Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  “Hey, there, Sister Regina. You can’t be headed for bed already. You’ve been in real convents where people keep human hours.”

  Giulia yanked her inside. “Quiet!” she whispered.

  Still with that smile, Sister Vivian leaned against the closed door. “Aren’t you tired of talking to Bart all the time? She’s so naïve and bo-ring.” She exhaled a fog of altar wine.

  “Shouldn’t you be on your own floor by now?”

  “Don’chew worry about me, Sister. My family knows how to handle their liquor.” She executed an elaborate wink. “I’d’ve brought some for you, but it’s hard to sneak it out.” She thumped onto Giulia’s narrow bed and patted the covers. “Let’s talk, woman to woman.”

  Giulia sat farther away than Sister Vivian indicated. It’s research. She knew Sister Bridget too. Ten minutes and I’ll boot her up to the fifth floor.

  “Thass right. God, I miss college. We’d stay up all night gabbing, sharing secrets, trying each other’s makeup …” A slow headshake. “I like being a Sister, yanno. It’s what I wanted to be ever since my great-aunt died. She was a pisser of a nun. Told the funniest jokes just this side of dirty. She made me think the convent wasn’t juss a coop-full of ugly hens who couldn’t get a man.”

  “I see.”

  Sister Vivian flopped crossways on Giulia’s bed, resting her head on her hands. “I knew you’d understand. You’ve been around.” She giggled. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. You and me, we’re women of the world. Not like Bart and Bridget.”

  “Did they enter right out of high school?”

  “Duh. Isn’t it obvious? You didn’t meet Bridget. She couldn’t deal with it.” Another slow headshake. “Bart’s not doing too bad, except she sleepwalks.”

  Giulia leaned against the wall, doing her best to look worldly and at ease. “That’s not too good. How does she keep away from the back stairs?”

  “We put a lock on the door. S’str Gretchen caught her once and stopped her. So did I.” She moved her gaze away from the bare dresser to Giulia’s face. “It was frickin’ creepy. Her eyes were mostly closed but not quite, and she wasn’t walking normal. Just going thump, thump, thump down the hall.” Her hands didn’t move to cover a huge, wine-soaked belch. “Oops, sorry.” She giggled again. “That’s all you’ll hear from me, too. Tol’ja I could deal with it. How d’you deal with the freaky bad stuff when you’re a real, permanent nun, Sister Regina?”

  Before Giulia could invent something neutral-sounding, the Novice scooted upright, leaned toward the wall, blinked several times, then swayed toward the opposite wall. Giulia put out a hand to stop her from falling off the bed.

  “God, I wanna beer. My roommate had a fake ID our second year in college. We’d all pitch in and she’d get a twelve-pack and our suite would share it.”

  “I don’t think beer’s allowed in the Motherhouse.”

  “Oh, yeah, don’t I know it. Nothin’ fun’s allowed here.”

  “There’s hockey and popcorn nights.”

  “Puh-lease. Bart may think that’s fun, but she acts like an old woman. Did she admit she’s afraid to go into the cellars? Try to get her down there and then pretend you hear something moaning. She gets whiter than the old nuns’ veils.”

  Giulia imitated Vivian’s casual, confidential tone. “Was she always afraid of the cellars?”

  “Nah. Only since Bridget killed herself.” She leaned into Giulia’s steadying arm, overbalanced, and bonked against her shoulder. “Did’ja hear she drank a whole bottle of bleach? Stupid kid. I would’ve showed her how to fix the altar wine so no one’d notice any difference. She didn’t talk to me much, so I didn’t know it got to her that bad.”

  “Did you know what was bothering Sister Bridget?”

  Vivian looked sideways at Giulia. “Shh. Can’t talk about it. Biiiig secret.” The lopsided smile reappeared. “You’d’a been a great roomie. You’re such a good listener. My college roomie was a good listener. She liked girls. D’you like girls? Everyone said nuns were wicked Lesbos, but they lied. I miss my roomie.” A tear trickled down one plump cheek. “Your lips’re kinda like hers, too.”

  She plunged forward, taking Giulia with her off the edge of the bed. Sister Vivian’s sloppy kiss landed near Giulia’s eye socket.

  “That’s quite enough, Sister.” Giulia pushed her off and stood.

  Vivian stayed face-down, weeping into the linoleum.

  “Sister Vivian, this is not how a Sister of Saint Francis is expected to conduct herself.”

  “Not you too.” The weeping volume increased. “You don’t understaaaand.”

  “That’s it.” Giulia hauled her up. “Do you want every Sister on this floor to hear you? You know these walls are like papier-mâché.”

  Snot ran over Sister Vivian’s upper lip. Her swollen eyes dripped tears. Giulia grabbed several tissues from the desk and shoved them in Vivian’s face.

  “Clean yourself up. We’re going to try to get to your floor without turning you into tonight’s surprise entertainment. Although that’ll take a minor miracle. What’s Saint Vivian the patron of?” Only a honk into the tissues answered her. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

  Giulia poked her head into the hall; no one. None too gently, she dragged still-sniveling Sister Vivian into the hall. They skirted three doors with lights shining beneath them and took a wide path around the low-voiced conversation in the corner sitting room.

  Sister Vivian tripped twice on the front stairs. Giulia hovered between frustration at not being able to take the lesser-used back stairs and gratitude that Vivian had mentioned the new lock on their floor.

  Both sides of the fifth floor were dark. Of course—the girls worked too hard to keep secret late hours. Giulia pictured the layout of the living room, but a too-solid chair? couch? leapt out at their legs. She remembered to keep her reaction to a hiss.

  Sister Vivian’s naturally high voice jumped an octave. “Ow!”

  Giulia clapped her hand over Vivian’s mouth. “Do you want Sister Gretchen to find you like this?”

  That’d put way too much spotlight on me. A visiting Sister helping the Novices with the cleaning is one thing. The same Sister with her arm around a drunk Novice late at night—well, can you say hideous scandal?

  Snot and tears dripped down Giulia’s hand, but she kept Vivian’s mouth covered. A circle of light bobbed ahead of them, illuminated the wall, and flickered over their faces. Giulia blocked her eyes with her free hand.

  “Sister Regina?” Sister Bartholomew whispered.

  “Oh, thank God. Can you help us, Sister?”

  “What?” Sister Bartholomew came closer, keeping the light on the floor in front of her. “Oh, no, is Vivian drunk? Never mind; I can smell it.” She hefted Vivian’s other shoulder. “Sister Gretchen’s not up here yet, but I expect her any minute. Let’s put this one to bed before she shows.”

  Sister Bart steered the shambling procession to the first bedroom after the chapel. Sister Vivian was all but out on her feet.

  Sister Bartholomew yanked down the bedspread. “Idiot. What did she do, bust into your room bragging how she can hold her liquor?”

  “More or less.”

  They heaved Vivian onto the blanket and took off her shoes.

  “’S’at, you, Bart?” Vivian’s voice faded out on the last word.

  Giulia un-Velcroed the veil and laid it on the dresser. “So she’s lost control like this before?”

  “Not since the Feast of the Assumption. Wonder what set her off? Help me turn her over, would you?”

  They rolled the now-unconscious Vivian onto her stomach. Sister Bartholomew unzipped the slightly-too-tight habit, muttering, “Gotta channel it better, dummy. Gotta deal with it.” Between them, they tugged it off her in increments, finally working it out from under
her legs. Giulia hung it on a hook behind the door and Sister Bartholomew flung the bedspread over Vivian just as she began to snore.

  Blowing out a long breath, Giulia pulled two tissues from the box on the dresser and wiped her hands.

  Sister Bart turned Vivian’s head to the side. “At least if she pukes she won’t choke to death.”

  She closed the door on the noise, and Giulia blinked to get used to the new darkness of the hall.

  “Has she been that bad since she entered?”

  “I don’t think so, but I didn’t meet her till after the merger. We were both Canonicals already.”

  Steady footsteps became audible on the landing.

  Sister Bartholomew hustled Giulia down the hall and through the unlocked back door. “Thanks a ton for helping with Vivian, Sister. Sister Gretchen shouldn’t find you up here this late. See you tomorrow morning.”

  Giulia clutched the banister to stop herself going headlong down the steps. Sister Bartholomew vanished behind the double doors.

  She slid off her shoes and walked downstairs on the balls of her feet. It has to be close to eleven-thirty. That alarm rings at six. And I’m sneaking around the Motherhouse covered in sticky snot and tears and drool that stinks of sour altar wine. The third-floor bathroom door opened and she slipped into the corner parlor. I should’ve smeared myself with honey and found that anthill before coming here. This place is like a Jerry Springer episode.

  “Där är du. Följ med mig.”

  Giulia’s veil nearly flew off her head like hats did in comic strips. “Sister Arnulf.”

  The little nun took Giulia’s hand and led her to one of the small tables. Giulia looked out at the dimly lit floor, but Sister Theresa the handler wasn’t anywhere. She let Sister Arnulf sit her in one of the polished chairs.

  “Sister, you know I can’t understand you, but I’m working on the basics. Maybe tomorrow.” She sighed at her own futility. “Why am I explaining this to you?”

  Sister Arnulf drew a face on a piece of paper while Giulia muttered. Giulia couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be male or female. It wore no veil, but had no hair either. When the face had rudimentary features, she added a dark circle on the right side of the forehead, pressing so hard the pencil lead snapped.

  She pushed the paper in front of Giulia, pointed to the circle, pointed to her own forehead, and pointed to the paper again.

  Sister Theresa entered, sporting a quilted flowery bathrobe and a typical case of veil-head.

  “Sister Arnulf, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Sister Regina Coelis, I know she doesn’t mean to be a nuisance.”

  Sister Arnulf glanced at her babysitter and bent over Giulia. Her thin, wrinkled fingers patted Giulia’s cheeks, then her own. She touched Giulia’s forehead, then her own where she’d drawn the dark spot on the paper. Finally she circled her throat with one hand and pointed to the invisible mark with the other.

  Giulia held up both hands in a helpless gesture.

  Sister Arnulf made a frustrated noise. “Är du dum?”

  Sister Theresa put a hand on Sister Arnulf’s arm. “Säng—That means bed,” she said to Giulia.

  Sister Arnulf slapped the desk and the other two stared at her. The little nun’s body was tensed like she was ready for a fight. Then a moment later she relaxed and nodded at Sister Theresa.

  “Sorry. She’s wandering even more this week.” She cinched her robe. “You’d never think such a sweet old lady bombed Nazi arms depots in World War Two, would you?”

  “Not in a hundred years. I didn’t know there was a Swedish resistance in the war.”

  “Poor little Sister Bridget told me about it. They were sort of an adjunct to the Norwegian resistance. But if even half the stories she told Sister Bridget were true, our friend here was once a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Are you saying she flew bombers?”

  “No, no. She was barely fifteen then. She and her school friends became pipe bomb experts.”

  Sister Arnulf looked at them with her head slightly tilted. Giulia was reminded of a cat trying to anticipate a bird’s next move.

  Giulia stuffed the pencil sketch in her empty pocket. “Good night, Sisters.”

  Sister Arnulf nodded when the paper disappeared. Giulia stared after them until the high crown of the older Sister’s veil disappeared down the staircase.

  “First thing tomorrow I’m texting Sidney with another set of basic Swedish phrases.”

  Her plans scattered when she opened her door. Someone had searched her room.

  Fourteen

  “Fabian, you underhanded—” Giulia stopped herself before the curse left her tongue. “It can’t be anyone else but her. No one else knows why I’m here. No one else cares.”

  She closed the door. “Shut up, Falcone. One, you’re talking to yourself. Two, these walls are laughably thin. Three, most of them are sleeping and without other sound to mask it, your voice will carry even easier.”

  She yanked and tugged the stuck top drawer of the desk until it straightened on its worn track. “Fabian’s a Scooby-Doo level sleuth if she leaves clues this obvious. Everyone knows these drawers stick on their runners until you learn the trick to them. Everyone except Fabian with her fancy furniture. ”

  The folder about Sister Bridget was on the opposite side of the drawer now. Giulia opened it to a crinkled top page.

  “Too bad for her I’d only written up one spreadsheet’s worth of notes.” She turned over each page. Two more were wrinkled. “Nothing’s missing …” She catalogued her memories of each page. “Right. It’s all there. Thank the Lord I keep my cell in my pocket.” She smirked. “And that I didn’t bring the Cosmo.”

  She turned in place and opened her dresser drawer.

  “Ick. She pawed my underwear.” A giggle bubbled up. “If only I could ask her what she thinks of the lace and bright colors. So inappropriate for a Sister of Saint Francis, don’t you know.”

  She crept to the door and inched it open. Every other room on the floor was dark, but that meant nothing. She closed herself back in and texted Frank.

  Room searched. Updates when I learn something.

  _____

  The line in the bathroom at 6:05 a.m. reminded Giulia of intermission at the Cottonwood Performing Arts Center.

  Be sure to visit the wine bar before Act Two, folks! And when the show’s over, Tracey’s Chocolates are the perfect way to end the evening.

  Giulia wanted a Tracey’s turtle in the worst way—at this hour of the morning, too. Talk about stress eating.

  The water pressure in the building had improved since her Novitiate years. Now it was possible to take a decent four-minute shower rather than waiting ten for the water to heat up. That was probably why Fabian spent the money: faster showers kept the puppets efficient.

  Giulia towel-dried her hair. She should’ve showered last night, but the noise would’ve awakened too many people. Now her veil would be damp till noon.

  Sister Josepha grimaced at Giulia as she stepped into the just-vacated shower cubicle. “The only good crowds are the ones cheering for my basketball teams.”

  Sister Mary Stephen took the sink next to Giulia.

  “Morning,” Giulia said after she spit.

  Mary Stephen nodded, staring at Giulia’s reflection in the mirror instead of her own.

  Giulia, now self-conscious about her every movement, escaped as soon as she swallowed a multi-vitamin. Safe in her room (like that was safe anymore), she chose fuchsia underwear with silver-toned lace accents.

  “Take that, Fabian. I hope you’re gnashing your teeth as you pick out today’s pair of granny underpants.” The habit slipped over her “real woman’s” underthings and she transformed into Sister Regina Coelis. She twisted her already curling hair into a knot and shoved
it under the veil. The clock read 6:22.

  Drawers closed, bed made, room neat and anonymous.

  She turned on her phone and the message icon appeared in the top left corner, but it was from Sidney, not Frank.

  Olivier proposed! Cant wait 2 tell u!

  Giulia’s grin stretched her cheeks to their limit. “What a wedding that’ll be. One set of food stations dedicated to carnivores and sugar-holics, the other for the all-natural cult. I wonder if they’ll have a juice bar opposite the regular bar?”

  6:32. She set the phone to Silent and walked—never run, no indeed—downstairs.

  She tried to pay attention to morning prayers. Really she did. Why did the monotone-voiced Sisters always volunteer to lead?

  Her mind wandered to Sidney and Olivier’s wedding. It didn’t stretch credulity a millimeter to picture Sidney eschewing a traditional white gown for one made from flax or bamboo. Both sustainable plants, of course. Or perhaps she’d choose a winter wedding and make her dress from her family’s alpaca wool.

  Like yesterday, Giulia joined in the responsories to all the Psalms while the rest of her was miles away in Cottonwood.

  She’ll be bubbly and sweet, and Olivier will be handsome and charming. She’ll feed him gluten-free cake sweetened with honey, and he’ll feed her something traditional with buttercream frosting—but no yellow dye number 5.

  Office ended.

  I didn’t pay attention to a single word. I’m going to Hell.

  Father Ray said another efficient Mass with a five-minute homily. As Giulia moved along the central-aisle Communion line, she got that prickly-neck sense of someone watching her.

  When she turned away from the Communion rail, the Host doing its best to glom onto the roof of her mouth, she looked straight into Sister Mary Stephen’s ice-blue eyes.

  Giulia conceded the staring contest when she reached her pew. Her knees hit the kneeler, and meditation about Sister Mary Stephen trampled any thoughts of meditation on Communion.