Kicking the Habit
Kicking the Habit
Kari Lee Townsend
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Kari Lee Townsend
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN: 9781477858639
This book is dedicated to my agent, Christine Witthohn, of Book Cents Literary Agency. You are so much more than just an agent to me. You are a very close friend. Thank you so much for always standing in my corner, fiercely fighting for me, and making my dreams come true.
Table of Contents
Episode 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Episode 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Episode 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Episode 4
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Episode 5
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Episode 6
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Episode 7
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Episode 8
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Kindle Serials
Episode 1
Chapter 1
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I didn’t mean to; really, I didn’t. I just never expected temptation to come in that form. And ohhhh, what a form it was! Who knew keeping my vow of chastity would be so hard? Now, now—it’s not what you think, but still, it’s bad just the same. Confusing, I know, but trust me, you’ll understand when you hear me out.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Cece Monroe said, hearing the gravity in her own voice but plunging ahead nonetheless. She couldn’t stop now. If she did, she’d never find the courage to say what she must. “It’s been a while since my last confession,” she managed in a shaky voice as she sat on the other side of the confessional in Our Lady of Glory Church.
“Sister Mary Cecelia, is that you?” the priest asked, sounding surprised.
Cece closed her eyes and her pulse picked up, matching the tempo of the organ keys as the organist pounded out the hymn for this Sunday’s mass. Twisting her black robes, Cece struggled to find the right words. “Yes, Father, it’s little ole me,” she squeaked. Just her luck she’d get Father Flannigan. She’d never been very “nun-like,” no matter how hard she’d tried. The poor man was always bailing her out of trouble.
Hence, confessing this sin would be that much harder.
“You can talk to me any time, my child. Why choose to do so in the confessional?” he asked in his kind, gentle voice.
Cece stifled a groan. “Oh, trust me, Father. When you hear what I have to say, you’ll be glad you don’t have to look into my eyes.” She felt the heat of her blush climb her cheeks, and she hadn’t even said the words yet.
“Go ahead; I’m listening,” his soothing tone filtered through the screen. She could hear the smile in his voice, even though she couldn’t see his face that well. He probably thought she’d used a cuss word or had eaten a second helping of supper or—God forbid—longed for some fancy trinket.
If only!
There weren’t enough Acts of Contrition or Hail Marys out there to absolve her of this one, she feared. The guilt pressed down on her shoulders, weighing on her heavily, as she sought the courage to continue.
“It’s okay. Nothing you could have done would warrant God striking you dead with a lightning bolt, so have no fear; tell me what’s on your mind.”
Ha! She wasn’t so sure about that. “Okay, Father, but you might want to ground yourself.”
The lights in the confessional were low, the benches sideways, granting Cece a dim view of the priest’s profile. This was meant to put the sinner at ease, but there was nothing easy about what Sister Mary Cecelia had to say. She took a deep breath. The aromas of wood polish, candle smoke, and a faint dusty “old” smell filled her senses, calming her nerves a bit.
After a moment she blurted, “Dreams, Father—I’ve been having dreams.”
“Is that all? We all have dreams.”
“I sincerely doubt we all have these kinds of dreams.”
“And what kind of dream would that be?”
Cece looked around, knowing full well there was no one in the confessional with her except the priest, yet she still felt as though the whole world were listening. She whispered, “The kind that involves doing the Humpty Dumpty.” There. She’d said it. She let out a huge sigh of relief as she awaited Father Flannigan’s reaction.
Father hesitated then asked, “The Humpty What-y?”
Great. He had no clue what she was talking about, but what had she expected? The man was in his seventies. It had been quite some time, if ever, since he’d done the Humpty Dumpty.
She tried again. “Um, well, you know, the Humpty Dumpty. Let’s just say it involves a little bumping and grinding and a bit of twisting and shouting.” Okay, so she’d done a whole lot more than a bit, but he didn’t need to know all the details.
“Ah, I see. You dreamt about dirty dancing. That’s not—”
“Oh, for the love of God, Father, I had sex. S–E–X. Sex, Father. Seeeeeeex!” she said, drawing out the word.
The organist hit the wrong key and then stopped playing altogether. The shuffling in the choir section ceased. Even the janitor quit banging about as he cleaned the pews, judging by the tomb-like quiet that had settled over Our Lady of Glory.
Oh, boy, what have I done? Cece thought.
Father cleared his throat in such a manner that all activity within the church resumed, full force. In fact, the mumbling grew so loud that Cece was positive the news of her indiscretion had already spread from New Hope, Massachusetts, all the way to the West Coast.
“Sister, are you saying you broke your vow of celibacy?” Father sputtered.
“Not physically, but my dreams are so steamy they’re hot enough to curl my habit. My habit, Father. I’m actually wearing it in the dreams, by the way. That has to be wrong. Has to be.”
“Curling your habit, you say? That does sound serious. Quite serious, indeed.” He cleared his throat again, more softly this time. “Well, you are on the path to becoming a full nun, so you really shouldn’t be thinking about … about …”
“Doing the naughty?” she supplied.
“Precisely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The conversation sounded like a normal chat over a cup of tea. Cece felt like she was standing outside her body, watching the bizarre events unfold.
“Anyway, you shouldn’t be thinking about having carnal relations with a man—I’m assuming it’s a man.”
“Yes!” The word burst out of her.
“Good,” he said, and she could just make out his frown through the thick screen. “I mean, not good, but—”
“I get it. You were saying?”
“Well, perhaps your dreams will go away.”
“Somehow, I doubt it. You see, they’ve escalated over the past couple months to the point where I’m having them during the day too.” She paused and then decided she might as well confess everything. “Even when I’m in church.” She pressed her lips together and waited.
Hmmm. No lightning bolt. Go
figure.
“Oh, my. I’m not quite sure what to say. Maybe if you talk to this man, get to the root of why you’re dreaming about him, you will stop having dreams of this nature. Celibacy is not easy for any of us. Many people of the cloth turn to vice. Maybe you need another outlet.”
“I’ve tried everything: meditation, exercise, cooking, knitting … nothing works. The dreams won’t stop, and I can’t confront my dream man because he doesn’t have a face.” But based on what he did to her in her dreams, she was pretty sure he wasn’t of heavenly descent. She shivered, thinking about it, and then winced. “I can’t serve God while thinking about ‘doing the naughty’ when I’m in His house. It’s just not right. I’ve let the Mother Superior know I’m leaving.”
“Oh, dear, that’s quite a pickle,” Father said, and Cece wondered in an insane moment of panic whether he’d had a glimpse of her dreams. She shook off that crazy notion and squinted as Father Flannigan tipped his head back and took a swig from what looked like a flask—obviously, his “vice”—then screwed the cap back on. “Medicinal purposes for the rheumatism, you know,” he clarified when he noticed the silence.
“Right. Well, I feel better, having confessed my sins and filled you in on my decision to leave the sisterhood.”
“I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but you’ve made it through most of the steps. Are you sure you don’t want to take that final step and petition for your permanent vows? Nine years of work is a lot to throw away.”
“I haven’t made this decision lightly, and I’m not throwing anything away. We both know I’m more like the Flying Nun than Mother Teresa. I truly believe I have a different calling.”
“What will you do, my child?”
“Well, I’ve decided to move back in with my granny and sister. I’m older and wiser now. Maybe I can help them. In fact, just because I will no longer be a part of the sisterhood doesn’t mean I can’t still help the people of New Hope. I’m thinking about opening a counseling clinic as soon as I find a place and a way to afford it.”
“That sounds like a great idea, dear, but we’ll miss you.” He gave her a penance, and she walked him to a meeting he was running late for.
Halfway there, he said, “Oh, dear me. I forgot my special Bible in the confessional. I’ll never make that meeting if I go back for it.” He stared at her with a meaningful look.
She smiled. “I’ll get it. I know how much you love that Bible. I don’t think I’ve seen you without it since I met you.”
“Bless you, child.”
“And thank you, Father. For everything.”
“You’re very welcome, Cece.”
He hadn’t called her Cece since she was a teenager. It felt a little strange not being Sister Mary Cecelia anymore, but she had no regrets. She truly believed everything happened for a reason. Now she just had to figure out what she was meant to do with her new life.
Father Flannigan winked as he continued on his merry way, with a spring to his step that belied any stiff or achy joints. Cece shook her head and chuckled, strolling back to the confessional.
What a character, she thought. What a day.
***
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Yup, you guessed it. It’s me, Cece. Bet you probably didn’t expect to hear from me again so soon, but this time I think you’ll approve. Not about being an imposter, but about trying to help. It sounds crazy, I know, but I truly believe what I’m doing is right. “What happens in a confessional, stays in a confessional,” right? Besides, I won’t really have to lie; I just won’t tell everything I know.
By the time Cece reentered the church, the choir had taken a break from practice. They probably needed therapy after what they’d heard her shout a little while ago. And the janitor had most likely stepped out for a smoke, as was his usual routine.
Sure, now the church was empty—but bad timing had always been Cece’s luck. Her strong convictions had her sticking her nose where it didn’t belong time after time. Even though she had good intentions, things never worked out the way she planned. She always found herself in bizarre predicaments, struggling to make the best of bad situations.
Confessing her sins and screaming “Sex!” in front of half the staff of Our Lady of Glory really hadn’t been surprising behavior on her part, Cece knew. She only hoped Cece’s Counseling Clinic—for that was what she’d decided to call it—would be a fresh start all around. First, she had one last thing to do before clearing out her belongings and saying her good-byes.
After climbing the steps to the confessionals, she slipped into the side where the priest sat. She took a moment to sit on the bench and adjust her eyes to the dim light, feeling it strange to be “on the other side of the fence.” In a way, this was exactly what she would be doing once she opened her clinic: listening to people’s problems and counseling them on how to improve their lives.
She felt a surge of excitement but reminded herself she was still in the confessional and in no way a priest. “Aha, there you are,” she mumbled as she bent down to pick up Father Flannigan’s Bible. A secret compartment flipped open, revealing a silver flask inside. Why, that stinker. So that’s why he considered this Bible “special,” she thought with a smile.
The confessional shook as someone rushed in on the other side and plopped down on the bench. Cece sat up and struggled to see through the screen, but the hunched-over man wore a suit and an overcoat, with his collar up and fedora pulled down low. She tried to speak up to inform him she wasn’t a priest, but he started talking so fast she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
“I’ll tell you, Father, I had no idea anything illegal was going on, or I never would have gotten involved. I trusted this person, never thought in a million years I would find myself betrayed. This will ruin me if it gets out. What am I going to do?”
Cece gasped. She knew that voice. New Hope was a small town. “Senator Sloan?”
His head whipped to the side, his eyes wide with shock, then horror over what he’d just admitted. “Y–you’re not a priest!”
“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t stop talking. I’m sorry,” she said, feeling guilty.
“Y–you shouldn’t be in here,” he stuttered. “Why are you in here? Oh, my God, I’m ruined!” He shot up.
“Wait!” She tried to stop him, but he bolted through the curtain as she finished with, “I’ll never tell, I swear it.” She grabbed Father’s Bible and clutched it to her chest, scrambling out of the confessional to chase after the senator. “Senator! Wait, please!”
Dropping his hat, he kept walking, picking up the pace as he made a beeline for the front doors. “I’ve already said too much. Just leave me alone.” He pushed his way through the double doors, and sunlight streamed inside, blinding Cece.
She shielded her eyes and blinked to regain her vision. The doors closed, granting her one last glimpse of the senator. Rays of sunlight reflected off his shiny black hair like a spotlight, and then he was gone.
Gathering her skirts in her hand, she picked up his hat and ran after him. Her slippers muffled her footsteps along the way. They also hid her hot-pink toenails—another non-nun-like frivolity Cece had never quite been able to give up.
A loud noise came from outside, but it didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like one of the local teens had set off a firework, but Cece had more important things to worry about—like reassuring the senator that his secret was safe. Cece shoved her way through the doors of Our Lady of Glory, tripped over her robes, and fell onto the steps out front.
Right on top of Senator Sloan.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I … I …” She blinked several times to be sure she was seeing right. That loud noise hadn’t been a firework. It had been a gunshot, judging by the single hole in the middle of the senator’s forehead.
Cece started to shake. She felt for a pulse but found nothing. He was dead. “Somebody call 911!” she shouted, then noticed the expanding pool of blood beneath the senator’s head. “Oh, no,” s
he whispered. Blood wasn’t the only thing scattered all over the steps of her church. The back of his head had been blown off.
Her stomach heaved, and she jerked back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the senator. Sobs filled her, and then she leaned to the side and was sick. She couldn’t help but think this tragedy was somehow her fault.
The next five minutes felt like an eternity as sirens wailed and chaos ensued. Father Flannigan joined her on the steps, mouth agape and gray head hanging low as a crowd gathered on the sidewalk.
“There’s your Bible,” she said in a quiet voice, pointing with her bloodstained hands to the miraculously untouched book lying on the cement beside her. “Shouldn’t you be in your meeting?” she asked, feeling numb.
“The meeting adjourned after we heard the gunshot.” Their eyes met and held. “Cece, what on earth happened?”
“I … he … I don’t know, Father. He came into the confessional and started talking; then he ran out and someone shot him.”
The priest placed his hand on her arm and squeezed gently. “It’ll be okay, child.” He helped her to her feet and led the way inside the church over to one of the back pews. “You look rather pale. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go get you something to sip on.”
Cece sat in a daze, watching as the police arrived, the CSI guys did their thing, and the ambulance took the senator away. Because the deceased was a high-level government official, cops of all types—local, state, and Feds—swarmed all over the place like hornets zooming in for the sting. They weren’t likely to stop searching until they caught the person responsible.
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