Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

Lose proximity to family (despite cloistered year). Big psychological effect?

  Community Day overload of work: how do they each deal with stress? What sends them over the edge?

  Her hair tickled her forehead.

  Forehead. Blemishes.

  She wrote on Sister Arnulf’s page:

  The face with the zit/mole/scar. Who has one?

  Theresa

  Ray

  Sister Edwen—nasty chicken pox scarring on her temples

  Beatrice—hairy growth on chin

  Gretchen—beauty mark on her upper lip …

  Gretchen? No way.

  Yet …

  Blemishes and drugs and alcohol. Arnulf and Bridget. Arnulf and her blemish drawing. Fabian plaguing the Novices.

  What made Fabian change? She’s turned into Fabian’s Evil Twin—and Frank doesn’t have enough Irish expletives to describe Regular Fabian, let alone this enhanced version. Cosmo says that regular sex makes people calmer, more easygoing. Wrong. If she’d ridden me the way she’s riding the Novices I would’ve volunteered to clean Porta-Potties to get away, and been happy to do it. Or, depending on my vice of choice, I might dive into a bottle. Or take drugs.

  Her pen couldn’t write fast enough to keep up with her thoughts.

  But what drugs? How did Bridget get them? Even if they’ve relaxed the mail inspection rules, Sister Gretchen would ask to see the contents of a package.

  Giulia dug into her pocket, but the orange pill wasn’t there.

  Right. It’s in the rolled-up habit on my windowsill. If that’s not an aspirin …

  Her pen hovered over the paper.

  Fabian supplies them? No. She’s tied to the Motherhouse. Not as much as a regular Sister, but still.

  Ray.

  Her pen point dug into the paper.

  Ray comes & goes with complete freedom through the garden door, like the priests have always done. His relationship with Fabian is intimate (gag) enough that he’ll help her make the Novices compliant with drugs. (For what reason? Why the drugs?) And he has a facial blemish.

  “Holy …”

  She reread it all. If her logic was sound, Fabian was getting Ray to supply her with some kind of narcotic to chain the Novices to her.

  Drugs. The employee Frank was investigating. She flipped back to the top of the first page and wrote:

  TELL FRANK: CAPT. TEDDY BEAR’S CASE: POSSIBLE DRUG CONNECTION?

  She turned back to the Father Ray page. Vivian was dealing with the pressure by adding altar wine to the mix. Bart was … Giulia didn’t yet know how Bart was relieving the pressure. And Bridget, trapped and ashamed of her addiction, cleansed herself with bleach.

  “Dear God.”

  She stared at the statue till her tired eyes unfocused and the Virgin dissolved into a silvery-blue watercolor.

  “Mary, I could use a little help.” Giulia’s whisper sounded way too loud in the empty chapel.

  “You and me both.”

  Giulia jumped. Sister Bart leaned her arms on the back of Giulia’s pew.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me walking up the aisle.”

  “I was zoning.” Giulia closed the Day-Timer.

  “Mary looks good. Bridget did the gilding last month. Or should I call it ‘silvering’?”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Silence.

  “Sister Regina Coelis, I’m glad you’re down here. I owe you an apology.”

  Giulia turned in her seat. “What on earth for?”

  “For how flippant I was this evening in the vestry. You’ve been a Sister for years, and I’m only a Novice. I forgot my place.”

  Giulia dropped her head on the back of the pew. “Are you serious? No, don’t answer that. Of course you are.”

  “Sister Gretchen passed me in the hall when I was taking my stained habit to the bathroom. As soon as she came close enough, she got a whiff of the mess. So we had a long talk. I like Sister Gretchen, but I really didn’t want to rehash all that tonight.”

  “Some conversations you can’t avoid.”

  “Yeah.” She slumped back in her pew. “She reminded me that Novices aren’t quite equal with post-vow Sisters, and that as nice as you are, I can’t forget that.”

  “Look, I understand how it’s supposed to work, but—”

  “Please. I bend enough rules as it is.”

  Giulia raised her hands. “Then I accept your apology.”

  “You came down here for peace and quiet and space, right? I had the same idea you did: everyone’d be gabbing or heading for bed because of the big day tomorrow, and nobody’d be down here praying. I had to get away from those four walls. Even our beautiful little chapel wasn’t room enough.”

  “I know what you mean about the walls. Lately they look like they’re closing in on me.”

  “You too?” Bart stared at the softly lit statue of Mary. “I kinda hoped that would go away once you took vows. I have this recurring nightmare that all the dead Sisters from this Community are pushing on them, so they trap me in that five-by-nine cage forever.”

  Giulia looked at Bart out of the corners of her eyes and saw a reflection of herself: haggard, exhausted, sad. And addicted to … what?

  “Come help me turn off the lights.”

  Bart followed Giulia inside the Communion rail and over to the Virgin Mary’s niche. If she wondered why Giulia needed help to flip two light switches, she didn’t say so. When Giulia turned left toward the vestry instead of right toward the nave, Bart still followed.

  “We got it all,” she whispered down Giulia’s neck. “If we’d missed a spot, you or I would’ve smelled it when we crossed to the inside of the Communion rail.”

  Giulia waited till they were in the vestry and out of sight of the nave, just in case. “We’re done cleaning. I’m buying you a cup of coffee.”

  “Thank you … you’re what?”

  “Coffee. Escape. Are you willing to freeze for two blocks?”

  Sister Bart’s mouth opened but nothing came out for a few seconds. “It’s after ten,” she said at last.

  “So it is. Do you have your keys?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Then we can get back in.” Giulia pushed open the door from the vestry to the back hall. “Quiet. Just in case she’s in her rooms.”

  Bart sent a frightened glance down the hall toward Sister Fabian’s section. Giulia didn’t give her a chance to protest further. She turned the doorknob in one smooth, slow movement until it made only a faint click. The door opened without sound, Giulia pulled Bart through, and eased it closed with another muffled click.

  “Whoever ordered this early cold snap needs to be fired,” Giulia said. “At least the wind decided to take a break. Let’s haul it.”

  “But—”

  Giulia strode down the flagged path to the driveway. She was sure Bart would follow—Giulia had railroaded her into the quick escape to keep her off-balance. That, combined with the training in unquestioning obedience all Sisters received, left no doubt in Giulia’s mind that Sister Bart would trail behind her like a duckling.

  “Wait—”

  Giulia didn’t speak until they were on the sidewalk outside the wall.

  “You don’t like good coffee?”

  “No, of course not. I mean, of course I like good coffee, the stuff in the Motherhouse is dishwater.” Bart caught up to Giulia. “I’m a Canonical. Remember? Cloistered? We’re not supposed to be out at all, except for emergency errands and filming the Mass for shut-ins at the cable access station.”

  An SUV throbbing with rap music passed them. Giulia didn’t reply to Sister Bart’s questions. When the light changed, she crossed the street without looking for her duckling
. Sister Bart touched the sidewalk right after her, right on cue. Giulia pulled out her cell and called Frank, walking faster the colder she got.

  “You have a cell phone?” Bart’s astonishment capacity appeared full.

  Giulia counted the rings. Pick up, Frank. It’s Tuesday night. Don’t be out on a date.

  “Hello? Giulia?”

  “Mr. Driscoll, this is Sister Regina Coelis.”

  Frank’s voice changed to match Giulia’s formal tone. “Yes, Sister. How can I help you?”

  “I realize it’s late, but I would like you to meet me at the Double Shot on North Tupper. Do you remember where it is?”

  “It’s the coffee shop … uh … two blocks west of the convent, right?”

  Giulia heard him yawn. “That’s correct.”

  “Okay. I was just leaving my last conference. I could use some caffeine. Twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you. You’ll be able to find us, I’m sure.”

  “Us? Got it. Be there by ten-thirty.”

  “Thank you.” She closed the phone. “Why didn’t they establish the Motherhouse in San Diego? Or Hawai’i. I could handle traveling to Hawai’i right now. Come on; it’s just past the bar.”

  “Sister, who did you just call? Why are we meeting this guy at the Shot?” She matched her longer stride to Giulia’s. “I mean, we couldn’t really meet him at the Motherhouse, but what’s going on? How are we going to get back in without anyone seeing us? My white veil sticks out like Day-Glo paint. And what am I going to tell Sister Gretchen?”

  They passed the consignment shop (closed), the tattoo parlor (closed), Lou’s Grocery and Lotto (open and smelling tantalizingly of chocolate chip cookies). They reached the alley between the grocery and Sam-n-Al’s On Tap.

  A dark, hooded shadow banged into Giulia.

  “Git outta the way.”

  “Excuse me?” Giulia’s icy teacher voice came out automatically.

  “I said—oh, yer nuns. Comin’ into Sam’s fer a snort of Blue Nun?” The shadow laughed.

  The streetlights revealed him to be taller and heavier than either of them. Giulia hoped that the habit would work its magic and he’d make another bad joke and leave them alone.

  “If you’ll excuse us—” Giulia took Sister Bart’s arm and edged around him.

  “Hey, little White Veil. Haven’t seen you on the outside fer a while.”

  Twenty-three

  Giulia stared at Sister Bart. The Novice’s face was as white as her veil in the oblique glow of the bar’s neon beer signs.

  “Saw the fat one today. How come she’s makin’ all the deliveries now? Yer better lookin’.” He grinned at Giulia. “Too many babes hidin’ under them veils. You ain’t bad neither. I like ’em younger, tho’. Like her.” He reached out as if to chuck Sister Bart’s chin.

  Before Sister Bart passed out right there on the sidewalk—Giulia had never seen anyone that colorless and still vertical—she stepped between them.

  “We have to go now. Please excuse us.” She gripped Sister Bart’s arm, deliberately digging in her fingernails to shock her out of her fear. With firm, fast steps, she walked her past the bar and into the Double Shot coffee and bakery.

  The door hissed closed. Sister Bart moved away from it, even though its coffee-cup shaped window had already fogged over.

  “Sit down before you fall down.” Giulia pushed her into the nearest chair. “Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No. I’m all right.” She looked past Giulia at the door.

  “I doubt he’s coming in here. Can you stand?”

  The Novice stood. “I’m fine. See?”

  “All right, then, come up to the counter with me.”

  The café had few patrons at this hour on a weeknight. An older man typed into a laptop in the corner table farthest from the door. Two college-age women shared a piece of three-layer chocolate cake at one of the center tables. Square hanging lamps illuminated five other empty tables lining the walls and two on the triangular floor space. In the back room, a gray-haired woman kneaded dough. Dizzy Gillespie played from an iPod dock on a shelf behind the counter.

  Giulia scanned the menu on the Dry Erase board propped next to the iPod. “Look at that flavored syrup assortment. I died and went to Heaven.”

  “I, um, haven’t had a good mocha in months.” Sister Bart stared at the double line of plump scones.

  “I’m holding out for the chocolate in that cake tomorrow.” Giulia smiled at the multi-pierced male barista behind the counter. “A large cappuccino with pumpkin spice syrup, a large mocha, and two scones.” She glanced at Sister Bart. “Blueberry? Almond?”

  “I’m allergic to nuts. Blueberry, please.”

  “Two blueberry scones, please.”

  He poked the interactive computer screen. “Eight seventy-five. Would you like butter or lemon curd for the scones?”

  Sister Bart said, “Butter.”

  Giulia said, “Butter for both, please,” and handed him her debit card.

  Sister Bart carried the tray to the table kitty-corner from the door. Giulia balanced napkins and two plastic knives on the Day-Timer.

  “These people know how to make scones.” Giulia split hers and buttered both halves.

  Sister Bart had already started hers. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”

  “No problem. We both needed to get out of there.” She savored her first bite. “Mmm. Perfect. Now let me tell you what’s going on. Do you know that Sister Bridget’s parents don’t agree with Sister Fabian’s explanation for their daughter’s suicide?”

  “Yeah. When they came up for her funeral they just glared at everybody. Vivian and I found lots of stuff to clean in Sister Fabian’s part of the hall when she talked to them in her rooms.”

  Giulia blocked her expression with her scone. “Was it loud?”

  “Like a roller coaster.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know—they start off slow and even, then they ramp up and up until they get to the top. Then there’s that pause while you think about it, and wham! You’re screaming down a six-story drop.”

  The barista brought their coffee, and they took their first sips at the same time.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Oh, man.”

  They laughed.

  “So this is what I meant by a roller coaster,” Sister Bart said. “We heard calm-sounding voices at first, then they got louder and angry, and finally we heard Bridget’s dad call Sister Fabian—” she lowered her voice— “A lying ‘b.’ You know. Then the door slammed open and we got out of Dodge.”

  “I wish I could’ve been there. Okay then, the next thing they did was threaten the Community with a wrongful-death lawsuit.”

  Sister Bart gulped a mouthful of coffee. “They did?”

  “They did. That’s where I come in.” Giulia sipped her own coffee to draw out the moment like a good storyteller. “You know I left for a year and then came back. Sister Fabian found out I worked for a private investigator during that time.”

  “She never forgets anything.”

  “Yeah. She called me in, told me to contact him, and informed him in her most Fabian-like manner that the Community wished to hire him.”

  “Were you there?” Bart finished the first half of her scone.

  “Yes. She told me I would be the liaison for the Community.”

  “And you obeyed.”

  “It served my purposes as well as hers. I wanted to find out what really happened to Sister Bridget, too.”

  The smile left Sister Bart’s face. “I can tell you.”

  Giulia shook her head. “I know what she did. I want to know why.”

  Sister Bart jumped away from the table and came back with a spoon. Rather than answer Giulia’s im
plied question, she scooped whipped cream from the top of the cup.

  After a minute, Giulia said, “Are you willing to help me?”

  Sister Bart set down the spoon. “You know what it’s like there, sort of. The way things are right now make it hard for anyone to speak up.”

  “There’s no justice unless people speak up.” She leaned forward. “How did you know that creep in the alley?”

  “I—”

  The door opened and Frank Driscoll entered. Sister Bart got a “saved by the bell” look on her face. Giulia watched Frank put on “Charlie Chan” with each step—genial, fatherly, and knowledgeable.

  “Sister Regina Coelis. Good to see you.” He shook Giulia’s hand.

  “Thank you for coming out here so late. Frank Driscoll, Sister Mary Bartholomew. Sister Bartholomew, Frank Driscoll, head of Driscoll Investigations.”

  Sister Bart shook Frank’s hand.

  “I’ll just get some coffee and join you.”

  While Frank paid the barista, Giulia said to Sister Bart, “He’s an honorable man. You can trust that he’ll find answers for Sister Bridget’s parents.”

  Sister Bart spooned the last of the unmelted whipped cream from her coffee cup and said nothing.

  Frank returned and sat with his back to the door, Giulia on his right, Sister Bart on his left. He took his first swallow of coffee. “I needed that. Been a long couple of days.” He looked at Giulia. “Okay, Sister. What do you have for me?”

  “It isn’t pretty. We have one Novice with a drinking problem. I don’t know about the Postulants. They’ve been too busy for me to exchange three words with either of them. The merger may be a very good thing in the long run, but right now it’s creating enough resentment to fuel three soap operas. Homesickness and personality clashes are a definite factor. However, it’s my opinion that Sister Fabian’s official conclusion is a travesty.”

  “Sister Regina—” Sister Bart looked back and forth between Frank and Giulia. “I didn’t realize you were going to tell a stranger Motherhouse business.”

  Giulia chose her words to keep Bart on their side. “That’s what I meant when I said I was helping Driscoll Investigations. Who on the inside would contradict Sister Fabian’s conclusions? But you know, and her parents know, that Sister Bridget’s suicide wasn’t the natural outcome of a depressed, unhappy girl who shouldn’t have been allowed to enter in the first place.”