Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  When she joined Sister Bart in the laundry room, the entire left half of the space already had the same chemical mulch odor. Giulia started with the right-hand corner near the doorway and met Sister Bart in the middle, both their cans rattling on near-empty.

  “At least now it smells like we just decided to freshen the air down here.” Giulia set her can on the nearest table. “Let’s fix the smoke alarms.”

  She carried a metal folding chair to the stairs and steadied it while Sister Bart—taller than Giulia by four inches—reconnected the battery and wrestled the plastic cover back in place. Giulia held her breath again through the alarm’s self-test, but the little green light blinked on and stayed steady. “Our guardian angel’s watching over us tonight. I gather you stood on the table to unhook the alarm by the washers?”

  “I was careful.”

  “Then let’s carefully go reconnect it.”

  Sister Bart reconnected the wires and ran another successful self-test. Giulia waited for the Novice to reach the floor before she spoke. “So how’d you get that interesting letter to your sister-in-law out of here uncensored? The same way Sister Bridget got one to her former boyfriend asking about ways to break drug addiction?”

  Sister Bart jumped back and crashed into the table behind her. “She sent what? When?”

  “Was Sister Bridget addicted to prescription drugs?”

  “No, no, of course not. Who started a malicious rumor like that?”

  “Why are you and Sister Vivian going to such extremes? Her with the drinking and you with this?” Giulia spread her hands in a gesture encompassing the de-smoked rooms.

  A beat of silence.

  Sister Bartholomew stood upright and picked up her can of air cleaner. “Thank you for your help with this, Sister. I’m afraid I didn’t consider all the ramifications of my actions before I began. It’s been a busy week.” She took a step toward the doorway. “We should return these aerosol cans to the supply cupboard.”

  Giulia stood. “We should. I hope no one used these today who’d remember that they should still be full.”

  “It won’t matter this week. Everyone’s done so much cleaning and spiffing up of the old furniture and unused rooms, we’ve had to get new supplies in twice.”

  They walked upstairs and into the still-empty kitchen. As Giulia set her spray can on the closet shelf, she caught a whiff of the imitation-pot smell from her sleeve. She stuck her nose in her other sleeve. She pulled the end of her veil around and sniffed that, too.

  “We forgot to Febreze ourselves.” She pushed Sister Bart’s arm up and the Novice sniffed.

  “Oh my God, I’m dead.”

  Giulia snorted, quietly. “Shush. Come back into the cellars real quick. I’ll spray you and you spray me.”

  They finished off both cans, waited a minute, and smelled their sleeves.

  “Mulch and chemicals. Not too bad. Throw yours in the wash tonight and start fresh tomorrow. Just in case.” Giulia got a way-too-vivid image of Sister Mary Stephen bumping into her newly scented habit. “That’d fulfill Sister Gretchen’s wish for a TV-style cage match.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. A comment on my earlier catfight with Mary Stephen.” She started up the stairs. “I’m caught between the need to avoid people and—” She stopped.

  Sister Bart bumped into her.

  Giulia turned around and made a shooing motion. “We could meet any number of people if we go through the first floor. Half the population is in the chapel and the rest are in the Community Room for the movie-skit show. Let’s go out the other end of the hall … Oh, crap. We won’t be able to get back inside.”

  Sister Bart smirked. “Language?”

  “I never said I was a role model.”

  “Sorry. That was out of line. I have a key to the other back door, the one from the gardens by that narrow flagged path from the driveway.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go, then.”

  Giulia followed her down the hall and up the narrow flight of stairs to the opposite door. The hinges screeched when Sister Bart opened it, but the wind covered the noise. Giulia turned off the light, and the door locked behind them.

  “I am completely fed up with December taking over October this year.” Giulia’s teeth already wanted to chatter.

  “It’s my element. My family’s originally from International Falls, Minnesota. We either learned to love the cold or got out of town.”

  They pushed into the wind, navigating the path by the oblique illumination from the streetlights.

  “So it wasn’t you who wanted to get out of town?”

  “Nope. It was my dad. Twenty-three years of pumping gas in forty-below weather finally got to him.” She inserted a dulled key into the lock. “Guess he and Mom shouldn’t have gone to that family resort at Raccoon Lake for New Year’s. Twenty degrees above zero in January was just warm enough for Dad to decide Pennsylvania was the Promised Land. Shh.” She opened the door a crack and listened. “All quiet. The presentation must be over.”

  Giulia followed her inside, ready to lock Bart in the tiny vestry bathroom and pepper her with questions until she caved.

  The distinctive sound of someone puking cut off her thoughts.

  Twenty-one

  “What the—” Giulia followed the retching, splashing noises into the vestry, Sister Bart a step behind.

  Sister Vivian balanced on hands and knees on the vestry floor. A line of vomit trailed behind her from an open closet. While they watched, she splattered another load of chunky liquid on the linoleum, her face, and her clothes.

  Sister Bart ran to her and held her veil away from her face. “Vivian, you are dumber than a bag of hammers.”

  Sister Vivian groaned, clutched her stomach, and puked on Sister Bart’s lap. Giulia grabbed the trash can from beneath the sink and caught the next pungent load.

  “Is repeated puking your new weight-loss plan?” Sister Bart kept the other Novice’s veil away from the worst of the mess with one hand and held her semi-upright with the other.

  “You don’t un—understand,” Sister Vivian said.

  “You’re wrong, Vivian. I completely understand.”

  The trembling body in her arms moaned again. Giulia shoved the pail under her mouth. Vivian’s body clenched and heaved, but only a spoonful of bile came up this time.

  “That looks promising,” Giulia said.

  “About time. How much did you drink?”

  “Dunno.” A shuddering breath. “I had some after I ran her errand and the rest now. They got in some good stuff for Saint Francis Day. Ohhhh …” She bent over herself in a series of dry heaves.

  “Great. Did you water it down so no one notices?”

  “’Course. I’m not stupid. Ohhh, my head hurts. Wish I had a bottle of Jack. Works faster than this stuff.”

  Giulia set the pail aside. “That’s exactly what you don’t need. Whisky on top of wine? You’ll puke your stomach inside out.” She yanked several paper towels from the roll over the sink.

  “Ew … Oh, no—” More dry heaves.

  “Thanks for that image.” Sister Bart took the towels and wiped vomit from Sister Vivian’s face and hands. “Looks like you’re done. Let’s head upstairs.”

  “All that way? Just gonna sleep here.” Her head clunked onto Sister Bart’s collarbone.

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” Giulia and Sister Bart said as Sister Vivian slumped unconscious in Sister Bart’s arms.

  “I didn’t sign up for this.” Sister Bart patted Sister Vivian’s head. “You’re like my daily Station of the Cross.” She looked up at Giulia. “I’ll take her arms if you’ll take her feet.”

  Giulia grimaced. “I’m tempted to leave her here.” She squatted in front of their Pietà from Hell and worked the unconscious Novic
e’s legs around in front of her. “Ready? One—two—three.”

  They hefted the limp, smelly nun into a dangling V position between them.

  “Ow. My lower back will hate me in the morning.” Sister Bart wormed her hands into a firmer grip of Sister Vivian’s armpits. “If only we could use the elevator.”

  “We’ll be lucky if everyone stays on the front stairs.” Giulia, last through the vestry door, kicked it closed. “In addition, if only there were a door between the vestry and the sanctuary.”

  “We wouldn’t have these ‘if onlys’ if our self-appointed taste-tester for altar wine understood that there’s a time and a place for everything.” She backed onto the first step.

  “Even for illicit drunkenness?” Giulia whispered now.

  “Oof. You know what I mean. I have to turn around. I can’t walk backwards all the way to the fifth floor.”

  They set Sister Vivian’s dead weight on the landing between the first and second floors. Sister Bart knelt with her back to Vivian’s head, and Giulia hefted the damp armpits into Bart’s hands.

  “You owe me, Vivian,” Bart whispered.

  Giulia returned to her half of the burden. “Ready?”

  “Let me get my legs under me.” She grunted, swayed, and stood.

  On the landing between the second and third floors they set her down to uncramp their muscles.

  “You’re a liar,” Sister Bart whispered to the still-unconscious Sister Vivian. “If your weight is down to one hundred fifty, I’m a candidate for the priesthood.”

  “Want to switch positions?” Giulia flexed her fingers.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Just as Giulia took hold of Sister Vivian’s armpits, she heard voices coming near the door one flight below. Sister Bart’s face lost all color. Giulia jerked their burden toward the landing corner, and Sister Bart flung Sister Vivian’s legs against the wall. The voices reached the door and stopped, fading away to the left a moment later.

  “They went to the small parlor instead?” Giulia whispered.

  “Must have, thank God. We’d better get a move on.”

  They lugged their swaying burden up three more flights of stairs, only bumping her rear on the steps a few times.

  “She’s going to have a black and blue butt,” Giulia whispered.

  “Maybe it’ll make her think before hitting the bottle next time.” Sister Bart scowled at the ankles in her hands. “And don’t give me the ‘alcoholism is a disease’ lecture. It’s an addiction, and she doesn’t want help.”

  Giulia bumped open the door to the fifth floor with her hip. “Second door to the right, right?”

  “Yes.”

  The dark hall was empty and the bedroom door open. They swung the Novice onto her bed.

  “I have a strong sense of déjà vu,” Giulia said as she removed Sister Vivian’s miraculously clean shoes.

  “If we’re reliving the movie Groundhog Day, I vote for ritual seppuku now.” Sister Bart rolled up the veil so the vomit-stained part didn’t touch the floor when she set it down.

  Giulia lifted Sister Vivian’s shoulder to get to her zipper. Together they removed the sodden habit. Giulia got something indefinable on her hands and wiped them clean on another part of the black dress. “It soaked through to her slip. I’ll get this shoulder.”

  “Whatever sins I’ve committed, Vivian is the punishment.” Bart pulled off the other strap and eased the slippery material over the Novice’s bra and down to her hips.

  Giulia tugged it off. “Where should we put these clothes?”

  “Shower stall. After I clean the vestry I’ll rinse them off when I clean mine.” She looked down at her smeared dress and wrinkled her nose.

  “What do you mean, after ‘you’ clean the vestry? I’m not leaving you to deal with that mess by yourself.”

  Bart gave her something like a smile. “Thanks.”

  Giulia rolled the veil and slip and ran with them to the bathroom. I have to trust that Sister Gretchen is too busy to look into the showers tonight. She placed the clothes in the corner of the farthest shower stall. When she returned to Vivian’s room, Bart was about to turn off the light. Giulia saw a towel under Vivian’s head and half the bedspread folded over her.

  “You’re a good friend,” Giulia said.

  Bart snorted. “I feel sorry for her, when I don’t want to slap her silly. You’d think someone so ‘experienced and sophisticated’ would give up the booze after the first half-dozen binges.”

  “Did she throw up while I was in the bathroom? I still smell it.”

  “I think that’s us.”

  Giulia looked at her sleeves. “These habits never thought their lives would be so exciting.”

  “That’s not the word I’d use.” She pushed open the back stairs door. “We’d better haul it.”

  The stairs remained blessedly bland, dusty, and empty. Giulia heard conversation on the third floor, but since she and Bart weren’t carrying an unconscious woman like a sack of potatoes between them, she walked past the door without glancing at it. The back hall was also empty. Giulia couldn’t tell if the stench had seeped around the closed vestry door or if she was still smelling her own clothes.

  Bart opened the door. “Whoa.”

  Giulia suppressed a gag reflex. “I’ll run hot water if you’ll get more trash bags.”

  “Extra rolls of paper towels are underneath the sink. We shouldn’t use the mop on this.”

  “Agreed.” Giulia cranked open the small window over the sink. For the first time that week, she welcomed the cold, clean air. A minute later she carried several soaked towels and the reeking trash can over to the end of the vomit trail. When Sister Bart joined her on the floor, she said, “I don’t plan on eating beef stroganoff until next year. Especially mixed with red wine.”

  “They serve it every couple of weeks here. I’m doomed.” Sister Bart scooped a reddish-yellow puddle into a pile of towels and then into the pail. “It’s freezing in here, but thank you for opening the window.”

  “Desperation drives us to extremes. About the food: can you stick with salad and rolls? Ugh. Why are we even discussing food?”

  “You started it.”

  “My deepest apologies.” Giulia scooted farther down the meandering line of vomit. “Now we have an excuse to wash these habits.”

  “I’m not feeling particularly thankful.” She lifted one knee. “Watch out for hidden splatters.”

  “Sister Gretchen’s going to have to be told about this.” Giulia gagged again. “Excuse me.”

  “Please. The only thing keeping my supper down is not wanting to add to the mess.”

  “For which we are truly thankful. Amen.” Giulia tied up the current trash bag and inserted a fresh one.

  Sister Bart laughed. “You and my sister-in-law could’ve been separated at birth. She has this irreverent streak just like you, toward her gods and ours. I love discussing faith with her.”

  Giulia started to say, Try working for an irreverent boss who sometimes thinks you’re too holy to kiss and sometimes kisses you till your toes melt. Fortunately she remembered who she was supposed to be. Instead, she soaked more towels at the sink and handed half of them to Sister Bart. By this time, they’d reached the unlocked closet that held the altar wine and the gold-plated special-occasion vessels. Two cases of Mont La Salle Abbey red altar wine nestled under the bottom shelf. Sister Bart tugged the left-hand one out far enough to open one of the top flaps.

  “Three bottles used. She’s getting better at shoving the corks back in. Idiot.”

  “How has she gone this long without getting caught?”

  “Father Ray likes us.” Sister Bart’s voice had a shade of irony in it. “He asked if Vivian could set up the vessels for Mass each morning and if I could put
them away afterwards.”

  Giulia sat on her heels. “Sister Mary Thomas agreed to that?” Giulia remembered the stern nun from her own Novitiate. “Back in my day, only death would’ve separated her from altar duties. Maybe not even that.”

  Sister Bart concentrated on a series of projectile stains on the baseboard. “She got transferred in June.” Her voice got even softer. “Big blowup with Sister Beatrice about budget overruns.”

  “For what? New altar cloths?” Giulia wished her phone had an “instant record” button. Her mnemonics trick for memorizing details needed no distractions to work best. Repeating the essential details in her head, she dumped another set of paper towels into the trash can.

  Sister Bart shrugged one shoulder. “We never did learn the whole story. But Sister Thomas got stationed out in the Midwest and Sister Mary Magdalene started baking all the Hosts herself. And we switched to cheaper altar wine. Tastes like it’s just this side of vinegar. This stuff—” she gestured with her head— “is what we used to buy, according to Sister Gretchen.”

  “They didn’t work out the merger on a whim. All four Communities needed to consolidate or go bankrupt.”

  “I would’ve suggested selling this drafty relic and splitting everyone up into small houses.” Sister Bart pushed the wine carton back into place and locked the closet doors. “And selling the useless gold in here.”

  “Don’t let Sister Fabian hear you say that.”

  “She already did. Well, she overheard me talking to Bridget in August.” She tied up the trash bag. “It’s the only time I stood up to her.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Told her that God would be more honored by inexpensive electroplate that lets us pay our bills and practice charity.” She shook out a new plastic bag with a gunshot-like snap. “Oops. I put a hole in it.” With a crooked smile, she pulled another one off the roll. “That was not a good day. Days. More like a week. Did you know that your knees don’t develop calluses till the very end of a lengthy penance?”

  Giulia gave her a similar smile. “I do. And that pantyhose sticks to raw skin like superglue if you forget to put on bandages.”