by Anbara Salam
They nodded at us.
Nancy frowned. “Where were you?”
“Restroom,” Isabella said, shaking her wet hands and gesturing down the corridor, where it was possible to hear the last of the water in the toilet draining away.
Nancy sighed. “You can’t leave the room anymore. No more bathroom trips, OK? For at least an hour. You’ll have to hold it.”
We nodded dutifully. Isabella slipped through the doorway and crouched by the fire. She began tearing up pieces of newspaper and twisting them into little ribbons. I couldn’t believe the nerve of her. She was going to burn her love tokens now, right in front of the cops.
I took a seat in one of the chairs and watched Isabella ripping and tucking, poking scraps into the fire. I tried not to think about what was on the papers, about the kind of notes they sent each other. Maybe some of them were about me. Maybe that was why she was burning them now—to make sure I never saw them. Isabella’s hair was still frizzed from the pillow, and it needed to be combed. Her sweater was bunched up at her wrist, where it had snagged on itself.
Isabella caught my eye, and my face must have been strange, for she gave me a queer look. As if we were speaking two different languages at the same time. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She had a sort of restless, hungry expression. I looked away, back at the detectives.
They were still conferring with Nancy, nodding and pointing out the window toward the convent. I tried to focus on their conversation, but the harder I listened, the more it slid into nonsense. The two cops were speaking in an odd sort of Italian, chewing on the words, adding breathy sounds between syllables so I could hear Nancy’s accent contextualized against theirs.
Father Gavanto’s head appeared at the top of the stairwell and both of the cops started fidgeting in the loose way that indicated they were ready to leave, jingling change in their pockets. The older man patted Nancy on the arm and must have complimented her, because her concentrated expression broke and she smiled self-consciously. Both cops stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind them. We heard the scratch of metal on wood, then a key turning in the common room door.
Nancy covered her face and groaned.
“You OK, Nance?”
“Did they lock us in?”
“Come have a cup of coffee.”
Nancy went to sit by Sally, rubbing her neck. Her eyes were small and puffy, as if she’d just woken from a nap. She rummaged in the tin for a cookie.
“They won’t forget about us, will they?” Sally giggled, although there was a tightness in her voice.
No one answered. We were conspicuously waiting for Nancy to be ready to tell us what was happening. Patricia brought out a pack of cigarettes and we passed it freely among ourselves, muttering thanks to Patricia.
“What happens now?” said Katherine.
“Well.” Nancy sighed, leaning back. “Those two cops are from Brancorsi. I guess we couldn’t get the state police yet. They have to do paperwork and stuff first. They’ll go and check out the academy, the convent, Sister Teresa’s room.”
“So where are the sisters?” said Mary B.
Nancy took a bite of the cookie. “Donna Maria went to get them. They’re in the refectory.”
There was something ominous about the idea of all the sisters gathered up in the refectory, corralled like animals.
“And when do the cops come back?” Greta said, looking reflexively in the direction of the convent.
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. Father Gavanto called for a doctor to come too, as a precaution.” She put the rest of the cookie on the table. “Ruth, can I borrow your notebook?”
Ruth handed it over and searched in the cushions for a pen.
“Thanks.” Nancy opened it and, propping it awkwardly against her knees, began scribbling. We watched her writing, waited for her to finish and tell us more details. But her pen kept scratching away. So eventually we started whispering among ourselves, then murmuring; then girls were hanging out of the window to see if they could spot anything, and other girls were shouting for the window to be closed because it was freezing.
Isabella sat by the fire, feeding it scraps of newspaper and letting them curl in flashs of green. I went to sit next to her.
“Sorry I yelled at you,” she said in a hollow voice, gazing into the back of the fireplace.
“It’s OK.” I paused, not knowing what else to say. She must not realize I knew about Sister Teresa, or else she wouldn’t have tried to distract me with her pills. I wondered if I should pull her aside, tell her I’d found out. But the situation had slipped away from me. The focus was no longer on me, betrayed by lying, sneaking Isabella. Now Sister Teresa was lost, maybe hurt, maybe dead. I imagined Isabella’s disgust: “You think I care about your feelings right now?” If only, I thought, if only I had pushed the door open on them in the spa. Isabella would have had to chase after me, apologize. Now Sister Teresa was the victim. And we all had to be sorry. I heard the liquid sound of Isabella swallowing.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice shaking. She turned her face to me and tears were rolling over her cheeks, landing on the wooden floorboards with an audible tap.
“Oh.” I leaned on my knees and reached to hug her. She pushed her head into my neck and her tears ran down into the collar of my sweater. “It’s OK. They’ll find her. Don’t worry. She can’t have gone far.” I said boring, soothing things like that until she sniffed and pulled back, rubbing her face.
“Do you really think she’s OK?” she said. Her expression was so vulnerable, a pull of pain yanked at the bottom of my heart. I wished there was anything in the world I could do to make that look on her face go away. I hugged her to me again, harder.
“Yes.” I tucked her hair behind her ear, although it didn’t need tucking. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. You worrying isn’t going to help.”
“I guess.” Isabella looked back toward the fire. I was disappointed her attention had slipped from me already. “I just have this feeling something’s wrong. It doesn’t seem like her, does it?” She looked at me, imploring. I realized now she was inviting me to comfort her. Who else did she have to talk to about Sister Teresa?
“Well, she’s very independent,” I said.
Isabella nodded.
“And she does go for lots of hikes.”
“That’s true.” Isabella smiled a sad, tight-lipped smile. Her eyes moved over my face, looking from mouth to cheek, and her wet lashes flickered.
“And she’s good with plants, isn’t she?”
Isabella laughed weakly.
“So, if she got stuck out walking, she’d find herbs or berries; she’d know which plants to eat.” Isabella rested her head on my shoulder, and so I carried on. “And she’ll have matches on her. So she’d be able to light a fire. Keep nice and warm.”
“That’s true,” Isabella said, delighted, lifting her head. A lock of her hair caught in the teeth of Nancy’s jacket.
I congratulated myself on having thought of that fact, which, now said out loud, made me feel better, too. I nodded as if the idea had come to me hours ago. “Uh-huh,” I said, “so she can make a fire and send out a smoke signal, too—so we can find her.”
Isabella searched out my hand and squeezed it. I let our fingers interlace and took a deep breath. I rubbed my fingers over the tips of hers.
“And she has those heavy boots. Good for walking,” I said. “And those habits look nice and warm.”
“Yes,” Isabella said. “They are. There’s three layers to them.”
I paused for a moment, letting the skewer pass through me. How could she know how many layers they had? I forced myself to keep talking.
“And she’s the speaking nun. So she won’t be shy about calling out.”
“Gosh, yeah.” I felt the movement on her brow as Isabell
a frowned. “What do you suppose the others would do? If they fell over and broke their leg? Just lay there quietly?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Sister Teresa—didn’t she say the silence was a choice? That they choose it—you know, even after the Holy Father lifted the rule.”
Isabella looked up, her frown still in place. “Did she say that?”
“Yes, one time, when we were in the garden. Remember?”
Isabella’s face twitched; then she sighed. “I don’t remember.” She bunched her sweater into her fists.
“Oh!” Nancy stood from the chair, the notebook slipping halfway down her thigh so she fumbled to catch it. There was the distinct clunk of a key turning in the lock, and the door opened to Donna Maria’s face.
We all cheered to see her, as if she’d been gone for days instead of hours. Isabella let go of my hand and swiveled around on her knees to face the door.
“Nancy—” Donna Maria gestured to her.
Nancy walked to the doorway, tucking the notebook under her arm.
We looked between each other.
Isabella sat back on her heels. “I feel sick,” she said, more to herself than to me. I felt queasy too, with a sudden rise of pressure to my head.
Nancy and Donna Maria whispered, and Nancy was nodding seriously. I watched her, a loop of hair caught in her earring. Absently I thought, the accidental authority she’d acquired over the course of the day would never wear off. We were bound to think of her differently from now on, defer to her, wait for her to leave Mass first, to stand dumbly next to her while she haggled on our behalf in the market. I wondered if it would make her more popular or more aloof. We’d start keeping our jokes clean around her, not let her see us copying from each other’s exercise books. She’d be more like a teacher now than a classmate. Poor Nancy. She was too straight for her own good.
Nancy closed the door enough to obscure her face, so the notebook jostling up and down was all we could see. Then the door was shut completely, and Sylvia said, “Shh,” and we all kept quiet, to hear footsteps traveling down the stairs.
There was a horrible silence.
“You don’t think they found something?” said Bunny.
Isabella put her head forward, clutching her stomach.
“You’re OK?”
She sat up, slowly. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
I knelt into a half crouch. “Shall we go to the restroom?”
She shook her head, but her lips were gray and her forehead gleamed with sweat.
I ran to the garbage pail and turned it over, tipping out the crumpled tissues and cigarette packets onto the floorboards. “Let’s go to the restroom—”
As she stood, I put my arm under her elbow, holding the garbage pail within a strategic distance.
Then Nancy’s voice came up the stairs. “Still there?” she yelled.
“We’re here,” said Katherine, too loudly.
Nancy stood in the doorway, catching her breath. I grabbed Isabella’s arm.
“So. Here’s the deal,” she said. “They checked the place. Sister Teresa’s not missing. She ran away.”
33.
March
What do you mean, she’s run away?”
“She did what?”
“No!”
The girls were out of their chairs, standing on the furniture. Bunny stopped crying. In moments it had gone from tragedy to scandal. Isabella’s eyes were glassy.
“Excuse me, coming through,” I said, loud as I could over the clamor. I barged Joan out of the way and rushed down the corridor with Isabella clutching my side.
I pushed open the restroom door and Isabella dashed into the bathroom. I stood by the door, holding the pail in front of my knees.
“Shall I get you some water?” I said.
Isabella didn’t reply. I put the pail down and went into my room anyway. It was exactly the way I’d left it that morning. The bed was made and one stray gray glove lay on the coverlet. It didn’t look like anyone had been through my stuff. I unzipped my suitcase to check on Isabella’s notebook. It was there. The fifty-dollar bill was still in the pocket of Rhona’s fur. I wasn’t interesting enough to have any other secrets.
I took a glass from the dresser; it had a dried residue at the bottom that could have been cola or wine. I couldn’t remember what I had last used it for. I sat on the unsteady springs. Run away? Disappointment wasn’t the right emotion, but it was close—it was almost anticlimactic. She wasn’t dead—that was a relief. She’d run away. On purpose. From us. From all of us.
And then I realized. I stared at the empty glass with its sticky purple rim.
She ran away because of me.
Who had even seen her, after me? I turned the glass over in my hands. She wasn’t at supper on Sunday, and no one had seen her the following day.
The blood drained from my head and pooled in my stomach. I thought suddenly I might faint. I slithered off the bed and leaned back over it, pressing my forehead into the mouth of the cup.
She hadn’t gone missing. She had run away. Because of me. I pulled the glass from my skin and it peeled off with a sucking sound. A thrill squirmed down my spine and lodged at the tops of my thighs. I caused this. Not just by hoping or praying or wishing. But by doing. My skull felt empty, my fingers prickling. It was all my fault. That expression on Isabella’s face, her shaking hands—I had caused that. A stab of pain jabbed under my ribs so hard I flinched. “Oh God,” I said, so loud I startled myself. A drop of sweat trickled between my breasts. I had caused the cops to come. A police investigation! I sat up, reeling, strangely in awe at my own power, as if I’d be suddenly able to lift furniture with my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for God to understand. I didn’t make her run away. She was a nun! God should be angry at Sister Teresa, not at me. And then my eyes flashed open. What if Isabella found out?
Sweating, weak-kneed, I stumbled down the corridor to the common room, where Bunny and Barbie and Ruth were still talking.
“Where are the others?” I said.
“Gone to see if there’s any food.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” I directed the question at Ruth, knowing she would be the most desperate to spill the details.
“Well.” She took a great breath, like she was about to do the breaststroke. “The cops go in her room. And it’s all tidy. They search around. Turns out her coat is gone, and clothes and her Bible.”
“Was there a note?” Isabella’s voice came from behind us. She looked awful. The capillaries around her eyes had burst, marking her brow with scarlet stars. I put my hand out to touch her and realized I was still holding the glass.
“No,” said Ruth. “But here’s the thing. Her papers are gone from Donna Maria’s desk.”
“What?”
“Her travel papers,” Ruth said. “They’re gone too.”
Isabella made a sound, a whine mixed with a cough. We all stared at her. She covered her face. “She can’t be gone,” she said, pulling her hands away. “There has to be a mistake.”
“Father said so,” Ruth said, her tone chastened. She looked from Isabella to me, as if I was going to account for her distress.
Isabella turned and walked down the corridor toward her room. Even from behind I could see her shoulders working. I stepped toward her and heard her crying, in a wail, like the whistle on a boat.
“Isabella?” I said.
But she went into her room and closed the door. I could hear the muffled sound of her crying into something soft. My eyes were stinging.
“Is she all right?” Ruth was standing against the window, her arms folded.
I was shaken by Isabella’s grief. My heart was rattling around in my body. “They’re friends. They were friends.” I swallowed. “I suppose she’s worried.”
Ruth looked skeptical. “
You’d think she’d be relieved. Surely, run away is better than dead?” Her mouth twisted to one side and I followed the line of her lip. Quite clearly, the voice in my own head said, Bitch, and it was so loud and certain that for a second I thought Ruth must have heard it.
“She’s made her choice. And now she has to live with it. If you ask me, it’s selfish of her,” Ruth said.
“What?”
“A vow is for life. For more than life; it’s for eternity,” she said, rather priggishly. I realized she was talking about Sister Teresa, not Isabella, and my anger throbbed and pulled back.
“You don’t feel sorry for her?” I said, making my face solemn.
“No, I don’t,” she said, tipping her chin up. “It’s extremely serious. She absconded on her vows—she can’t ever come back. Her very soul is in danger.” Ruth rubbed the cross around her neck.
I didn’t care to hear much about Sister Teresa’s soul. “She can’t ever come back?” I said. Then I wondered if I had misstepped; perhaps I should have asked about her soul. Isn’t that what a real person would do? Worry about her salvation?
“No,” Ruth said, her eyelids fluttering. “Not ever. When you renounce your vows, you can never return to the order.”
“Never?”
Ruth shook her head. “Not ever.”
* * *
After Ruth went back to the common room, I put my head against the wood of Isabella’s door, not sure even what I was listening for. I tried to open the door, but she had locked it. I looked through the keyhole and could just about make out her shape on the bed, the sad flutter of her wheezing breath.
I went back to my own room and put the glass back on the bedside table. I pulled off Nancy’s jacket and then all the rest of my clothes. I climbed under the blanket and, within moments, fell into a numb half sleep, dreaming that someone was knocking on my door, over and over.
When I woke it was light, and I sat up, not knowing where I was. I could see the shapes of the beams, the furniture, but I couldn’t make any sense of them, thinking for a few moments I must have stayed at Flora’s house. Then I remembered and pulled the comforter back over my body. The room was cold, but under the blankets I was warm and damp with sweat. The chapel bell tolled. I lay still for what seemed like hours after that, perfectly still, and I thought over everything. Sister Teresa was really gone, and she really couldn’t come back. Now they knew she left of her own choice, the cops would go back to Brancorsi, and we’d all go back to normal. It must happen all the time, a sister deciding to leave. Father Gavanto would choose a new speaking liaison. My heart raced, a dry tapping against my ribs.