Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  “Hopefully Saint Joseph will read your intention rather than your flippancy.” Her eyebrows met. “I’m talking like a maiden great-aunt again.”

  Frank swallowed his beer too quickly. “At least you recognize it.” He gave her the grin that meant I’m going to get a rise out of Giulia. “Pretty soon you’ll sound young enough for me to take home to meet the family.”

  The lights dimmed as though Frank had given a cue.

  Giulia hissed over the preliminary applause, “I’m younger than you, Mr. Driscoll.”

  “And tonight you’re finally dressed like it.”

  She kicked his shin—lightly. He grimaced at her and whispered, “I’ll get you for that.”

  Giulia adjusted the sleeves of her faux-silk shirt. I know I look modern and a little sexy, Frank Driscoll, because Mingmei helped me pick out these clothes.

  When Frank hired Giulia away from the coffee shop below his office, Giulia trained the new barista. Mingmei, Giulia’s opposite in practically everything, became something Giulia hadn’t had in ten years—a female friend. Close relationships were still frowned on in the convent. At first, Giulia didn’t even know how to carry on a light conversation. But then Mingmei caught Giulia reading Cosmo magazine at lunch, and Giulia explained her need to catch up on the past decade.

  Without Mingmei’s fashion advice, Giulia might’ve worn a beige turtleneck and gray skirt on tonight’s date.

  This is a real date, too, just Frank and me. Mingmei was right about this burnt-orange shirt and black jeans. I saw it in Frank’s eyes when he picked me up. So there, maiden-aunt Giulia. Go tat a doily.

  Frank jogged her elbow. “Wake up. The opening act is as good as the headliner.”

  “I’m awake. What kind of act?”

  “Puns and one-liners. If you’re not laughing in five minutes, you’re dead.”

  _____

  Two hours later, Frank’s hand came down over Giulia’s as she touched the door handle of her apartment building.

  “Are you going to ask me in, Ms. Falcone?”

  Giulia stiffened, and not because of the sharp wind. “Frank, you’re my employer.”

  “That’s an excuse and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Afraid?”

  I can prove to him I’m not an old maid. Boundaries are flexible.

  Giulia turned on him as the wind cut between them. “Come in for coffee. Since it’s after eleven now, I’ll let you corrupt me enough to sleep in and get to ten o’clock Mass tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “Your concept of sin needs work.”

  He closed the door after her and she led him to the end of the first floor.

  “Remember, Frank, my boundaries are only so flexible.”

  “Ma’am; yes, ma’am.”

  She writhed her lips to hide a smile and turned the deadbolt. “I’ll start coffee. I don’t have cable, so you’re stuck with the Saturday night programming for the dateless. Amaretto or caramel or espresso blend?”

  “Uh, no thanks on the flavored coffee. Espresso’s fine.” Frank’s footsteps headed toward the living room. “You have to tell my mother how you keep these tomato plants bearing this late in the year.”

  “Sidney’s alpaca fertilizer,” she called from inside the refrigerator. She came out with milk and half a chocolate pie. “Have you heard her family’s latest radio jingle?”

  “Unfortunately. It’s the definition of earworm.”

  The aroma of strong, dark coffee filled the galley kitchen. “If I ever bought one of their scarves, I’d hear that ‘spin-tastic’ song every time I put it on.”

  Frank returned to the kitchen. “So much for your Christmas present. That coffee smells good. I get dessert, too?”

  “Don’t be too flattered. I didn’t want the pie to go bad while I’m forced to relive my past.” Then she smiled. “Okay; be flattered. I could’ve frozen this.”

  “I am duly impressed. Someday I’ll charm you into making spaghetti for me, too.”

  She set cups, milk, and sugar on a tray. “Sorry. When a woman cooks for you, it’s a sign she considers the relationship an intimate one.” Good Heavens, you big-mouthed broad, shut up!

  He popped the plastic lid off the pie. “I’ll remember that. Got a knife?”

  She poured coffee while he sliced. He carried the tray to the coffee table and Giulia turned on the late movie—a Nick and Nora Charles rerun.

  At least it isn’t a romance. Which is as close as I’m going to get to admitting how much I want Frank to kiss me.

  She leaned forward to pick up her coffee. Frank picked up her hand before she touched the handle, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

  Some part of Giulia’s brain tried to put together a complete sentence, and failed.

  Frank pulled a millimeter away. Giulia remained where she was, eyes closed, and Frank kissed her again.

  “I like your flexible boundaries,” he murmured.

  Before she could answer, he put one hand against the small of her back and the other around her shoulders. Her mouth opened and his tongue touched hers.

  Don’t sabotage this, old maid Giulia.

  She slid her hand into his buzzed hair and initiated the next kiss. His right hand moved around her shoulder and touched her ear, then her neck. It traveled to the top curve of her breast beneath the silk. She breathed in a long, shaky breath. He froze.

  Her eyes opened. He leaned away and stared at his hand like it belonged to someone else.

  “What?”

  He snatched away his hand. “Shit. Boundaries. I’m sorry.”

  She made a face. “I didn’t protest.”

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t touch you like that. You’re a nun.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to Hell. I can just hear my grandmother now.”

  “I am an ex-nun. Ex.” She sat back against the couch. “I’ll show you my discharge papers.”

  Frank rubbed his face. “You’re different. Set apart. There’s no way I should be thinking about that lacy bra beneath that soft shirt.” He gulped. “Sorry. Shit.”

  “Maybe I’m okay with it.”

  His eyes flicked to her cleavage. “Damn it, don’t say things like that.” He straightened his shoulders. “I apologize. I’ll remember how to be a gentleman next time.”

  “You were perfectly—” She gave it up. An adult male with a beguiling grin no longer sat next to her. He’d been usurped by a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I never thought of my breasts as cookies before. A giggle spluttered out of her.

  She waved away his questioning look. “The coffee’s getting cold.”

  Frank handed Giulia her cup. As she watched him stab the first bite of his pie, she thought, This isn’t over, Frank Driscoll. I’ll make you remember I’m a woman, not a plastic statue. As soon as I’m out of the convent … again.

  Five

  After late Mass the next day, Giulia stuffed two pairs of pantyhose into each Godzilla bedroom slipper. “That’s too many for less than a week, but the stupid things run if you look at them cross-eyed.”

  Her beat-up black suitcase was already packed. “Underwear, cell charger, pajamas, toothbrush, wallet, and all that stuff. Got it.” On top of everything she set the Day-Timer Frank gave her on her first case and tucked a slipper on each side.

  After she zipped her suitcase closed, she gave her plants a final once-over. The (probably) last batches of basil and oregano for the season were drying on paper towels on top of the fridge. The late tomatoes had just a touch of red.

  “You’ll have to survive without me for a few days, guys.” With one finger she stirred the dirt at the base of the tomato. Disintegrating alpaca pellets gave off the faintest odor; in the next breath, it vanished. “Sidney, sales of this fertil
izer will put your little brother through college.”

  The habit hung on her closet door like it was nothing more than an innocent, plain black dress. Giulia stalked over and yanked it from the hanger.

  “I refuse to let this thing intimidate me. You hear that, dress? That’s all you are: a few yards of double-knit. You’re not a real habit because you’re not blessed.”

  She pulled off her T-shirt and stepped out of her jeans. Poised with the habit over her head, she grinned at her reflection in the narrow full-length mirror. Thank you, imp that sat on my shoulder this morning. If Sister Fabian only knew what lurked under this dress. The red lace bra revealed hints of nipple; the matching panties covered more, but no respectable nun’s anatomy should have been in the same zip code with them.

  “Proof positive I’m no longer a nun. Take that, Frank Driscoll.” She wriggled into the dress and zipped it. “Someday, Frank, perhaps you will admire this underwear.”

  Collar, veil, black flats. Now her reflection made her shiver, and she closed in on the mirror till her nose touched it. “You. Will. Not. Beat. Me.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Frank stepped backwards when she opened the front door. “Giulia, every instinct of mine expects you to whap me with a ruler because you’re dressed that way.”

  She raised her eyes to Heaven. “It’s a disguise, nothing more. Pretend it’s a practice run for Halloween.”

  He tried to straighten the nonexistent collar on his sweatshirt. “Right. Sure. You all set?”

  _____

  In the passenger seat of Frank’s Camry, Giulia maintained correct posture: both feet on the floor, spine straight, hands clasped in her lap. The night before, she’d mended the pocket and shoulder seam in her worn black raincoat.

  “I won’t be able to call you with updates. The walls between the bedrooms are wicked thin.”

  Frank merged onto I-79. “I figured as much. We’ll stick to texting then.”

  “If nothing else, it’ll improve my texting speed.”

  “Right. So here’s the plan.” A Hummer cut them off. Frank cursed and swerved onto the shoulder. “Sorry, Sis—.”

  “Argh.” She banged the back of her head against the headrest. “You’re going to drive me to violence. Will you please look past this disguise? I’m still under here.”

  “Sorry, Giulia. It’s too convincing.”

  If I had no morals, I’d make you pull over and then I’d show you my underwear. In daylight. And in public. That was what she wanted to say. She settled for, “Why don’t you watch for renegade SUVs while we talk. That way you can pretend I’m not Sister Mary Intimidation.”

  Frank bit his lip. “Got it.”

  They drove in silence for a few miles. Frank muttered at the prevalence of minivans filled with children distracting the driver. Giulia settled deeper into her old self—that is, her character for this assignment.

  When the traffic thinned, Frank said, “Texting’s the better choice anyway for now. The guy Blake put me on used to be a small-time drug dealer. Jimmy talked to Narcotics, and I’ll be working with them for the next few days.”

  “How is Captain Teddy Bear?”

  “Someday you’ll call him that to his face. I just hope a dozen cops are there when you do.” He merged right and exited onto 376. “He’s fine and so are Laura and the new baby.”

  “Baby?” Giulia’s character immersion slipped. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d’ve made a batch of sauce to give the new mom a break.”

  “You are not getting within five blocks of Jimmy. He’ll try to hire you away again.” Frank looked over at her. “I’m not letting you get away from me. That is, from Driscoll Investigations.”

  Nice Freudian slip, Frank. If only you meant it. “Back on topic: Sister Mary Regina Coelis would have no reason to call a man on a cell phone she’s not supposed to have. The texting plan works out.”

  “Who?”

  Giulia laughed. “I forgot you didn’t know the name I was given at my Investiture.”

  “What a mouthful. Is that Latin?”

  “You slept through religion classes, didn’t you? Yes, it’s Latin. I was once named for Mary Queen of Heaven. Fabian and I are going to tell the curious that I petitioned to return.”

  “What about the cover story I thought up for you?”

  “Too complex. I’d’ve had to remember the name of a fictitious brother, his wife, their imaginary orphaned child, and a weasely insurance company. Instead, I’m re-assimilating after teaching in the farthest places the Community reaches, being gone for a year, and petitioning to re-enter. Simpler and mostly true.”

  The car idled as Frank waited on the exit ramp from 376 for an opening to turn right. “Is that allowed? Leaving and coming back, I mean. I would’ve thought once you kicked the habit, it stayed kicked.”

  “Tsk. That expression is juvenile.”

  Two bicyclists crossed just as the light changed at the next intersection. “You’re talking like a nun again.”

  “Duh, Frank. I’m ten minutes away from being a nun again.” The words clogged her throat. “That is, from pretending to be a nun again. I need to talk and think and act like I used to. To answer your question, there’s an outside chance re-entering could be allowed because so many nuns are leaving. Few people want to challenge Fabian, so we should be safe playing it that way for several days.”

  He nodded, his eyebrows meeting. “I bow to your greater experience in matters of the arcane. And I’ll contact the Novice’s family tonight, get their story without Sister Fabian’s filters.”

  “Sister Bridget. Did you forget already? All the Driscoll charm will be wasted if you don’t remember their daughter’s name. Not everyone wants to give their child to the Church.”

  “We’re not working for the Church … oh, yeah.” He turned left.

  The neighborhood became more familiar to Giulia. They passed the high school where she did her first student teaching. Then the consignment shop, tattoo parlor, mom-and-pop grocery, bar. She rolled down the window and inhaled the espresso-flavored breeze from the Double Shot on the corner. “That’s wonderful.”

  That also means we’re only two blocks from the Motherhouse.

  “Frank, you should pull into a parking space on the next block. That way no one will see you driving me—especially not up to the door.”

  The Camry parked in the empty lot of a boarded-up travel agency next to a chain drugstore.

  “I expected the main convent to be in a better neighborhood.”

  “Franciscans are supposed to be about poverty. We—they—set up shop where they’re needed most.” She stared out her window at the Motherhouse’s weathered stone wall, visible beyond the prevalent red maples. “We used to sneak sandwiches to the schoolkids whose parents ran out of money between unemployment checks. Beatrice—the Community accountant—knew we did it but didn’t know how to tell us not to be charitable.” She smiled. “We always wondered if we’d cause her head to explode before she died of old age.”

  Two motorcycles idled at the stop sign, riders adjusting helmets, before they roared away. When the noise faded, Giulia said, “As soon as I get settled, I’ll ask Fabian who Sister Bridget’s friends were. If needed, I’ll co-opt some of the Driscoll charm to use on them.”

  “I wish I could watch you in action. Don’t get sucked back in there permanently.” He popped the trunk and came around to the passenger side with her suitcase. “I’m too busy to train a new partner.”

  “I can always count on you for an inspiring speech.” She took the black bag from him, and he leaned his face down to hers.

  For a moment she considered it. Then the wind flapped her veil between them.

  “No. You can’t kiss a nun.”

  Dismay flicked across his face. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.�
��

  She touched his arm. “Don’t forget that this is a costume now. Underneath it I’m still a free woman.”

  He averted his eyes from her all-black ensemble. “Right. Text me when you know something.”

  I’m going to have to seriously deprogram him when this is over. She walked northeast across the parking lot and onto the familiar sidewalk. Frank tapped the horn as he drove away in the opposite direction.

  Too soon, she stood at the end of the Motherhouse driveway.

  Six

  Like a hallway in a nightmare, the long, curved driveway up to the Motherhouse’s front door seemed to stretch as she walked along it. At its end, the century-old five-story building filled the horizon, despite the illusion of distance.

  Giulia felt as intimidated as Maria did in The Sound of Music when she first saw the von Trapp mansion. Funny, since this experience was the exact opposite. She was coming back to the convent instead of plunging into life on the outside.

  The stone walls looked the same as the last time. It’s only been eighteen months since you left the Community, dummy. What did you expect? Graffiti and psychedelic paint? She’d always liked how the ivy covering the walls shaded from gold to orange to cranberry to maroon in autumn. The farther she walked down the driveway, more present-day details clashed with her memories. That narrow window on the third floor marked her room after temporary vows, the limbo between the Novitiate and a full-fledged Sister of Saint Francis. The cupola should still be decorated with the “all for one and one for all” logo she and her fellow Novices painted on the underside of its roof one midnight. The octagonal window at one corner of the fifth floor would still be the small chapel used solely by the first-year Postulants and second-year Novices.

  There was always attrition in the first few months after entering the Community. Giulia’s own group lost four Postulants in as many months. But when the rest of them took the veil and became Novices, they’d hung together to survive.

  Mostly. She grimaced at the thought of meeting Sister Mary Stephen again. All those fights. All the backstabbing and power grabs. One of the unexpected benefits of jumping the wall had been freedom from Mary Stephen forever. So much for that.