Back in the Habit (8 page)

Thirteen

She opened the door,
a greeting to Sister Bart on her lips … and was confronted with Sister Vivian. The Novice's lopsided smile and heavy-lidded eyes said bad things to Giulia.

“Hey, there, Sister Regina. You can't be headed for bed already. You've been in real convents where people keep human hours.”

Giulia yanked her inside. “Quiet!” she whispered.

Still with that smile, Sister Vivian leaned against the closed door. “Aren't you tired of talking to Bart all the time? She's so naïve and bo-ring.” She exhaled a fog of altar wine.

“Shouldn't you be on your own floor by now?”

“Don'chew worry about me, Sister. My family knows how to handle their liquor.” She executed an elaborate wink. “I'd've brought some for you, but it's hard to sneak it out.” She thumped onto Giulia's narrow bed and patted the covers. “Let's talk, woman to woman.”

Giulia sat farther away than Sister Vivian indicated.
It's research. She knew Sister Bridget too. Ten minutes and I'll boot her up to the fifth floor.

“Thass right. God, I miss college. We'd stay up all night gabbing, sharing secrets, trying each other's makeup …” A slow headshake. “I like being a Sister, yanno. It's what I wanted to be ever since my great-aunt died. She was a pisser of a nun. Told the funniest jokes just this side of dirty. She made me think the convent wasn't juss a coop-full of ugly hens who couldn't get a man.”

“I see.”

Sister Vivian flopped crossways on Giulia's bed, resting her head on her hands. “I knew you'd understand. You've been around.” She giggled. “I didn't mean that like it sounded. You and me, we're women of the world. Not like Bart and Bridget.”

“Did they enter right out of high school?”

“Duh. Isn't it obvious? You didn't meet Bridget. She couldn't deal with it.” Another slow headshake. “Bart's not doing too bad, except she sleepwalks.”

Giulia leaned against the wall, doing her best to look worldly and at ease. “That's not too good. How does she keep away from the back stairs?”

“We put a lock on the door. S'str Gretchen caught her once and stopped her. So did I.” She moved her gaze away from the bare dresser to Giulia's face. “It was frickin' creepy. Her eyes were mostly closed but not quite, and she wasn't walking normal. Just going thump, thump, thump down the hall.” Her hands didn't move to cover a huge, wine-soaked belch. “Oops, sorry.” She giggled again. “That's all you'll hear from me, too. Tol'ja I could deal with it. How d'you deal with the freaky bad stuff when you're a real, permanent nun, Sister Regina?”

Before Giulia could invent something neutral-sounding, the Novice scooted upright, leaned toward the wall, blinked several times, then swayed toward the opposite wall. Giulia put out a hand to stop her from falling off the bed.

“God, I wanna beer. My roommate had a fake ID our second year in college. We'd all pitch in and she'd get a twelve-pack and our suite would share it.”

“I don't think beer's allowed in the Motherhouse.”

“Oh, yeah, don't I know it. Nothin' fun's allowed here.”

“There's hockey and popcorn nights.”

“Puh-lease. Bart may think that's fun, but she acts like an old woman. Did she admit she's afraid to go into the cellars? Try to get her down there and then pretend you hear something moaning. She gets whiter than the old nuns' veils.”

Giulia imitated Vivian's casual, confidential tone. “Was she always afraid of the cellars?”

“Nah. Only since Bridget killed herself.” She leaned into Giulia's steadying arm, overbalanced, and bonked against her shoulder. “Did'ja hear she drank a whole bottle of bleach? Stupid kid. I would've showed her how to fix the altar wine so no one'd notice any difference. She didn't talk to me much, so I didn't know it got to her that bad.”

“Did you know what was bothering Sister Bridget?”

Vivian looked sideways at Giulia. “Shh. Can't talk about it. Biiiig secret.” The lopsided smile reappeared. “You'd'a been a great roomie. You're such a good listener. My college roomie was a good listener. She liked girls. D'you like girls? Everyone said nuns were wicked Lesbos, but they lied. I miss my roomie.” A tear trickled down one plump cheek. “Your lips're kinda like hers, too.”

She plunged forward, taking Giulia with her off the edge of the bed. Sister Vivian's sloppy kiss landed near Giulia's eye socket.

“That's quite enough, Sister.” Giulia pushed her off and stood.

Vivian stayed face-down, weeping into the linoleum.

“Sister Vivian, this is not how a Sister of Saint Francis is expected to conduct herself.”

“Not you too.” The weeping volume increased. “You don't understaaaand.”

“That's it.” Giulia hauled her up. “Do you want every Sister on this floor to hear you? You know these walls are like papier-mâché.”

Snot ran over Sister Vivian's upper lip. Her swollen eyes dripped tears. Giulia grabbed several tissues from the desk and shoved them in Vivian's face.

“Clean yourself up. We're going to try to get to your floor without turning you into tonight's surprise entertainment. Although that'll take a minor miracle. What's Saint Vivian the patron of?” Only a honk into the tissues answered her. “Never mind. Let's go.”

Giulia poked her head into the hall; no one. None too gently, she dragged still-sniveling Sister Vivian into the hall. They skirted three doors with lights shining beneath them and took a wide path around the low-voiced conversation in the corner sitting room.

Sister Vivian tripped twice on the front stairs. Giulia hovered between frustration at not being able to take the lesser-used back stairs and gratitude that Vivian had mentioned the new lock on their floor.

Both sides of the fifth floor were dark. Of course—the girls worked too hard to keep secret late hours. Giulia pictured the layout of the living room, but a too-solid chair? couch? leapt out at their legs. She remembered to keep her reaction to a hiss.

Sister Vivian's naturally high voice jumped an octave. “Ow!”

Giulia clapped her hand over Vivian's mouth. “Do you want Sister Gretchen to find you like this?”

That'd put way too much spotlight on me. A visiting Sister helping the Novices with the cleaning is one thing. The same Sister with her arm around a drunk Novice late at night—well, can you say hideous scandal?

Snot and tears dripped down Giulia's hand, but she kept Vivian's mouth covered. A circle of light bobbed ahead of them, illuminated the wall, and flickered over their faces. Giulia blocked her eyes with her free hand.

“Sister Regina?” Sister Bartholomew whispered.

“Oh, thank God. Can you help us, Sister?”

“What?” Sister Bartholomew came closer, keeping the light on the floor in front of her. “Oh, no, is Vivian drunk? Never mind; I can smell it.” She hefted Vivian's other shoulder. “Sister Gretchen's not up here yet, but I expect her any minute. Let's put this one to bed before she shows.”

Sister Bart steered the shambling procession to the first bedroom after the chapel. Sister Vivian was all but out on her feet.

Sister Bartholomew yanked down the bedspread. “Idiot. What did she do, bust into your room bragging how she can hold her liquor?”

“More or less.”

They heaved Vivian onto the blanket and took off her shoes.

“'S'at, you, Bart?” Vivian's voice faded out on the last word.

Giulia un-Velcroed the veil and laid it on the dresser. “So she's lost control like this before?”

“Not since the Feast of the Assumption. Wonder what set her off? Help me turn her over, would you?”

They rolled the now-unconscious Vivian onto her stomach. Sister Bartholomew unzipped the slightly-too-tight habit, muttering, “Gotta channel it better, dummy. Gotta deal with it.” Between them, they tugged it off her in increments, finally working it out from under her legs. Giulia hung it on a hook behind the door and Sister Bartholomew flung the bedspread over Vivian just as she began to snore.

Blowing out a long breath, Giulia pulled two tissues from the box on the dresser and wiped her hands.

Sister Bart turned Vivian's head to the side. “At least if she pukes she won't choke to death.”

She closed the door on the noise, and Giulia blinked to get used to the new darkness of the hall.

“Has she been that bad since she entered?”

“I don't think so, but I didn't meet her till after the merger. We were both Canonicals already.”

Steady footsteps became audible on the landing.

Sister Bartholomew hustled Giulia down the hall and through the unlocked back door. “Thanks a ton for helping with Vivian, Sister. Sister Gretchen shouldn't find you up here this late. See you tomorrow morning.”

Giulia clutched the banister to stop herself going headlong down the steps. Sister Bartholomew vanished behind the double doors.

She slid off her shoes and walked downstairs on the balls of her feet.
It has to be close to eleven-thirty. That alarm rings at six. And I'm sneaking around the Motherhouse covered in sticky snot and tears and drool that stinks of sour altar wine.
The third-floor bathroom door opened and she slipped into the corner parlor.
I should've smeared myself with honey and found that anthill before coming here. This place is like a
Jerry Springer
episode.

“Där är du. Följ med mig.”

Giulia's veil nearly flew off her head like hats did in comic strips. “Sister Arnulf.”

The little nun took Giulia's hand and led her to one of the small tables. Giulia looked out at the dimly lit floor, but Sister Theresa the handler wasn't anywhere. She let Sister Arnulf sit her in one of the polished chairs.

“Sister, you know I can't understand you, but I'm working on the basics. Maybe tomorrow.” She sighed at her own futility. “Why am I explaining this to you?”

Sister Arnulf drew a face on a piece of paper while Giulia muttered. Giulia couldn't tell if it was supposed to be male or female. It wore no veil, but had no hair either. When the face had rudimentary features, she added a dark circle on the right side of the forehead, pressing so hard the pencil lead snapped.

She pushed the paper in front of Giulia, pointed to the circle, pointed to her own forehead, and pointed to the paper again.

Sister Theresa entered, sporting a quilted flowery bathrobe and a typical case of veil-head.

“Sister Arnulf, I've been looking everywhere for you. Sister Regina Coelis, I know she doesn't mean to be a nuisance.”

Sister Arnulf glanced at her babysitter and bent over Giulia. Her thin, wrinkled fingers patted Giulia's cheeks, then her own. She touched Giulia's forehead, then her own where she'd drawn the dark spot on the paper. Finally she circled her throat with one hand and pointed to the invisible mark with the other.

Giulia held up both hands in a helpless gesture.

Sister Arnulf made a frustrated noise. “Är du dum?”

Sister Theresa put a hand on Sister Arnulf's arm. “Säng—That means bed,” she said to Giulia.

Sister Arnulf slapped the desk and the other two stared at her. The little nun's body was tensed like she was ready for a fight. Then a moment later she relaxed and nodded at Sister Theresa.

“Sorry. She's wandering even more this week.” She cinched her robe. “You'd never think such a sweet old lady bombed Nazi arms depots in World War Two, would you?”

“Not in a hundred years. I didn't know there was a Swedish resistance in the war.”

“Poor little Sister Bridget told me about it. They were sort of an adjunct to the Norwegian resistance. But if even half the stories she told Sister Bridget were true, our friend here was once a force to be reckoned with.”

“Are you saying she flew bombers?”

“No, no. She was barely fifteen then. She and her school friends became pipe bomb experts.”

Sister Arnulf looked at them with her head slightly tilted. Giulia was reminded of a cat trying to anticipate a bird's next move.

Giulia stuffed the pencil sketch in her empty pocket. “Good night, Sisters.”

Sister Arnulf nodded when the paper disappeared. Giulia stared after them until the high crown of the older Sister's veil disappeared down the staircase.

“First thing tomorrow I'm texting Sidney with another set of basic Swedish phrases.”

Her plans scattered when she opened her door. Someone had searched her room.

Fourteen

“Fabian, you underhanded—” Giulia
stopped herself before the curse left her tongue. “It can't be anyone else but her. No one else knows why I'm here. No one else cares.”

She closed the door. “Shut up, Falcone. One, you're talking to yourself. Two, these walls are laughably thin. Three, most of them are sleeping and without other sound to mask it, your voice will carry even easier.”

She yanked and tugged the stuck top drawer of the desk until it straightened on its worn track. “Fabian's a Scooby-Doo level sleuth if she leaves clues this obvious. Everyone knows these drawers stick on their runners until you learn the trick to them. Everyone except Fabian with her fancy furniture. ”

The folder about Sister Bridget was on the opposite side of the drawer now. Giulia opened it to a crinkled top page.

“Too bad for her I'd only written up one spreadsheet's worth of notes.” She turned over each page. Two more were wrinkled. “Nothing's missing …” She catalogued her memories of each page. “Right. It's all there. Thank the Lord I keep my cell in my pocket.” She smirked. “And that I didn't bring the
Cosmo
.”

She turned in place and opened her dresser drawer.

“Ick. She pawed my underwear.” A giggle bubbled up. “If only I could ask her what she thinks of the lace and bright colors. So inappropriate for a Sister of Saint Francis, don't you know.”

She crept to the door and inched it open. Every other room on the floor was dark, but that meant nothing. She closed herself back in and texted Frank.

Room searched. Updates when I learn something.

_____

The line in the bathroom at 6:05 a.m. reminded Giulia of intermission at the Cottonwood Performing Arts Center.

Be sure to visit the wine bar before Act Two, folks! And when the show's over, Tracey's Chocolates are the perfect way to end the evening.

Giulia wanted a Tracey's turtle in the worst way—at this hour of the morning, too. Talk about stress eating.

The water pressure in the building had improved since her Novitiate years. Now it was possible to take a decent four-minute shower rather than waiting ten for the water to heat up. That was probably why Fabian spent the money: faster showers kept the puppets efficient.

Giulia towel-dried her hair. She should've showered last night, but the noise would've awakened too many people. Now her veil would be damp till noon.

Sister Josepha grimaced at Giulia as she stepped into the just-vacated shower cubicle. “The only good crowds are the ones cheering for my basketball teams.”

Sister Mary Stephen took the sink next to Giulia.

“Morning,” Giulia said after she spit.

Mary Stephen nodded, staring at Giulia's reflection in the mirror instead of her own.

Giulia, now self-conscious about her every movement, escaped as soon as she swallowed a multi-vitamin. Safe in her room (like that was safe anymore), she chose fuchsia underwear with silver-toned lace accents.

“Take that, Fabian. I hope you're gnashing your teeth as you pick out today's pair of granny underpants.” The habit slipped over her “real woman's” underthings and she transformed into Sister Regina Coelis. She twisted her already curling hair into a knot and shoved it under the veil. The clock read 6:22.

Drawers closed, bed made, room neat and anonymous.

She turned on her phone and the message icon appeared in the top left corner, but it was from Sidney, not Frank.

Olivier proposed
! Cant wait 2 tell u!

Giulia's grin stretched her cheeks to their limit. “What a wedding that'll be. One set of food stations dedicated to carnivores and sugar-holics, the other for the all-natural cult. I wonder if they'll have a juice bar opposite the regular bar?”

6:32. She set the phone to
Silent
and walked—never run, no indeed—downstairs.

She tried to pay attention to morning prayers. Really she did. Why did the monotone-voiced Sisters always volunteer to lead?

Her mind wandered to Sidney and Olivier's wedding. It didn't stretch credulity a millimeter to picture Sidney eschewing a traditional white gown for one made from flax or bamboo. Both sustainable plants, of course. Or perhaps she'd choose a winter wedding and make her dress from her family's alpaca wool.

Like yesterday, Giulia joined in the responsories to all the Psalms while the rest of her was miles away in Cottonwood.

She'll be bubbly and sweet, and Olivier will be handsome and charming. She'll feed him gluten-free cake sweetened with honey, and he'll feed her something traditional with buttercream frosting—but no yellow dye number 5.

Office ended.

I didn't pay attention to a single word. I'm going to Hell.

Father Ray said another efficient Mass with a five-minute homily. As Giulia moved along the central-aisle Communion line, she got that prickly-neck sense of someone watching her.

When she turned away from the Communion rail, the Host doing its best to glom onto the roof of her mouth, she looked straight into Sister Mary Stephen's ice-blue eyes.

Giulia conceded the staring contest when she reached her pew. Her knees hit the kneeler, and meditation about Sister Mary Stephen trampled any thoughts of meditation on Communion.

Only twelve people remained in the Communion line when her tongue finally dislodged the Host from the Palate Gravity Field.

_____

“I want chocolate.” Sister Susan poked at her scrambled “eggs.”

“I'd settle for non-institutional coffee,” Sister Eleanor said.

“If only I'd brought a box from Tracey's Chocolates,” Giulia said. “It's this one-woman shop where I li—I'm stationed. She makes raspberry truffles as big as a quarter, and she even grows her own raspberries.”

Susan set down her fork. “Sister Regina Coelis, you just ruined breakfast—not that it took much.”

Elizabeth said, “Susan, when you waste food it's tantamount to refusing a starving child a piece of bread.”

“Elizabeth, you are the only person I know who could use ‘tantamount' in everyday speech.” Susan ate a forkful of reconstituted egg-like protein.

“Pay attention, Sisters,” Eleanor said. “This is the next fold on the crane. Everyone expects an origami crane, so you might as well learn it.”

Giulia folded her paper. What she really wanted to do was check her text messages.

Eleanor folded the top flaps into the center fold. “I keep trying to design a Saint Francis origami, but he always comes out looking like the Frankenstein monster.”

“It'd be good for Halloween,” Giulia said.

“Turn failure into success?” She turned the half-completed crane in her hands. “I'm sure I can create a pumpkin and a black cat. Hmm.”

Susan leaned across the table. “Sister Regina, why is that blonde Sister with the bangs staring at you? Two tables to your left.”

Giulia skewed her eyes over her shoulder. Sure enough, Mary Stephen's blue laser beams were trained on her. They cut off when she caught Giulia's gaze.

She smiled in apology to Susan. “We have a bit of a history. I'm afraid I needled her yesterday.”

“Forgive me for using you as an object lesson, Sister, but Susan, you should—”

“Elizabeth, if you lecture me one more time about my feud with you-know-who, I will short-sheet your bed.” Susan stabbed the last piece of sausage on her plate and stuffed it in her mouth.

Sister Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “As you wish.”

Sister Cynthia made a face at her wheat toast. “I hear that tomorrow's feast will live up to its name. Chicken parmesan and Texas sheet cake.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “Seriously? Made the correct way, with pecans in the frosting?”

“I guess so. The chubby Novice—what's her name?”

“Vivian,” Eleanor said.

“Yes, that's it. Sister Vivian said that her former Superior General learned how to make it when she was stationed in El Paso, and offered to help the cooks.”

Cynthia finished her toast. “Real Texas sheet cake will make this trip worthwhile.”

Giulia fostered a glimmer of hope. “Is chocolate involved?”

“The perfect way, Sister—in the cake and the frosting. The ratio is a lovely two to one.”

“I approve.”

“Elizabeth,” Susan crossed her arms, “I don't want to hear one word about the spirit of poverty tomorrow.”

“Susan, you know very well Saint Francis lived on only what he and the friars begged for.”

“Elizabeth—”

“But like him, I graciously accept what I'm given—chocolate cake most of all.”

The table broke up amidst laughter.

A familiar voice reached Giulia as she passed the front foyer. Sister Arnulf had buttonholed another new arrival. English and Swedish garbled together as Sister Theresa apologized and Sister Arnulf resisted her pulling arms.

Giulia headed for the stairs and her room, the only place she could safely check for texts.

“Sister Regina Coelis.”

The Superior General sounded exactly like a cartoon snake's voice. Giulia choked down a smart remark. No need to aggravate her further.

“Yes, Sister Fabian?”

Every one of the dozen Sisters within earshot stopped whatever they were doing and found something to keep them in the main hall.

“I expect you in my office.”

With an expressionless face, Giulia said, “I'm sorry, Sister, but I don't have time right now.”

She felt the wave of astonishment ripple through the hall. Before her façade crumbled, she turned her back on Sister Fabian's outraged face and continued upstairs.

“Saint Francis Day is tomorrow,” the cartoon snake hissed.

“I'm aware of that, Sister, thank you.”

If they'd been anywhere else, a delighted and horrified murmur of conversation would've followed her upstairs. Instead, Sister Fabian's quick, deliberate steps headed toward the chapel hall and her private rooms. Giulia counted to twenty out of habit. So did everyone else, apparently, because at “twenty” the hurried patter of many sensible shoes scattered in every other direction.

Giulia's heart pounded as she climbed the four flights of stairs to the third floor with outward calm.

Only Sister Mary Stephen's gaze met hers as she crossed the carpet to her room. Behind her own closed door, Giulia stuck her head out the window into the shock of cold fall air.

You're a grown woman, Falcone. It's ridiculous for you to react like a ten-year-old disobeying her parents. You're past this. You're free. You owe her nothing.

She sneezed.
And you're cold. Get inside, dummy.

She closed the window with one hand and groped for her phone with the other. No texts.

A moment later, she laughed at herself. What a desperate, trapped animal she'd become when no connection to the outside world killed her good mood.

That and Sidney's CAPSLOCK proposal text.

Sidney, six years younger than Giulia. With a happy, goofy family; an endless wonder at the everyday world; and a kind, intelligent fiancé.

Giulia, pushing thirty with both hands, had a laundry list of “issues,” a family that hadn't spoken to her since a year ago June, and a short-circuited relationship with her boss.

He room attempted its Shrinky-Dink imitation again.

“No.” She slapped the walls apart. “They move only in your own imagination. You keep this up and you'll be a human touch-me-not plant when you leave. Anytime someone comes near you, you'll curl into a trembling ball.”

She looked down at the phone, open on the bed. The message icon had appeared.

Trans: What does the face mean? = Vad betyder ansikte? Was she unhappy? = Var hon olycklig? Cont nxt txt.

“Excellent.” Giulia pulled out a page from her Day-Timer and wrote everything out.

The icon lit.

Was she afraid? = Var hon rädd? Mr D says dont forgt lnch.

A moment later she'd dialed the office and waited for Sidney to pick up on the second ring, like always.

“Driscoll Investigations, may I help you?”

“Congratulations.”

“Giulia! We miss you. Did anyone recognize you? Is it just like you remember?”

“No and yes. Tell me about Olivier.”

“He was so romantic. He took me to his parents' house for dinner and they made eggplant parm and fresh bread.”

“So they cooked especially for you?” Giulia heard her own smile in her voice.

“Olivier said he told them how I eat. All his brothers and their wives and their kids were there. It was a huge meet-the-family night.”

Giulia took a breath to speak at the same time Sidney did, and missed her chance.

“After dinner we got all bundled up and walked in the woods behind the house. The moon was shining through the trees and the leaves were all soft underfoot, and we stopped by this huge sugar maple and he really did get down on one knee and ask me to marry him.”

“His family was in on it, then.”

Sidney tee-hee'd. Giulia turned the phone up away from her face and took several deep breaths. She didn't want Sidney to think she was laughing at her. She hadn't realized how much of a delight Sidney was till this minute.

“Of course I said yes. His mom and dad and all his brothers were waiting in the hall when we came in.” She paused. “Am I that obvious?”

“Well, with Olivier you are.”

“Oh. That's okay then.”

“Look, I have to go,” Giulia said, “but I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure. Go ahead. I've got paper and pen right here.”

“I need a Swedish interpreter.”

“Weren't my translations okay? I looked them up on Google.”

“I'm sure they're fine; my idea isn't sufficient. I'm going to try them, but my pronunciation won't be correct and I'll have to write her answers phonetically. We don't have the time.”