Back in the Habit (17 page)

“Father Eugene.”

She met Giulia's eyes this time. “Did you have him too? Was he any better then?”

Giulia smiled. “No. What happened to him?”

Sister Bart shrugged. “We heard he got diagnosed with Alz-
heimer's. I felt guilty after that because he irritated the heck out of me. Oops. Sorry. Language.”

Frank's brow furrowed, but he kept writing.

Giulia stifled a smile. “Father Ray replaced him?”

“He used to be his substitute. Father Ray is good friends with Sister Fabian. I'm sure she pulled strings to get him assigned to us full-time.” Emotion crept into a voice Bart had kept even and colorless thus far. “That was in June.”

Frank drained his coffee. “Can I get anyone a refill?”

Giulia said, “Espresso, please, and thank you.”

Bart goggled. “You can drink that before bed? Man, I'd be buzzing around my room till dawn.”

“How about decaf, then, Sister? Or tea?”

“If you're sure you don't mind, decaf would be great.”

“Sugar or cream?”

“Two sugars, please.” When Frank went to the counter, Sister Bart leaned across the table and whispered to Giulia, “He's not what I expected.”

“Were you having visions of Hercule Poirot?”

“More like Sherlock Holmes—so smart he makes you feel sub-human. But Mr. Driscoll has this confident air. It makes me feel like he can take almost anything I say and not be shocked.”

Giulia smiled even as her mind leapt to several conclusions.

As though he heard her thoughts, right then Frank set a fresh cup before Sister Bart and sat down with his own. “Your espresso is coming in a minute, Sister.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Driscoll,” Bart said. “This is very generous of you.”

Frank turned on his most charming grin. “It's no trouble at all.”

Bart sipped, swallowed, and began worrying at her thumbnails.

Giulia said, “So Sister Fabian got her friend Father Ray assigned to the Motherhouse. I'm not really surprised that she wields power over more than the Community.”

Bart spoke to Frank. “You're going to think I'm a terrible representative of the Sisterhood, but our Superior General is all about control and power.”

“I've met her, Sister. Please don't worry about what I may think.”

The barista brought Giulia's demitasse. She inhaled, sipped, and sighed. “That is wonderful.”

Bart shuddered. “Not at this hour.”

Giulia laughed. “Coffee is my friend.”

“Coffee and I have an armed truce.” Bart sipped hers again. “Let's get this over with. When Father Ray became full-time adjunct, he and Sister Fabian started hosting these ‘get to know you' lunches in her suite. They started with the oldest Sisters, a few at a time, then took us next.” She gulped and tried to cover it by drinking coffee.

“He seems pleasant enough.” Giulia said to Frank, “He's a glad-hander, always smiling, hugs you hello, that kind of thing.”

Frank made notes.

“We thought, Vivian and Bridget and me, that they'd take us in a group. But they invited Vivian first by herself. She put on her ‘I'm so sophisticated' attitude like they picked her because she's older and wiser.” Her smile twisted. “That sounds like sour grapes. But I sure didn't want to be alone with Sister Fabian for an hour. Neither did Bridget.”

“What happened?” Giulia sipped more espresso, using the movement as cover herself.

“She came back upstairs all loopy, breathing wine fumes on us. I don't know what those two were thinking. Her psych tests must've shown she had a drinking problem. Sister Fabian reads all the results.”

“She does?” Frank shook out his wrist.

“Power is everything to her,” Giulia said. “Any leverage she can acquire, no matter how insignificant it may seem, she'll get her hands on.”

Bart talked faster now. “Bridget and I knew that Vivian'd been sneaking altar wine. Right before Father Ray became our priest, Sister Mary Thomas got shipped off and the three of us got her sacristy jobs.”

“Fabian did it on purpose.”

Bart blinked. “I never thought of it like that. I bet you're right. That explains a lot. Christ on a crutch.”

Frank coughed.

“They called Bridget down two days later. I didn't see her afterward, but that night I heard her puking in the bathroom. Two days later it was my turn.” More coffee.

Giulia saw her hands tremble the least bit.

“They served the same food everyone else had, and they were all smiles and encouragement about how well my nursing grades were before Canonical year. When she wants to be, Sister Fabian can be witty, and Father Ray knows some great one-liners.”

Silence, broken only by the Dave Brubeck Trio from the counter.

“They had a special dessert. Strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream. They handed me a cup of coffee with milk in it. That's not how I like my coffee, but I was in major politeness mode. I was thirsty, the milk had cooled it, so I took a big swallow.”

Giulia, watching her, thought,
She rehearsed this.
Out loud, she said only, “And?”

“It was almond-flavored creamer. Real almond extract, not imitation. In half a minute my eyes were puffy and tearing, and hives broke out on my face and neck.”

Frank said, still writing, “Anaphylactic shock?”

She shook her head. “I don't have it that bad. It scared the two of them, though. She actually ran to get Sister Gretchen, because she used to be a nurse. But Sister G knew all about my usual reaction, so she got them calmed down.”

Giulia forced herself not to nudge Frank under the table.

“I got to crash on my bed the rest of the afternoon, and the hives didn't bug me as much as usual. Nothing really bugged me for about six hours.”

“Why?” Giulia tried to sound merely concerned.

Frank turned a page and wrote so Giulia could see: I GET ABUSE SIGNALS.

Giulia said to Bart, “Did you take too much of your allergy meds?”

“No. I can control it with over-the-counter pills. Their coffee had tasted funny, under the creamer. A little bitter.”

“They drugged the coffee?” Giulia heard the disbelief in her own voice. “I'm not doubting you. I'm appalled.”

“Why did they drug it?” Frank stopped writing. “We are talking about the head nun of the convent—Community—and its priest, right?

Bart flushed. “If you follow the scandals in the news, it's not so out of the ordinary.”

“I believe you, Sister. I've heard much worse. I was trying to come up with a reason.”

Bart turned Bambi eyes on Giulia. “Promise you'll believe me.”

Twenty-four

Giulia didn't lean forward
or change her expression, even though she wanted to tread on Frank's toes to make sure he was ready for this.

“Of course we'll believe you,” she said to Bart.

Bart kept the Bambi eyes on Giulia. “Sister Fabian came up to check on me. At least that's what she said to Sister Gretchen in the hall outside my room. She was so sweet and soothing, telling me how she'd noticed that I was the responsible one of us Novices, and how she could see that I was helping Bridget cope and keeping Vivian in check.” Her mouth trembled a moment, but she breathed in a huge lungful of air and it stopped. “The next day she called me into her office and gave me an ultimatum. Father Ray was there, too. They told me that Vivian and Bridget and I were going to work an extra job for the Community. They showed me a bottle of little pills.”

Frank raised his head. “What were they? What did they look like?”

“I don't know what they're called. They were mixed colors, gray and white and pale blue and pale orange.”

Giulia said, “I found a small orange pill in the back chapel hallway today.”

“I didn't get any orange ones today,” Bart said. “It must've been from Vivian's packet. Sister Fabian said I'd be delivering the pills on a rotating schedule to people who'd be expecting me. She'd give me permission to walk outside the grounds and down two blocks.”

Giulia said, “Why did you agree to this?”

“They threatened Bridget and Vivian. Said they'd claim Bridget was an addict and Vivian was a drunk and kick them out of the Community. Bridget wanted to be a Sister since she was something like five years old. Vivian wants it too, as messed up as she is. It would've ruined them.”

“But—” Frank said.

Bart shook her head till her veil flapped. “But nothing. Sister Regina, tell him.”

“Mr. Driscoll, the vocation is difficult to explain to an outsider. You can believe that was effective leverage.” After a moment, she said to Bart, “They didn't threaten you personally?”

Bart ran a finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

“We can't help you if you aren't honest with us.”

“I know.” Her lips formed words that looked suspiciously like
Christ on a crutch
. “I got into some hard stuff in high school.” Her voice dropped lower than the Brubeck piano solo. “I kicked it before I entered, but they knew about it. They said if I went to anyone inside the Community or outside of it, they'd put in a word to the right places that I was still an addict and had been getting my fix from the alley guys. What hospital would hire me after that? What car repair shop would, besides my dad's? People believe clergy implicitly, even these days after the pedophile scandals.”

“
Go mbeire an diabhal leis iad
.”

Giulia cleared her throat. “Mr. Driscoll?”

Frank's gaze appeared to turn inward, replaying what he'd just said. “My apologies, Sisters. I have a bad habit of slipping into Irish whether or not who I'm with understands it. That expression means ‘May the devil take them with him.' ”

A pale imitation of a smile appeared on Sister Bart's face.

“How did you carry the pills? A purse would be obvious, especially if your contact was a man,” Frank said.

The smile faded. “Four or five dozen wrapped longways in a tissue.” She flipped the headband of her veil inside out. “They're tiny pills. Sister Fabian showed me how to make it the right size and flatness to fit in here.” She shrugged, a sullen teenager gesture. “In case the cops happened to do a sweep for small-time dealers when I had to meet one.”

“Despite all that, you're telling us now.” Giulia caught and held Bart's gaze. “Did they do anything else to you? To any of you?”

“No.” Short and sharp.

“Bart—”

“I said no. Isn't turning us into criminals enough?”

Giulia let it go for the moment.

Frank set down his pen. “Sister, if you'll forgive me, I'd like to ask you a blunt question.” He waited for Bart's nod. “Why didn't you—all three of you—just leave?”

“It's not that simple.”

“Why not? You're not a minor. You're perfectly free to tell both of them where to get off and walk out the door whenever you choose.”

“Mr. Driscoll.” Giulia pitched her voice to be heard only by the three of them. “Please remember we're in a public place.”

“I know that. What I don't understand is the mindset of remaining in the situation she—you—describe when there's no reason to.”

“There is,” Bart said in a stronger voice. “There's the vocation.”

“Exactly,” Giulia said. “A vocation sets us apart. You don't walk away from God's choice for you lightly.”

“I was raised Catholic. I know all about vocations and calling and serving. One of my brothers is a priest.”

“He is?” Surprise made Giulia drop her character of “Sister Regina Coelis.”

“Yeah, Evan. Second oldest. Sidney wants him to do the wedding.”

“She's not Catholic.”

“Olivier is, and Sidney's willing to accommodate him. You're going to have to help with her RCIA instruction, you know.”

“That's going to be interesting.” Giulia caught an odd look from Bart. “Mr. Driscoll, we've veered from the topic at hand. If your brother is a priest, why is it difficult for you to understand the concept of a vocation?”

Frank picked up the pen again. “I understand the concept, Sister.” He placed a slight emphasis on the title. “What I wish someone would explain to me is why three grown women with, presumably, working brains, let a nun and a priest force them to be drug couriers.”

“Every decision must be made in light of the vocation.” Giulia met Bart's gaze, and she nodded.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant.” Frank grabbed his coffee, swallowed, and grimaced. “Cold.” He clunked the cup onto its saucer. “That word
vocation
does my head in. My brother trots it out every time we argue dogma. You—” he jabbed the pen toward Giulia. “I expected more of you. You should know better than to let these girls get caught in this kind of trap. What are you there for if not to protect—”

“I'm there to find out what drove one of them to messy suicide, remember?”

“And what's taken you so long? You waste time texting Sidney about Swedish translations. You waste time walking on egg—”

“I'm wasting time? Yesterday you were all about how well I'm doing in this situation and that the initial timeline was flexible.” She snatched the pen from his hand. “I've told you from the beginning that this was a bad idea, and you insisted I was the only one who could do it. Every part of this is your own fault.”

“My fault? You're the one who's supposed to be the professional here. If you can't handle the work—”

“What? Get out of the convent? You don't have the first clue what goes on in there. You talk about evidence gathering and witness massaging, but you're talking out of your—” She stopped.

Silence filled the coffee shop; music no longer played from the iPod. Bart gaped like Giulia had sprouted horns and a tail. From the corner of her eye, Giulia saw the barista texting at warp speed.

Frank's gaze followed hers. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Which Irish curse fits this soap-opera situation?
Giulia pulled herself into ramrod-straight teacher posture.“I beg your pardon, Mr. Driscoll. A Sister of Saint Francis is expected to behave with decorum at all times.”

Frank held up both hands. “Please, Sister, the fault is mine.” He turned to Bart, frozen in place like the Medusa had come by to offer refills. “Sister, I could tell you of the weeklong double shifts I've worked, but that's no excuse for my behavior just now.” He put on his most charming smile. “Sister Regina and I used to work together in a somewhat informal setting. Now that she's returned to her life in the convent, I ought to remember the proper manners.”

“I, um, please, don't worry about it.”

Giulia handed Frank his pen. “We should get back.”

“Let me drive you,” Frank stood. “It's freezing. Where are your coats?”

“We didn't bring them.”

“What?” Frank started to say something else, then visibly shifted gears. “Then I'll definitely drive you. I'm parked right out front.”

Giulia picked up her Day-Timer and followed him as the barista came out from behind the counter, still texting. Bart trailed behind her like a duckling again.

The wind had finally given up, but the cold felt even worse after the warm, lighted coffee shop. Frank unlocked the passenger doors for Giulia and Bart, walked around to the driver's side, and started the engine.

“If we sit here for just a minute, the heat will kick in. Please excuse the cold air from the defroster.”

The Camry's heating system began to warm the front seats right away. Frank put the car in gear and pulled into the empty street without another word.

Sister Bart said nothing during the two-block ride, not even a “thank you” when Giulia aimed the heater toward the back seat. Frank made a U-turn just past the Motherhouse driveway and pulled up to the curb.

“Sisters, it's not a good idea to drive you to the door. I apologize.”

“You're right,” Giulia said. “We understand.”

“Thank you for the coffee and the ride, Mr. Driscoll. It was, um, nice meeting you.” Bart got out and stood on the sidewalk, rubbing her arms.

Giulia said rapidly, “Sorry. There's more going on than she said in there. I'll text you.”

“I'm sorry too. I trust you to clean up my mess.”

Giulia exited before he could say anything else, and ran up the driveway with Bart.

A tiny Kia Soul followed them.