Changing Habits (12 page)

SISTER ANGELINA

C
orinne Sullivan hurried past Angie on the way to her desk just as the bell rang for class. The heavy stench of cigarettes clung to the teenager like cheap cologne. Corinne had obviously been smoking, which was strictly prohibited while in school uniform.

Angie liked Corinne, even if the girl was something of a challenge. She enjoyed pushing the limits, testing Angie's authority and asking outrageous questions. It was all for the sake of attention. A brief look at Corinne's school records confirmed that she was the second child of three and the only girl. Experience in the classroom had taught Angie to recognize the characteristics of a middle child.

“Corinne,” Angie said as she stepped to the front of the room. “Could I speak to you after class?”

“Again?” Corinne said with a low moan.

“Again,” Angie echoed.

“Is it about the smell of cigarette smoke?” The teenager slid gracefully into her desk. “I wasn't smoking, Sister, I
swear.
”

“We'll discuss that later, but it's interesting you should mention cigarettes because that's the very subject we'll be discussing in class this afternoon.”

A couple of the students opened their textbooks and stared
up at Angie, confused. There hadn't been anything about smoking in the chapter she'd assigned them as homework.

“Aw, Sister,” Corinne groaned, “are you going to tell us smoking's bad for us?”

“As a matter of fact I am.” Recent studies had proven that smoking was detrimental to one's health. Despite that, cigarettes were more popular than ever, especially among teenagers. Angie considered it a disgusting habit, even though her father had smoked for years and as far as she knew, still did.

A low protesting moan rumbled through the class.

“Why do people smoke?” Angie asked, genuinely curious as to what her students would tell her.

Loretta Bond raised her hand. “It helps relax you.” Then, as though she realized what she'd said, she added, “That's what my mother told me. She's been smoking since I can remember.”

“Cigarettes taste good,” one of the boys offered.

“How many of you have ever smoked a cigarette? Just once, just to try it out.” Nearly every hand in the room went up.

Corinne Sullivan's hand was one of the first to shoot into the air. She glanced around and looked absolutely amazed. “Wow.”

That was Angie's reaction as well. The class was made up of sophomores, fifteen- and sixteen-year-old students. They seemed too young to be smoking.

“Okay,” Angie said, as her students lowered their arms. “Loretta, tell me why you lit up the first time.”

Loretta appeared to be unsure about answering. “My mom threw away a pack and there was one cigarette left in it, so I decided to see what smoking was like. I thought it might be cool.”

“How old were you?”

Loretta cast down her eyes. “Ten.”

Angie swallowed a gasp. When she recovered, she asked, “And how was it?”

Loretta laughed. “I nearly choked to death.”

“They're nasty-tasting,” Morgan added. “At first, anyway.”

“Tell me about
your
first cigarette,” Angie said to the girl who'd been exchanging notes with Corinne at the beginning of the year.

“I lit up for my boyfriend,” she said, glaring at Mike Carson. “He was busy driving and asked me to get out a cigarette for him. I did and it tasted awful, but after a while—I don't know, they kind of grow on you.”

“One lady saw me smoking and thought I was twenty,” Cathy Bailey inserted proudly.

Angie wasn't surprised. “In other words, you assume that if you smoke you'll look more mature?”

Several heads nodded.

“Everyone smokes, Sister,” Corinne said.

“But not you?”

Corinne sighed and reluctantly admitted, “Okay, okay, I smoke, but not every day, just sometimes.”

“But not today?”

“No, it was Jimmy's smoke, I swear.” She snapped her mouth shut as if she'd said more than she should have.

“Jimmy,” Morgan echoed, her eyes round and horrified.

Angie didn't know what that was all about, but she couldn't ask right then. “Next question,” she said, resting against the edge of the desk. “Who in this class has never smoked?”

Three timid hands went up. Only three out of a class of thirty students, and all girls.

Angie nodded, acknowledging their response. “That was very interesting,” she said. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“Sister.” Corinne's hand snaked up over her head. “We were honest with you, but will you be honest with us?”

“What do you mean?”

The teenager beamed a smile. “Have
you
ever smoked?”

The question stunned Angie. In all her years of teaching,
not a single student had ever inquired about her life outside the convent. But it was plain that every one of these kids was eager to hear her answer. They leaned forward in their desks.

“Once,” Angie said. “I was about sixteen and my father smoked. I tried it, thought it tasted vile and that was the end of it.”

The class stared at her with astonished expressions, apparently finding it impossible to imagine her as a teenager. “It might surprise you to know that I was once very much like you.”

“I want to know what you were like before…” Corinne insisted.

“Before what?” Angie said. “Do you think that because I wear a nun's habit I've never had a life?” She laughed at the teenager's stricken look.

“What about boys?” Morgan asked.

Angie shook her head. “This is Health class, not Ancient History.”

A few of her students laughed.

“It's hard for me to think of you as someone my age,” Corinne said, propping her chin in her hands.

“Let's return to our discussion,” Angie suggested.

“Did you always want to be a nun?” Morgan asked.

Angie could see that the class wasn't going to be satisfied until she gave them a small detail of her life before the convent. “All right, if you must know, I did have a boyfriend once, a hundred years ago. He worked part-time in my father's restaurant.”

“Your father has a restaurant?”

“What kind?”

“With a name like Angelina, you need to ask?” Corinne twisted around to mock her classmates.

“You're Italian?” Cathy Bailey cried, as though Angie had told them she walked on water.

“Enough,” Angie said and picked up the textbook. “Open your books to page 56. Cathy, would you please read the opening paragraph?”

Her class reluctantly complied. Books could be heard opening and pages flipping. Cathy read the text and Angie reverted to her original plan for the class.

Holding the book in both hands, Angie paced the classroom and directed the discussion, which concerned early childhood development. Angie gave them their homework assignment and then the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

“I want you to answer all the even-numbered questions at the end of the second chapter. Anything else before we finish?”

Charlotte Chesterfield, who was also in Angie's Home Economics class, raised her hand. “Sister Angelina, I'd love to learn how to cook a few Italian dishes. Are you going to share any family recipes with us?”

“We'll discuss that in Home Economics, Charlotte.”

“But…”

“My mom says that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” Corinne inserted, as though this were an insider's secret.

“You have plenty of time to think about finding a husband later on,” Angie told her as the rest of the class gathered their books.

“No, I don't,” Corinne muttered. “I'm looking for one right now.”

Angie's shock must have shown, because Corinne said, “I plan to get married the year I graduate.”

“But why?”

“Oh, Sister, don't you know? Can't you guess? I don't care if I ever go to school again. I'm not much good at it. All I want is a man.”

Angie wanted to argue with her, to explain that there were
so many options and possibilities other than tying herself down in a relationship at such a young age.

“Do you still want to talk to me?” Corinne asked, walking backward toward the open door.

Angie shook her head. Everything she'd planned to say had already been discussed in class. “You can go.”

Corinne's face brightened with a smile. “Thanks.”

Just before she left for the day, Angie walked past the principal's office. “Sister Angelina,” the lay secretary called out, stopping her. “What happened in Health class today?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Corinne Sullivan, Loretta Bond and about five other girls came in and requested transfers from study hall to Home Economics.”

Sister Kathleen, who taught bookkeeping, chuckled as she moved past Angie in the wide hallway. “Word must've gotten out about your marinara sauce.”

Angie answered with a groan, and the other nun broke into an outright laugh.

Soon Angie was smiling, too. She was dismayed about her Home Economics class filling up with young women trying to lure men into early marriage. She didn't understand it, especially with women's rights issues prominent in the headlines. Nevertheless, she had to admit she was pleased to be so popular with her students.

SISTER JOANNA

J
oanna was sitting at the nurses' station going over the medication records when Dr. Murray strolled up to the desk. He folded his arms along the top. “Good afternoon, Sister Joanna.”

“Dr. Murray.” She looked up and was struck anew at what an attractive man he was. That wasn't something she consciously wanted to notice, but it would be impossible not to. Despite his smile and the friendly expression in his intensely blue eyes, she felt a lingering sadness in him. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to console him…. “Uh, is there anything I can do for you?”

He shook his head and straightened, almost as if he'd read her thoughts and was embarrassed by her sympathy. “I notice Mrs. Stewart is doing better this afternoon. She'd like to go home, but I'm inclined to keep her an extra day.”

Joanna approved. The widow didn't have anyone to help her at home and wouldn't until the weekend. It was often like that with older people. Joanna was grateful that the physicians took home care into consideration before releasing a patient.

“She said you sat with her late yesterday afternoon when your shift was over and read to her.”

Now it was Joanna's turn to be embarrassed. Like many patients, Mrs. Stewart was bored, eager to get back home to what was familiar, but still weak and slightly disoriented. Joanna had sat with her for a couple of hours.

“She said she'd been wanting to read
The Godfather,
seeing how popular it is,” Joanna said, feeling somehow that she should justify her time, even though it had been after her shift. “She said she didn't know if she'd live long enough to see the movie.”

Dr. Murray continued to study her. “You should know she sang your praises for a good ten minutes. It was very thoughtful, what you did.”

Joanna dismissed his praise. “It was nothing.” The older woman craved companionship. She was alone and away from family and had recently lost her husband of fifty years.

Dr. Murray started to turn away and then seemed to change his mind. “Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”

“I…no, I guess not.” Joanna stood so she could meet his eyes. Unaccountably, she could feel her pulse quicken.

A slight frown came over his face. “What happened? I mean, what makes someone like you decide to become a nun?”

Joanna hid her embarrassment behind a laugh. “Someone like me?”

“
Something
must have happened.”

Joanna didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Murray seemed to regret having said anything. “Trust me, when I was in school I never had any nun who looked like you. They were all old and crotchety.”

Joanna felt heat invade her cheeks.

“That probably isn't something one's supposed to say around a nun. Sorry.” He shook his head. “Listen, do me a
favor and forget I said anything. I just figured you must've had a reason for entering the convent.”

“I did,” Joanna confirmed. “God asked it of me.”

Her answer appeared to confuse him even more. “You mean there was never a boyfriend?”

“I didn't say that.”

He brightened and raised his index finger. “Ah ha, so the truth comes out. You did have a boyfriend.”

“Once, a long time ago.”

“And he dumped you.”

“In a manner of speaking.” She reached for another chart and sat down, indicating that the conversation was over. This subject was far too uncomfortable—far too personal.

“He dumped you, broke your heart and you decided to join the convent,” he said, as though this was what he'd suspected all along.

“Wrong,” she said. “Yes, I was hurt, but it was for the best that we split up. It would never have worked. It was while I was working through my pain that I felt God pulling me toward Him. I answered His call and I've never regretted my decision.”

He stared at her as though absorbing her words.

“My turn to question you,” she said.

He held up both hands. “Okay, I'll admit it—I'm a lapsed Catholic. But don't try to bring me back, Sister, because I have no intention of resuming any kind of relationship with God.”

That hadn't been her question, but now that he'd raised the subject, she was curious. “Why not?”

He glanced at his watch. “We don't have two or three days to debate this. Suffice it to say, the Church and I had a parting of the ways about three years ago.”

“When you were in Vietnam?” she asked, standing once more.

All the teasing laughter left his eyes. “Yes,” he said curtly, “but—”

“But?”

“There are plenty of subjects we can discuss, Sister. Vietnam isn't one of them.”

“Can you tell me why?”

His gaze narrowed and for a long moment it was as if he'd been transported to a time and place he no longer wanted to remember. “I think it was the closest I'll ever get to hell on earth. Yet even with death and devastation at every turn, there was honor and decency and bravery above anything I'm likely to witness again.” He looked away and seemed chagrined by the power of his feelings. “Is that enough?” he said in a mocking manner.

“That's enough,” she said gently and then to her amazement she did something completely out of character. Joanna felt compelled to touch him. Almost against her will, she leaned toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. With someone else it might have made her feel self-conscious, but not with Dr. Murray. She didn't quite know why that was.

Now, more than ever, she was determined to pray for the young surgeon. To lift him before God and plead for the salvation of his eternal soul. After a few seconds, she dropped her hand and said quietly, “Several of the boys in my high school class went to Vietnam.”

“Anyone special?”

She must be easy to read, Joanna decided. “I had a boyfriend who went over there.”

“Did he come back?”

Her laugh was tinged with a note of bitterness. “He did, only he returned with a pregnant Vietnamese wife.”

“I see.”

“Like I said, it was for the best. Greg and I were never meant to be.” She'd already said more than she wanted and hoping to end their conversation on a subject other than her
self, she asked, “What about you? Did you leave anyone behind when you went overseas?”

“I had a whole slew of lovers waiting for me,” he returned flippantly.

Joanna snickered softly.

“What? You don't believe me?”

“All nurses, no doubt.”

He shook his head and seemed grateful that the conversation had taken a lighter tone. “No, not a one.”

“I suppose you left a string of broken hearts in Vietnam, too.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. Actually I wasn't nearly as good-looking then as I am now.”

Joanna rolled her eyes.

“It's true. I was the class brain and what prom queen wants to date a guy who's more interested in science than in her bra size?”

Joanna knew exactly the kind of girl he was talking about. There'd been some in her high school class, too.

“Later, while I was in med school, I met someone special. We might've gotten married if things had turned out differently.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Murray pointedly checked his watch again, implying it was time to go.

“You'd better confess now.”

He sighed and she could tell he didn't want to discuss it, but she wasn't letting him off that lightly. “Come on, you dug around until you got the information
you
wanted.”

“All right, all right. Don't ever try to escape a nun.” He smiled as he said it, taking the edge off his words. “If you
must
know, I'll tell you.”

“I must.”

“After I shipped out to Nam, she met someone else.”

It was the reverse of her story. Greg had married a girl from Vietnam, and Dr. Murray's sweetheart had left him for someone stateside.

“Do these sorts of things happen often?” he asked, sounding disgruntled. “Do people come up to you and immediately start confessing their deep, dark pasts?”

“On occasion.” A couple of months ago, on a rainy Sunday after the last Mass of the day, a young soldier had stopped her outside the church and asked her to pray for him. That was all he'd said, but there had been tears in his eyes and emotion throbbed in his voice. She could only speculate about why he'd asked, but she'd remembered him in her daily prayers for weeks after that chance meeting.

“If it's any comfort, I've never mentioned Greg to anyone else.”

Dr. Murray nodded solemnly.

Despite his casual attitude, he'd been hurt by this woman in med school, just as she'd been devastated by Greg's actions. That pain had shaped them both into the people they were, Joanna mused. The people they'd always be.