Back in the Habit (7 page)

Eleven

Except that every time
Giulia saw Sister Bartholomew that afternoon, she was escorting another new arrival. Or fetching a clean towel. Or disappearing into a bedroom, sheets in hand, to make up a fresh bed. Sister Vivian and the two Postulants ran the same treadmill.

The weather shifted to cold, steady rain around two, and Giulia wandered the floors like the Ghost of Sisters Past. On her second circuit of the main floor she recognized one of her entrance group in the doorway and dodged into the back stairwell just in time.

She evaded all human contact on a roundabout path through the Community Room and three small parlors until she reached the refectory. Several Sisters manned the stoves and counters, none of whom Giulia knew. No one even glanced at her when she walked past them to the stairs to the cellars.

When the heavy door closed behind her, she breathed easier. “Better fighting spiders than being polite to Mary Stephen. I should forgive her—no, I did forgive her a bunch of years ago. I remember that Confession with its protracted discussion about what specific kind of sin that was.” She squashed a daddy longlegs with the side of her fist. “Forgetting is something else. I'm not stupid enough to pretend her backstabbing and rumor-mongering never happened.”

She stopped herself from indulging in foul language. Frank Driscoll she was not. She wouldn't cheat by using Italian, either.

gurgle

Giulia froze.

gurgle, clank

“Wait …” She followed the noise into the seldom-used half-bath shoehorned between an empty fruit cellar and a bricked-up coal chute. “It's the hot water pipe.” She crouched next to the chipped sink, worked her hand between the pipe and the wall, and snugged the joint a half-turn tighter.

hiss, clank
…
gurgle
… Silence.

She stood and brushed her habit straight.

I am remembering way too many obscure details. Like the best way to tuck my hair into my veil and the trick to stop that gurgling pipe. Why did my brain cells bother to retain such obscure information?
She backed out of the closet-sized room and paced the hall.
Falcone, you're going to forget what life is like outside these walls. That might make your cover tighter, but don't consider it for a minute.
The silence smothered her. “I think I prefer the clanks and gulps. Why doesn't Sister Bart? That everlasting annoyance should be nothing more than background noise to her by now. Something to add to the list of things to get her to talk about.”

She paused in the doorway of the dim, empty laundry room. “And while I'm at it, I'll stop talking to myself.”

Giving up on the chance that Sister Bartholomew's errand list would bring her down to the cellars—the laundry tables were free of towels and sheets—Giulia climbed back upstairs. Sister Mary Stephen's limp blonde bangs weren't visible in the parlors on the first floor.

Safe so far.

On the second floor, Sister Vivian passed her without acknowledgment as she accompanied two elderly nuns in walkers. One of the Postulants carried a mop and bucket into the bathroom.

Still safe.

When she reached the third floor, she could hear a violin repeating the third line of “O Sanctissima” drifting down from the fifth.

The bangs lurked in the doorway kitty-corner from Giulia's room.

Busted.

Laserlike eye contact forced Giulia to cloak herself in the mantle of her grandmother, always the lady. The hall stretched like Silly Putty as she walked across it.

“Hello.”

“It's been a while, Regina.”

“Six years, Stephen. Not since Final Vow retreat.”

“I heard you left.”

“Glomming onto rumors, like always. Done you any good yet?”

Their brittle smiles never wavered. The bell rang for lunch.

“I see you're still fighting those ridiculous curls.”

“I see you're still afraid of your given name, Mildew—sorry, Mildred.”

“What about—”

A dozen Sisters came out of their rooms. The door next to Sister Mary Stephen opened on a petite, perky redhead.

“Hey, Mary Stephen, chow time. Oh my Lord, it's Regina Coelis.” She leapt at Giulia.

“How've you been, Josepha?” The tiny nun's welcome squeeze crushed Giulia's lungs. “Is your team still basketball champ of Alexandria Catholic Central?”

“Of course we are. The WNBA recruited three of my seniors. I rock.” She bounded toward the stairs. “Come on, Mary Stephen, I'm starving. Got a table yet, Regina? I think there's room at ours.”

Giulia smiled angelically at Mary Stephen. “I do, unfortunately. But I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to reminisce later.”

Mary Stephen's mouth contorted. “We'll miss your charming presence.”

Giulia won the “who'll move first” standoff, but blew it by tripping on the edge of the carpet. Mary Stephen's snort earned her a
tsk
from a Sister still in the traditional habit.

Sister Fabian intercepted Giulia as everyone waited for the Sisters using walkers to pass.

“If you have a moment, Sister Regina Coelis?”

“Certainly.” Giulia caught Mary Stephen's too-interested glare as she turned away.

The Superior General led the way into the smallest of the little parlors on the first floor and closed the door.

“Report.”

Giulia's mouth opened in automatic obedience.

Stop.

She suppressed a wicked grin. “I beg your pardon, Sister?”

Sister Fabian's mood-ring earlobes sprang into action. “I expect obedience, Sister. Have you confirmed my findings?”

Giulia braced her feet. “Perhaps you misunderstood me yesterday, Sister. As Driscoll Investigations' client, you will receive a complete report when we're satisfied that we've uncovered all the facts—”

“I've given you the Community's decision.”

“No, Sister, you gave me your decision.”

“I am the head of the Community.”

Giulia waited, heart pounding from flouting years of ingrained obedience.

Color crept from Sister Fabian's earlobes to her throat. “I have just been informed that the apostolic visitation will be here next week.”

“The what?”

“The Vatican. Pay attention. The Holy Father created a committee to inspect random Communities, and because of the merger, ours has been chosen for the honor.”

“I see. So that's why you want this tied up in a neat little bow by Wednesday.”

“We will present an obedient face to the deputation. You will give me your report, now.”

“No.”

The Superior General took a step forward. “The Community was well quit of you … Sister.”

Harpy.
“I'm sure you don't want the Sisters to discuss this rather obvious meeting any longer.” Giulia touched the doorknob.

Sister Fabian's nostrils pinched. “You were a disgrace to the habit for years. I see nothing has changed. This conversation is not finished.” She stalked through the door Giulia opened for her.

Miserable, officious, obstructionist shrew. What would you have said if I told you I heard you and Ray “doing it” this morning?
Her hand on the door trembled the least bit.
They say it takes more guts to jump the wall than to stay inside. Standing up to her might top them both.

_____

After lunch, Giulia sat with Sister Arnulf in the third-floor corner library and folded the corners of a square paper in and then halfway out. “You do this for the other side, too.” She smiled at Sister Arnulf. “Why am I telling you this? You can't understand me.” When they finished that step, she turned both their papers over and demonstrated the upward fold. “If only Eleanor knew Swedish along with origami.”

She folded and turned and folded, Sister Arnulf mirroring her actions.

“Min Bridget älskade smÃ¥ hundar.” Sister Arnulf met Giulia's gaze over the completed Scottie dog origami. “Jag ser dig med hennes vän.”

“You have no idea how much I want to understand you, Sister.” Giulia grabbed a pen and a clean sheet of paper from the box—and stopped. “What's the point? You can't read English, and I can't write Swedish.”

Sister Theresa blew into the library smelling of rain and fast food. “Sister Regina, thank you so much for filling in for me this afternoon.”

“Were the fries good?” Giulia put away the pen and paper.

“Always. McDonald's fries are my besetting sin. This annual ritual is an excuse and I know it, but we started it to celebrate Sister Lorraine's Investiture. She's the first young woman I shepherded into the Community.”

She unbuttoned her coat and gestured to Sister Arnulf. “I'll take her back now.” She made the sign for “bathroom,” and her charge nodded.

As they left, Sister Arnulf gave a look to Giulia that she could have interpreted any number of ways:
I'll see you later
.
I'm tired of being led around like a child
.
You ought to speak my language
.

“I know it, Sister,” Giulia said to the last possibility. “It's time to enlist Sidney and a Swedish dictionary.”

Twelve

Forty Sisters of all
ages crowded the first-floor Community room at seven-thirty that evening. The largest room on the first floor (after the refectory), it still resembled a subway car at rush hour with this many people in it.

The oldest Sisters were of course given the two sofas. Sister Fabian and the other former Superiors General occupied the privileged armchairs around the television. Everyone else brought chairs from the smaller parlors; a few who dared to wear jeans sat cross-legged on the floor.

Giulia, stiff, proper, and itchy in an armless wooden chair, cursed the inventor of pantyhose.

“I'm a Rangers fan,” said Sister Susan from a rolling office chair, “but any excuse to watch hockey—even the Penguins versus the Devils.”

“Thank you for not making the obvious joke, Susan.” Sister Eleanor, in a similar armless chair, finished a row of a pale-blue baby sweater and turned her needles. “My sister's expecting her third,” she said to Giulia. “Her last sonogram showed them a 3-D image of this.” She held up a fist with her index finger pointing straight out.

Giulia chuckled. “No mistaking that.”

The Postulants and Novices entered the room wheeling a cart loaded with two giant tubs of fresh popcorn; stacks of bowls, cups, and napkins; and a five-gallon sports jug.

“It's exactly the same routine from when I was a Novice,” Giulia said in a low voice to Susan. “We're in a time loop. Someone call Doctor Who.”

On the television, a high school chorus began the National Anthem. Sister Vivian handed Sister Fabian a bowl and cup first, then everyone formed two loose queues to serve themselves. Giulia waited until Sister Bartholomew and the other three had theirs before she took the last of it.

“Those girls need it more than I do,” she whispered when she returned to her new friends. “They all look like they're about to drop. What is Sister Fabian thinking, to let so much work fall on them?”

“You know the answer to that,” Elizabeth whispered back. “You've heard it from enough retired Sisters.”

“We got up at five a.m. and washed everyone's clothes and sheets in a hand-washer, complete with crank wringer,” Giulia muttered.

“The cook made us a single piece of fried bread. If she liked us, she'd make us two pieces,” Susan continued.

“And that was all we got to eat all morning,” Elizabeth added.

“So I don't know why these Novices think they work hard,” Giulia finished.

The three of them grinned at each other.

“You're right, Sister Regina,” Susan said. “The Novices and Postulants are overworked. I saw you buffing the chapel floor this morning.”

Giulia waved it away. “I like to keep busy.”

Susan chewed a mouthful of popcorn. “The stress is getting to you too, huh? Elizabeth here instantly adapts to any situation, but I'm a creature of routine—and small convents.”

“Ssh.” One of the retired nuns glared at them.

“Sister Fabian's nephew is on the team,” Giulia whispered. “That's why we get an evening of ESPN.”

“I wondered,” Susan said. “She doesn't seem the type to let people
indulge.”

“We have more profitable uses for three hours of our time than watching television.” Elizabeth sipped her lemonade.

Susan stared at her with hooded eyes. “Elizabeth, sometimes I want to shake you. What on earth is wrong with harmless pastimes?”

“We are to set an example for the world and you know it, Susan. How can we do that if we follow the path of their vices rather than leading them on the path of virtue?”

Giulia began, “But if we aren't familiar with current secular pursuits—at least superficially—how will we connect with the laity in ways they can relate to?”

Susan flopped back in her chair. “You two must've been separated at birth. It's like I'm listening to the Sanctimonious Hour. Elizabeth,” she pointed at her fellow Sister, “look me in the eye and tell me you don't tune your clock radio to the Nets home games when you can.”

Elizabeth blushed. “I know I should break myself of such a bad habit, but—”

Susan groaned. “Please discontinue the puns immediately.”

“Ssh!” Two retired Sisters glared at them this time.

Giulia, Susan, and Elizabeth meekly settled in their seats and ate popcorn.

Midway through the first period, the Penguins scored. Sister Fabian cheered.

“That was her nephew,” Giulia said.

“If only I could ‘accidentally' change channels to a Fabian movie marathon,” Susan said. In a voice pitched for Giulia's and Elizabeth's ears, she sang the chorus of “Turn Me Loose.”

Elizabeth and Giulia elbowed her. Sister Bartholomew's head started to turn in their direction, but she stuffed popcorn in her mouth and faced the television again.

Giulia swallowed several times until she had her voice under control. “Sister Susan, you'd have a happier visit if you flew under Sister Fabian's radar.”

Susan huffed. “You don't have to tell me. I've lived under three Superiors cut from her cloth already. But I'm fifty-one years old, I'll die in harness, and I'm sick of dancing to the tune of people like her.”

“But your vocation—”

“My vocation has nothing to do with power-grabbers. Don't misunderstand me—I'd never throw away my vocation for the temporary satisfaction of getting the best of her.” She jerked her head at the front of the room. “That's why you surprise me. You don't seem the type to suck up to her. I saw you coming out of one of the parlors with her at lunch.”

“Sometimes I choose to compromise.”

Elizabeth said, “Susan, one day someone's going to punch you. Sister Regina, she's not usually this abrasive. Put it down to travel and crowds. She's much better in one of our minuscule Florida convents.”

“Yeah, the palmetto bugs don't lecture me.” Susan finished her lemonade. “My apologies, Sister Regina. Why God chose me to serve His purpose, I'll never know. And people claim He has no sense of humor.”

The first intermission began, and several Sisters headed for the bathrooms. Some explored the bookshelves. The Novices and Postulants gathered the cups and popcorn bowls and wheeled the cart through the doorway nearest the kitchen.

Giulia pretended to leaf through a back issue of
The Cord
.

Is that what I did? Throw away my vocation? I was so sure of it once—sure for eight years. Nine, if I count senior year in high school. Was my faith so weak that a few years of Fabian-clones and banishment to the hinterlands withered it?

A hand touched her shoulder. Susan said in her ear, “You left and returned, right? I remember you mentioned it last night at dinner. I did, too, before final vows. It's rough getting back into the rhythm, but it gets easier. Remember, God won't desert you.”

She squeezed Giulia's shoulder and returned to her chair as the second period started.

_____

A half-hour after the game ended (Penguins 2, Devils 0), Giulia paced her cell—
No!
—room. Two steps across, seven steps down, one step across (the desk crowded that end of the room), seven steps back.

“What's worse? The idea that I never had a vocation? That it was only family tradition and starry-eyed wishful thinking and Cradle Catholic indoctrination?”

Two steps across. Seven steps down.

“Or that I tossed it aside like an empty espresso cup? That I chose hate for the petty politics and Fabian's puppet strings over the will of God in my life?”

She stopped pacing and opened her wardrobe. Her reflection in the small oval mirror on the inside of the door showed a living flashback: herself in the last months before she jumped the wall. The same haggard face. The same caverns under her eyes. Those same two curls that always escaped her veil.

“I'm slipping back into it so easily. It hasn't even been two days yet. If I didn't have my phone in my pocket—” she patted its familiar rectangle— “I'd wonder if the Giulia Falcone who got makeup lessons from Mingmei and stopped bad guys with Frank was someone I'd only read about.”

She turned her pocket inside out and studied her driver's license photo. “It'll take a little time to get back to normal when I get out. Normal. I need a shot of that.”

She texted Frank.

Exciting evening. Popcorn and TV hockey.

The phone buzzed right away.
Slacker. Why arent u detecting?

She made a face at the screen.
I'm not on duty 24 hours a day.

Good. U kno I cant afford OT.

Giulia grinned as she typed,
Heard it before. Maybe you should find us more clients.

Taskmaster. Would u like to kno Im at the Garden sharing pie and ice cream with a woman?

Giulia swallowed.
You found a GF in the 24 hours I've been in here?

There was a longer pause before the answering buzz.
Jealous? Hahaha. Dont worry. Im out with mom 4 her birthday.

“Curse you, Frank. You know I just turned neon-green jealous.”

A ghostlike tap came at the door.

Have to go.