face fell into its usual lines. “My grandmother used to say the same thing to my mother.”

  “Guilt. It’s in Italian DNA.” Giulia waited a beat, then gave up on trying to get Anne to smile. “I need your help.”

  The statement roused her. “My help? Why?”

  “Salvatore’s in the hospital.”

  The thin lips compressed into virtual invisibility.

  Giulia indulged a moment of wickedness. “Are you trying to figure out how a good Catholic wife should react?”

  Anne’s lips writhed for an instant. “What did he do?”

  Perhaps a good wife would’ve asked “What happened to him?” but such an equation required a good husband to balance it.

  “He touched a faulty wire and fell off a ladder. He’s in a coma.”

  Anne reached for her apple. “His company has good insurance.”

  Because she liked planning surprises, Giulia rejoiced at Anne’s missing the mark. “What time do you get off work?”

  “Four thirty.” Her lips vanished again. “Look, I’m
not going to visit him in the hospital. One, I don’t have a car. Two, I need time to put on rhino hide before I get near him. You know how he wields his self-righteous malice. Three—”

  “Anne. I’ll pick you up at your apartment around five. I could use a little help with the kids.”

  The import of Giulia’s words swept the lines from Anne’s face. Her hands shook. The lunch bag rattled.

  “My kids are staying with you?”

  “If you ask them, they’ll probably say they’re staying with our cable TV.”

  It was a weak joke, but Giulia wasn’t dense enough to think it caused Anne’s tears. She reached into her messenger bag and handed over a travel pack of tissues. When Anne wiped her blotched face with the third tissue, Giulia stood.

  “I have to get back to work. Five o’clock, give or take.”

  Anne clutched at her. “You’re giving me access to my kids again. How can I thank you?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re family.”

  Seventeen

  Giulia entered the office carrying a gyro salad and a can of caffeine-free Coke. She pointed at Sidney with the Coke. “Do not say one word.”

  Sidney put on the pious innocence of a stained-glass saint. “Who am I to comment on your lack of attendance at your own workplace?”

  Giulia set the takeout container on the table under the window. “I thought you were going to chastise me about the chemicals in the Coke and the marinated lamb.”

  “You went into Pittsburgh?”

  “No. Our favorite Greek restaurant opened a satellite place in Cottonwood last week.”

  Sidney snatched a pen and paper. “Where? I would kill for their potatoes. As in, right now.”

  Giulia gave her the address. “It’s after one. I was sure you both had already eaten.” She stabbed lettuce, tomato, and meat with a flimsy plastic fork. “Next time I’ll buy lunch for the office.”

  “Deal.”

  Zane rose from behind the printer, dust on his knees. “Souvlaaakiii….”

  Giulia swallowed before her salad went down the wrong pipe. “Much better than braaaiiins…”

  He fist-bumped Giulia from across the room. “One day your offspring and Jessamine will go on a date and spend the entire time trying to find common movie ground. Also, the printer’s fixed.”

  “You’re a treasure. And then they’ll go to the Garden of Delight for dessert.” She popped the tab on the Coke. “Where Jessamine will initiate him into the wonders of life without processed sugar.”

  “If she hasn’t already done so at least fifty times before.”

  Sidney said, “You don’t need a crystal ball to predict that. Eat your lunch. The baby needs nourishment.”

  “So does his mom.” Giulia popped a cherry tomato covered in tzatziki sauce into her mouth.

  Zane turned his monitor toward the windows. “Can you see anything?”

  Giulia squinted. “No. Too much glare. If you don’t mind me eating in front of you, I’ll come over there.”

  “Adversity breeds character. Calvin and Hobbes.”

  “The game is afoot. Sherlock Holmes.” She set her lunch on the corner of his desk.

  “I’ll remind you of this moment when it’s time for my annual review.” He opened a spreadsheet on his screen. “If Cottonwood ever gets on the revitalization wagon, Eagle Developers will be driving it. No, Eagle will probably own the wagon.”

  “One of my rich cousins lives in an Eagle condo,” Sidney said. “It cost enough to put Jessamine through four years at Carnegie Mellon.”

  “I hope it’s spectacular.” Giulia dug through the salad for another tomato.

  “It’s intimidating. I was terrified Jessamine would spit up on the Berber carpets.” Sidney wrinkled her nose. “My cousin followed us around with a lint roller in case we shed any stray alpaca fibers. A movie star could’ve lived in the place. No, thanks.”

  “One of Eagle’s slogans is ‘We’re the future of Cottonwood,’” Zane said. “I wouldn’t like to try to prove them wrong. Look at their acquisition pattern over the past six years.” He walked Giulia through the research as she finished eating. “In summary, they’re progressive, ruthless, forward-thinking, not above bribery, and have been caught dealing on the fringes.”

  Sidney groaned. “Did you really say ‘forward-thinking’?”

  Giulia said, “Are they fringe enough to terrorize a houseful of elderly and infirm nuns?”

  Zane chewed his inner left cheek. “Possibly.”

  Eighteen

  Giulia returned home with her sister-in-law at five to six. When she opened the door from the garage, her niece and oldest nephew were six inches away from the TV screen watching reruns of Samurai Jack. There was no sign of Carlo. For a panicked moment she feared he’d run away.

  Cecilia turned her head when Giulia closed the door a second time with a bang.

  “Mom?” She jumped up and tackled Anne at a run.

  “Mom!” Pasquale did the same.

  “Mom?” Carlo came running in from the garden. When he landed on Pasquale, the whole pile of Falcones crashed to the floor.

  “Mom, where’d you come from?”

  “We miss you so much.”

  “Pasquale has a new girlfriend.”

  “Cecilia learned a new swear word.”

  Carlo remained silent as he clung to his mother’s neck.

  Anne said through blubbery tears, “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

  As one, her kids leaped off. All three helped their mother to her feet. As soon as she was vertical, Carlo latched onto her waist. Pasquale stretched one arm up around her shoulders. Cecilia nestled in between Pasquale and Anne.

  Giulia passed a tissue to Anne and closed the screen door to the garden.

  “Are you staying here with us?”

  “School started today.”

  “I got Sister Mary Margaret for homeroom.”

  “I got Sister Brigid. Remember how she ragged on Pasquale from September to Christmas?”

  The kids’ words tumbled over each other. Their mother somehow squeezed in one-word answers around her huge smile and the tissues Giulia kept handing her. The floods showed no signs of slowing when Frank opened the garage door bearing three large pizza boxes.

  “Supper has arrived.”

  Giulia kissed him. “You are the best husband on the planet.”

  “Tell my mother, please.”

  “I’ll make salad.” Giulia raised her voice. “Supper in eight minutes. Please return your mother to her autonomous state before then.”

  Silence reigned for two full seconds as the kids turned puzzled faces to Giulia.

  “She means un-cling so we can eat.” Anne held them closer. “I can go hungry.”

  “So can we.” The alternating recaps of school resumed.

  In the kitchen, Giulia ripped lettuce and sliced tomatoes. “I vote we wait a few years between pregnancies.”

  Frank set out plates and napkins. “Instant parentage isn’t my lifestyle choice either.”

  “Could you get the salad dressings out of the fridge? I’ll get drink orders.”

  Despite their stated disdain for food, the siren call of pizza lured all Falcones into the kitchen. Once seated, however, not one hand moved toward the food. Giulia needed only five seconds for enlightenment. She caught Frank’s eye. “Grace, please.”

  To his credit, Frank took the hint. Giulia had developed a distaste for vocal prayer after a decade of it in the convent, and Frank had been pleased to eschew it with her.

  Pasquale spoke up when Frank finished. “Dad says grace because he’s the oldest male in the house, but, um, this is your house.”

  Giulia smiled at him. “Pepperoni or sausage or both together?”

  Another moment of silence.

  Cecilia held out her pla
te. “I’ll take a slice of the combo, please.” She inhaled like a chocoholic in the Hershey factory. “Get with it, you guys. We watched TV. We’re eating takeout pizza. Uncle Frank might let us play video games later.” She took a delicate bite of her pizza. “This is normal.”

  “Normal includes vegetables.” Giulia scooped salad into bowls and dealt one to each child like a hand of cards. “Choose your dressing.”

  Nineteen

  After supper Cecilia and Giulia volunteered for dish duty. Frank challenged Pasquale to a game of Halo. Carlo dragged his mother out to the garden to see the chameleon.

  All but the forks were dry when the doorbell rang.

  Cecilia flapped the dish towel. “Go ahead, Aunt Giulia. I’ll finish these.”

  Distracted by Frank and Pasquale’s shouts from the gaming closet too small to be called a room, Giulia opened the door without checking first.

  “Giulia!” A crunchy granola hippie from the 1970s stood on the threshold. She wore a tie-dyed t-shirt and jeans old enough for the bottom hems to have dissolved into fringe. Puka shells clacked at the ends of her pale brown braids. “I’m sorry Crankenstein is taking up your whole driveway.” She stepped over the threshold and enveloped Giulia in tie-dye and shells. “It’s been ages since we had face time.”

  A moment later she saw Frank and switched the hug to him without interfering with his on-screen alien slaughter. “Kids? Not yours yet, right?”

  Giulia said, “Sister Bartholomew, let me introduce you to my sister-in-law Anne Falcone and her children.”

  Frank paused the game. Carlo and Cecilia detached themselves from their mother and all three kids became model Catholic school pupils in the presence of a nun.

  After the third “Good evening, Sister Bartholomew,” the crunchy granola hippie laughed. “You can call me Sister Bart.”

  Cecilia reached for one of the braids. “Where did you get those? Are they beads? Can you show me how to put them in my hair?”

  “Cecilia. Where are your manners?” Anne’s voice was sharp.