Back in the Habit (4 page)

Five

After late Mass the
next day, Giulia stuffed two pairs of panty
hose into each Godzilla bedroom slipper. “That's too many for less than a week, but the stupid things run if you look at them cross-eyed.”

Her beat-up black suitcase was already packed. “Underwear, cell charger, pajamas, toothbrush, wallet, and all that stuff. Got it.” On top of everything she set the Day-Timer Frank gave her on her first case and tucked a slipper on each side.

After she zipped her suitcase closed, she gave her plants a final once-over. The (probably) last batches of basil and oregano for the season were drying on paper towels on top of the fridge. The late tomatoes had just a touch of red.

“You'll have to survive without me for a few days, guys.” With one finger she stirred the dirt at the base of the tomato. Disintegrating alpaca pellets gave off the faintest odor; in the next breath, it vanished. “Sidney, sales of this fertilizer will put your little brother through college.”

The habit hung on her closet door like it was nothing more than an innocent, plain black dress. Giulia stalked over and yanked it from the hanger.

“I refuse to let this thing intimidate me. You hear that, dress? That's all you are: a few yards of double-knit. You're not a real habit because you're not blessed.”

She pulled off her T-shirt and stepped out of her jeans. Poised with the habit over her head, she grinned at her reflection in the narrow full-length mirror.
Thank you, imp that sat on my shoulder this morning. If Sister Fabian only knew what lurked under this dress.
The red lace bra revealed hints of nipple; the matching panties covered more, but no respectable nun's anatomy should have been in the same zip code with them.

“Proof positive I'm no longer a nun. Take that, Frank Driscoll.” She wriggled into the dress and zipped it. “Someday, Frank, perhaps you will admire this underwear.”

Collar, veil, black flats. Now her reflection made her shiver, and she closed in on the mirror till her nose touched it. “You. Will. Not. Beat. Me.”

The doorbell rang.

Frank stepped backwards when she opened the front door. “Giulia, every instinct of mine expects you to whap me with a ruler because you're dressed that way.”

She raised her eyes to Heaven. “It's a disguise, nothing more. Pretend it's a practice run for Halloween.”

He tried to straighten the nonexistent collar on his sweatshirt. “Right. Sure. You all set?”

_____

In the passenger seat of Frank's Camry, Giulia maintained correct posture: both feet on the floor, spine straight, hands clasped in her lap. The night before, she'd mended the pocket and shoulder seam in her worn black raincoat.

“I won't be able to call you with updates. The walls between the bedrooms are wicked thin.”

Frank merged onto I-79. “I figured as much. We'll stick to texting then.”

“If nothing else, it'll improve my texting speed.”

“Right. So here's the plan.” A Hummer cut them off. Frank cursed and swerved onto the shoulder. “Sorry, Sis—.”

“Argh.” She banged the back of her head against the headrest. “You're going to drive me to violence. Will you please look past this disguise? I'm still under here.”

“Sorry, Giulia. It's too convincing.”

If I had no morals, I'd make you pull over and then I'd show you my underwear. In daylight. And in public.
That was what she wanted to say. She settled for, “Why don't you watch for renegade SUVs while we talk. That way you can pretend I'm not Sister Mary Intimidation.”

Frank bit his lip. “Got it.”

They drove in silence for a few miles. Frank muttered at the prevalence of minivans filled with children distracting the driver. Giulia settled deeper into her old self—that is, her character for this assignment.

When the traffic thinned, Frank said, “Texting's the better choice anyway for now. The guy Blake put me on used to be a small-time drug dealer. Jimmy talked to Narcotics, and I'll be working with them for the next few days.”

“How is Captain Teddy Bear?”

“Someday you'll call him that to his face. I just hope a dozen cops are there when you do.” He merged right and exited onto 376. “He's fine and so are Laura and the new baby.”

“Baby?” Giulia's character immersion slipped. “Why didn't you tell me? I'd've made a batch of sauce to give the new mom a break.”

“You are not getting within five blocks of Jimmy. He'll try to hire you away again.” Frank looked over at her. “I'm not letting you get away from me. That is, from Driscoll Investigations.”

Nice Freudian slip, Frank. If only you meant it.
“Back on topic: Sister Mary Regina Coelis would have no reason to call a man on a cell phone she's not supposed to have. The texting plan works out.”

“Who?”

Giulia laughed. “I forgot you didn't know the name I was given at my Investiture.”

“What a mouthful. Is that Latin?”

“You slept through religion classes, didn't you? Yes, it's Latin. I was once named for Mary Queen of Heaven. Fabian and I are going to tell the curious that I petitioned to return.”

“What about the cover story I thought up for you?”

“Too complex. I'd've had to remember the name of a fictitious brother, his wife, their imaginary orphaned child, and a weasely insurance company. Instead, I'm re-assimilating after teaching in the farthest places the Community reaches, being gone for a year, and petitioning to re-enter. Simpler and mostly true.”

The car idled as Frank waited on the exit ramp from 376 for an opening to turn right. “Is that allowed? Leaving and coming back, I mean. I would've thought once you kicked the habit, it stayed kicked.”

“
Tsk.
That expression is juvenile.”

Two bicyclists crossed just as the light changed at the next intersection. “You're talking like a nun again.”

“Duh, Frank. I'm ten minutes away from being a nun again.” The words clogged her throat. “That is, from pretending to be a nun again. I need to talk and think and act like I used to. To answer your question, there's an outside chance re-entering could be allowed because so many nuns are leaving. Few people want to challenge Fabian, so we should be safe playing it that way for several days.”

He nodded, his eyebrows meeting. “I bow to your greater experience in matters of the arcane. And I'll contact the Novice's family tonight, get their story without Sister Fabian's filters.”

“Sister Bridget. Did you forget already? All the Driscoll charm will be wasted if you don't remember their daughter's name. Not everyone wants to give their child to the Church.”

“We're not working for the Church … oh, yeah.” He turned left.

The neighborhood became more familiar to Giulia. They passed the high school where she did her first student teaching. Then the consignment shop, tattoo parlor, mom-and-pop grocery, bar. She rolled down the window and inhaled the espresso-flavored breeze from the Double Shot on the corner. “That's wonderful.”

That also means we're only two blocks from the Motherhouse.

“Frank, you should pull into a parking space on the next block. That way no one will see you driving me—especially not up to the door.”

The Camry parked in the empty lot of a boarded-up travel agency next to a chain drugstore.

“I expected the main convent to be in a better neighborhood.”

“Franciscans are supposed to be about poverty. We—they—set up shop where they're needed most.” She stared out her window at the Motherhouse's weathered stone wall, visible beyond the prevalent red maples. “We used to sneak sandwiches to the schoolkids whose parents ran out of money between unemployment checks. Beatrice—the Community accountant—knew we did it but didn't know how to tell us not to be charitable.” She smiled. “We always wondered if we'd cause her head to explode before she died of old age.”

Two motorcycles idled at the stop sign, riders adjusting helmets, before they roared away. When the noise faded, Giulia said, “As soon as I get settled, I'll ask Fabian who Sister Bridget's friends were. If needed, I'll co-opt some of the Driscoll charm to use on them.”

“I wish I could watch you in action. Don't get sucked back in there permanently.” He popped the trunk and came around to the passenger side with her suitcase. “I'm too busy to train a new partner.”

“I can always count on you for an inspiring speech.” She took the black bag from him, and he leaned his face down to hers.

For a moment she considered it. Then the wind flapped her veil between them.

“No. You can't kiss a nun.”

Dismay flicked across his face. “Sorry. Wasn't thinking.”

She touched his arm. “Don't forget that this is a costume now. Underneath it I'm still a free woman.”

He averted his eyes from her all-black ensemble. “Right. Text me when you know something.”

I'm going to have to seriously deprogram him when this is over.
She walked northeast across the parking lot and onto the familiar sidewalk. Frank tapped the horn as he drove away in the opposite direction.

Too soon, she stood at the end of the Motherhouse driveway.

Six

Like a hallway in
a nightmare, the long, curved driveway up to the Motherhouse's front door seemed to stretch as she walked along it. At its end, the century-old five-story building filled the horizon, despite the illusion of distance.

Giulia felt as intimidated as Maria did in
The Sound of Music
when she first saw the von Trapp mansion. Funny, since this experience was the exact opposite. She was coming back to the convent instead of plunging into life on the outside.

The stone walls looked the same as the last time.
It's only been eighteen months since you left the Community, dummy. What did you expect? Graffiti and psychedelic paint?
She'd always liked how the ivy covering the walls shaded from gold to orange to cranberry to maroon in autumn. The farther she walked down the driveway, more present-day details clashed with her memories. That narrow window on the third floor marked her room after temporary vows, the limbo between the Novitiate and a full-fledged Sister of Saint Francis. The cupola should still be decorated with the “all for one and one for all” logo she and her fellow Novices painted on the underside of its roof one midnight. The octagonal window at one corner of the fifth floor would still be the small chapel used solely by the first-year Postulants and second-year Novices.

There was always attrition in the first few months after entering the Community. Giulia's own group lost four Postulants in as many months. But when the rest of them took the veil and became Novices, they'd hung together to survive.

Mostly. She grimaced at the thought of meeting Sister Mary Stephen again. All those fights. All the backstabbing and power grabs. One of the unexpected benefits of jumping the wall had been freedom from Mary Stephen forever. So much for that.

Deep breaths. Keep walking. You're here on a tourist visa. In a few days you'll be back in the office fending off Sidney's endless badgering for convent stories.

She hurried up the stairs and rang the doorbell. It opened a moment later on a plump, smiling, wrinkled old nun. Giulia forced thoughts of raisins from her head.

“Welcome, Sister! We're so happy to have you. Did you carry your bag far? Are you tired? I can't leave my post here, but someone will be along any minute to show you to your room.” She took a clipboard off the small table behind her. “If you'll give me your name, I can tell you what room you've been assigned.”

“Sister Mary Regina Coelis.”

The doorkeeper flipped a page, another, a third. “Here we are. Third floor, south side, room 323.” She beamed at Giulia. “We haven't seen this much activity since I was newly professed. Those were such fun days! So many of us at a time—I think there were fourteen in my group. Dinner is at six.”

Giulia's attention wandered.
Dinner. Food. That's what's bugging me—this place still smells like doughnuts.

She snapped back to the doorkeeper's continuing flow of words. “There aren't assigned tables, except for the Novices and Postulants of course, so just fit in wherever you can. Oh—here we are.” She waved and called to a young, slim Novice in black habit and white veil. “Sister Bartholomew, could you be an escort?”

The Novice veered toward the vestibule. “Of course, Sister Alphonsus.” She smiled at Giulia. “Good afternoon, Sister. Welcome back to the Motherhouse.” She craned her head to see the clipboard. “Right. Let me take your bag.”

“Thank you, no. I've got it.”

Nuns wandered the halls in twos and threes, smiling, talking, sharing photographs. Sister Bartholomew led Giulia up the wide, worn central stairs. She'd forgotten how crowded that huge building could be, but she hadn't forgotten the warped boards on the fifteenth stair. Neither had Sister Bartholomew—she and Giulia took wide steps to the left to avoid the
Crack!

They grinned at each other.

“Where've you been stationed, Sister Regina Coelis?”

“Nowhere, actually.”
Driscoll charm, don't fail me.
“I left a year ago, but I petitioned to return.”

“Oh.” Her conductor stopped. “Oh, I'm glad. I didn't think that was possible.”

“Times have changed. There are so few of us now that they're making exceptions.”

They reached the third floor. “It makes sense, especially with the merger. I heard there used to be five hundred of us in this Community alone. But we're still below that number even with the other three Communities added.”

This floor was crowded as well. Sisters of every age went in and out of rooms or sat in chairs grouped around the lamps on the walls. Laughter came from the small library in the west corner. Yet it was subdued, all of it. No word of the many conversations could be distinguished. The laughter's volume was suitable for a sickroom.

“Community Day is always a balancing act between continuing education lectures and a huge high school reunion,” Giulia said.

“Last year's was kind of subdued, remember?” Sister Bartholomew said. “We heard it was because the Community could only afford to fly a handful of Sisters back here.”

They stood against the wall to make room for three Sisters carrying musical instruments.

Giulia said, “This year it's like Community Day and Christmas and Easter all rolled into one.”

“Yeah.” Sister Bartholomew opened the door to room 323. “Office is at five-thirty, supper at six. If you need anything, one of us Novices or Postulants should be running around somewhere.”

“Thanks.”

A tall, gaunt, middle-aged nun appeared at the door frame.“Sister Bartholomew, may we borrow you for a moment?”

Giulia smiled at both of them and closed herself in. The suitcase
thunk
ed to the floor

“I'm stuck in a time warp,” she whispered. “If I didn't have a cell phone in my pocket I'd swear I've been here all along.”

A twin bed with a white chenille bedspread took up most of the wall to her left. A narrow wardrobe loomed at its foot. A desk and a straight-back wooden chair squeezed themselves against the wall opposite the wardrobe. The off-white paint job hadn't changed, either. For that matter, the 1950s vintage linoleum still held its place as the blandest pattern in the Northeast. An excellent cleaning job didn't hide its age and shabby edges.

She walked to the end of the room and opened the narrow window. The vegetable gardens were cleaned and hoed over for the winter, but mums and asters covered the flower beds.

There's the twins, Sisters Epiphania and
…
something more normal
…
Gwen
…
no, Edwen. Arthritis finally got to them.

A nun in black trousers and a white blouse met the gardener nuns on the flagged walkway and brushed the dirt from their kneepads. Giulia didn't need to read lips to know that they were thanking Sister … she couldn't remember that one's name, but remembered that she was always the first one to ease the way for the retirees.

She closed the window on the still-cold air as the third nun slipped the padded knee rests off the twins' daring denim workpants.

“Daring” twenty years ago, of course. How the twins loved to whisper the story of Fabian's meltdown the first time those secular clothes appeared. It was one of the few times we laughed that Canonical year.

The room looked smaller and dingier when she turned around. She plopped the suitcase on the bed. Her few pieces of clothing easily fit in the top drawer of the narrow dresser. The spare habit floated like a ghost in the equally narrow wardrobe until she hung her raincoat behind it. With a little effort, she wedged the suitcase under the bed and walked to its foot. Without straining any muscles, she stretched out her arms and placed a hand on either wall.

“I used to think this room design was meant to keep our eyes on poverty and simplicity, but it's a cell. Why did they bother to stop calling these rooms by the true name?”

Not even the feel of her inappropriate underwear comforted her. She opened the wardrobe and stared at her reflection in the small oval mirror, trying to assume the role of Sister Mary Regina Coelis.

“I should've brought a
Cosmo
.” She leaned her forehead against the mirror, careful not to knock her veil askew. “In the convent. Right. I could hide it in the Office prayer book and read it during the Litany of the Hours rather than slogging through twenty minutes of rote prayers. Maybe it'll have a useful article like ‘The Struggling Nun's Survival Guide: Now with Photos of Our Fave Wanton Underwear.'”

A discreet knock on the door saved her dignity. Model Sisters didn't guffaw.