Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  The trumpet hit a B-flat instead of a B and the choir director’s tight voice snapped, “The last two lines again, please.”

  Giulia turned her back on the statue. She could brave early winter in the gardens for the sake of a little head space.

  With a resounding three-octave B chord, the rehearsal ended. Giulia’s footsteps crack-crack-cracked on the tiled vestibule floor in the new silence. Maybe she’d stay in here after all.

  Many footsteps clattered down the narrow stairs from the choir loft. Giulia flattened herself against the wall for the singers to pass.

  “Well, well, well. Good morning again.”

  Giulia counted to five. “Good morning, Sister Mary Stephen.”

  “Are you spying on the choir or merely taking up space this morning?” Mary Stephen’s professionally trained voice made even snark sound melodious.

  “I had business to take care of.”

  “I’m sure you did. That would be hanging on the fringes of the talented group, as usual, right?” Her wide smile took in her own business suit–tailored habit and Giulia’s plain, used, unflattering one.

  “If you spent less time watching what I did—”

  “If you spent more time living up to your vocation—”

  Giulia glared. “How would you know what living up to a vocation means? Unless you still think God’s called you to be the Community’s Rumor Mill.”

  Giulia’s group-mate took one step nearer to her. “When the well-being of the group is involved—”

  “Not that excuse again.” Giulia pulled a deliberate smirk. “It was lame by the second time you tried it on our Novice Mistress.”

  “So you admit you were wrong the first time.”

  “Fat chance. The only thing wrong was your Hooverlike sucking up to her.”

  Sister Mary Stephen’s nostrils flared. “You always were eaten up with jealousy. Just because Sister Fatima recognized my willingness to help—”

  Giulia barked a laugh. “Is that what you call it?”

  “As proved by the positions given to me.”

  “Hall monitor, snitch, and truant officer. Oh, and your most-deserved title: Number One Backstabber.”

  Sister Mary Stephen stepped even closer to Giulia. “You still claim the streamlined filing system was your idea?”

  “I know it was. Remember, I caught you coming out of my room the night before you pitched the idea to Sister Fatima.”

  “We all worked on it!”

  “Oh, and I was merely the recording secretary? Not a chance, Stephen. You snuck into everyone’s room to appropriate whatever would make you look like the Indispensable Novice.” Giulia stepped closer this time. “Ask Josepha if she remembers the day her sneakers got confiscated.”

  Mary Stephen’s high color faded a degree. “What are you implying?”

  Giulia plastered “wide-eyed innocence” on her face. “You don’t remember one of your finest moments? That would be when you convinced Sister Fatima that any outside contact had to be detrimental to the intent of the cloistered Canonical year.” Giulia’s voice, as low as Mary Stephen’s but not as trained, grew raspy. “So under the cloak of Formation you got yourself named ‘Ethics Nazi’ and snatched Josepha’s high-tops out of her room when she wasn’t there—because she kept letters from her girls’ Pee-Wee basketball team in them.”

  “You—I—Sister Fatima said—”

  “Whatever she said, you twisted it to suit your own purposes.”

  Mary Stephen choked, but recovered the next moment. “That’s rich, coming from you. No one saw through your ‘Model Novice’ game except me.”

  “Don’t blame me because you couldn’t be Top Nun in everything. You’re a great singer, you’re smart, you’re efficient, you have an eye for arranging flowers, and you can embroider fancy altar cloths without a pattern.”

  “Well—thank you—”

  “But you can’t force people to like you even though they kiss your sensible black shoes. Sister Fatima confided in me because we liked each other. Hildegard and Barbara hung out with me because we needed a change from you. They never kissed my shoes, because I didn’t want it or need it. It’s called friendship.”

  Mary Stephen’s hands clenched. “Don’t you pretend to be a saint on earth. You think I snuck around the fifth floor? Then you must’ve learned something from me, Miss Self-Righteous. I got a look in your desk drawer last night.”

  Giulia’s ears sizzled. “You’re still pawing through my life? Good God, you’re certifiable. The best day of my Sisterhood was the day you and I got assigned to separate schools.”

  “Don’t change the subject. I saw that folder. You didn’t even bother to hide it.”

  “Because I didn’t know Sister Snitch was still in business.” Giulia got toe-to-toe with Mary Stephen, craning back her neck to look up into her face. “Did you get some kind of illicit pleasure feeling up my underwear?”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing I still don’t trust you.” She looked down her nose at Giulia. “I think Sister Fabian would be very interested to learn—”

  “Sister Mary Stephen. Sister Regina Coelis.”

  Giulia and her adversary froze. Sister Fabian stood at the foot of the choir loft stairs. Behind her and on the opposite side of the vestibule, every member of the choir crowded the steps, horror and rapt attention on every face.

  “I am appalled that two Sisters of Saint Francis would conduct themselves in this manner. In the presence of their fellow Sisters, no less. What kind of example are you setting for the Sisters in Formation?”

  Giulia kept her eyes on the floor. Without doubt Sister Mary Stephen was doing the same. It was the only safe and humble-appearing action.

  “Our Community is beginning a new era, joined in faith with our sister Communities on this solemn and joyful feast.”

  Giulia ground her teeth, dying to tell her where to get off, knowing she had to take it to maintain her cover.

  “Retire to your rooms, please, and meditate on the sins of pride and anger. I strongly suggest you fast until dinner and offer it up in a spirit of humility. Both of you need to remember what that word means.”

  “Thank you, Sister.” Giulia and Mary Stephen gave the expected reply almost in unison.

  Giulia raised her head at last and met forty identical expressions of schadenfreude. Of course. Any day Sister Fabian ripped into someone other than you was a good day.

  The choir filed past them, their faces shifting into neutral when they neared Sister Fabian. Mary Stephen caught up to the last of the line and followed them out.

  Giulia slumped down against the wall until her butt hit the floor. “I have never wanted to let loose a string of curses worthy of Frank Driscoll more than at this moment.”

  Silence filled the chapel. Giulia gazed at the eternally burning candle flame above the tabernacle until her eyes unfocused.

  “You two should just put on bikinis and mud wrestle.”

  Giulia started, gasped, and dissolved into laughter.

  Sister Bartholomew squatted next to her. “That was better than a soap opera.”

  “They’ll be—” more laughter—“talking about us for days.” She groped in her pocket for a tissue and came up empty. The Novice handed her one, and she wiped her eyes. “So much for keeping a low profile.”

  “Maybe there’s too much happening this week for them to gossip about it?”

  Giulia honked into the tissue. “A houseful of women letting an epic catfight pass without comment? Please.”

  Sister Bart coughed. “You have a point.”

  Giulia stood. “I’m getting out of here. Thanks for the tissue.”

  “But you’re supposed to be in your room, fasting.” Her eyes became as big as a manga heroine’s.

  “There’s
only so much incarceration any human can take.” Giulia remembered whom she was talking to. “Sorry. You’re right.”

  The lunch bell rang.

  “Go on. Get in there before you get in trouble too. I’ll wait till everyone’s in the refectory before I move. I wouldn’t want to give further scandal.”

  Sixteen

  Giulia took a head count as she waited just inside the archway to the chapel entrance hall. One hundred forty-eight. No wonder the refectory resembled the wall-to-wall people and food stands of the Taste of Pittsburgh festival. When the Postulant Mistress passed through the refectory door last of all, Giulia walked through the chapel and the vestry and out into the supply hall. The garden door locked itself behind her.

  “It doesn’t matter; getting in is the easy part. Let them speculate on what I’ve been up to when I come back. Entertainment hostess, that’s me.”

  The chill wind rustled the crimson maple leaves. Giulia breathed it in. “Freedom. What a beautiful scent.”

  She opened her phone and texted Frank. He replied ten seconds later.

  Giulia jogged right, left, right, and around the narrow flagstone paths in the gardens. The wall ended at the driveway—much too close to the front door for her tastes, but some things couldn’t be helped. She continued down the driveway, rubbing her arms—it felt like mid-November, not early October. Stupid to run out without her coat, but the escape window had opened and she knew better than to ignore it.

  Frank’s Camry idled halfway down the block. Giulia started to run toward it, but remembered what she was supposed to be. Slowing to a brisk walk only took an extra minute, but the sidewalk appeared to stretch with every step, keeping her from her goal: the Camry’s open passenger door.

  “Where’s your coat?” Frank’s annoyed voice snapped her hallucination.

  “I grabbed escape when opportunity presented itself.” She closed the car door and held out her hands to the vents. “My coat wasn’t available.”

  “Geez, it’s that bad?” He put the car in gear and drove away.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “Hi. We’re going to Scarpulla’s Deli. They gave us the world’s best sandwiches when we were on stakeouts.” He beat a yellow light at a small intersection.

  Giulia stretched her toes to catch the lovely heat from the floor vents. “Won’t that be crowded and exposed?”

  “Nope. They added booths last year when they reinvented as a ’50s nostalgia place. We’ll have just enough privacy to talk over the noise.”

  Giulia leaned back in the gray cloth seat. She hadn’t realized how much the tension monkey on her shoulders weighed till she was—temporarily—back in the real world. Out where people didn’t obsess over cobwebby ideas of behavior. Or paw through your underwear. Frank did once, though, when Urnu the Snake and his sister tried to kill me. A smile spread across her face. I can overlook Frank’s drawer-searching, since his goal was to keep the world from seeing me naked. The smile vanished. But I won’t overlook Mary Stephen’s snooping.

  “What are you thinking about? You look like you’re ready to clock someone.”

  “Remember how I said you’d have to pay for counseling after this? If things keep heading in the same direction, you might have to post bail for me.”

  The upcoming light turned red and he braked too hard. “What kind of drama’s going on in there?”

  Giulia bounced a bit, pulling her veil off-kilter. “Stupid design.” She adjusted it, tucking in her hair. “If I Velcro it tight enough not to slip, it gives me a headache. It’s not just drama in there, it’s melodrama. Complete with ghosts and clues no one understands and surprise villains poking their noses where they most certainly don’t belong.”

  “How’re you fitting in?”

  “Hah. Where should I start?” She gave him a wicked grin. “If you were to drop me off within sight of a window and then kiss me goodbye … oh, the scandal. I think I’d enjoy the instant chaos.”

  Frank looked sideways at her. “ Yeah, um, not while you’re dressed the part.”

  “I know. I’m yanking your chain.” She watched the lunch crowd hurrying along the sidewalks. “Are we there yet?”

  He snorted. “What are you, four?”

  “I want one of these amazing sandwiches. Wait a minute. What was a Cottonwood policeman doing on a stakeout in Pittsburgh?”

  “I graduated from the police academy here. Bigger city, more opportunity, all of that.” He signaled a left turn and waited for traffic. “Plus I got out from under my brothers’ shadows.”

  “That’s right, you’re the baby.”

  He pulled into the deli’s parking lot. “Spoken like the oldest. Maybe I should ask your brother what he thinks of you.”

  “He’ll whine about how I threw shoes at him from the top of the stairs, neglecting to mention that he flung them back from the bottom of the same stairs. Then he’ll announce that I’m a disgrace to the family and try to recruit you into the Latin Mass Society.”

  Frank turned toward her. “You threw shoes at your brother? But you’re all about doing the correct thing. Your picture should be in the paper next to a manners advice column.”

  “Gosh, thanks. In other words, I’m still repressed and uptight.”

  He avoided her eyes. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Let’s just get lunch and compare notes.”

  He opened her door. “I wish you weren’t wearing that outfit. It sticks out.”

  She shrugged. “That’s its purpose. If someone asks, you’d better tell them I’m your cousin. Nuns don’t have intimate lunch dates with men.”

  Frank’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Holy sh—crap. I didn’t think of that. I keep thinking you’re just Giulia.”

  “Good. That’s exactly what I am: Giulia wearing a disguise.” She looked up into his face. “Your eyes are bloodshot. What have you been doing?”

  “You sound like Sidney. She’s been pushing this disgusting herb tea on me every morning. I’ve been working late with Jimmy and the narc guys, pulling together the pieces of the MS Contin ring.”

  “The what?” Giulia shivered in the steady wind. “Can we go inside? This habit isn’t all-weather.”

  He opened the restaurant door for her. A Babel of voices and a wave of odors crashed against them. Giulia picked out tomato soup, bacon, and pumpkin pie.

  “They ain’t been the same since the Steel Curtain.”

  “At least the Penguins scored—”

  “… wants to be Paris Hilton for Halloween …”

  Over all of it Elvis sang about love and loss. Laminated movie posters from 1950s classics muted the glowing white walls: Love Me Tender, The Wild One, Harvey, The Girl Can’t Help It. Cherry-red swivel stools lined a long chrome and Formica counter, the shelf behind it loaded with milkshake machines, soda dispensers, and two old-fashioned coffee urns.

  The hostess led them along the row of booths on the opposite wall. The black-and-white checked linoleum offset the red vinyl booths with their speckled tables. A few lunch patrons looked up when Giulia passed, and their conversations paused. She kept her face neutral. Most booths were occupied, and the busboy washed down one smack in the center just as the hostess neared it.

  Frank unbuttoned his trench coat while Giulia studied the menu with a feeling akin to rapture. “Frank, I owe you. They have sopressata clubs.”

  He folded the coat and set it next to him on the seat. “Whatever that is, it can’t beat a cheesesteak hoagie.”

  “O ye of limited palate. I’ll give you a bite of mine and you’ll understand.”

  Their waitress, wearing a pink-and-white striped poodle skirt, starched blouse, and cap, appeared with pencil and pad. She stared at Giulia, took their orders, and promised to bring their drinks.

  “I haven’t missed being on
display like a department store Santa.”

  “Yeah, I caught the looks. Did you hear how the suits in front stopped discussing the cup sizes of their weekend dates?”

  Giulia rolled her eyes. “No, thank God. So what is Sidney trying to make you drink?”

  He groaned. “Eyebright and chickweed tea with a liquid B-vitamin complex added. I’d rather eat pickled beets than drink it, and pickled beets make me puke. Sorry.” He leaned forward. “Don’t tell Sidney, but the B-vitamin thing really works.”

  Giulia laughed. “If you admit her remedy works, she’ll be worse than my uncle after he got born-again. He preached Pentecostalism at every family gathering. My cousin spilled beer on him once during a rant—accidentally, of course.”

  Their Cokes arrived. Giulia raised her classic-design glass. “To Sidney and Olivier.”

  Frank touched his glass to hers. “May they have a long life of compromise and Olivier sneaking out for red meat and sugar.”

  “And Sidney spinning alpaca wool for baby blankets.”

  “I’ll be glad when you get back. She’s bursting to talk about the proposal, the plans, all that girl stuff. We need you.”

  Giulia grinned at him. “Coward.”

  A plate filled with a tall sandwich and fries slid under Giulia’s chin.

  “And the cheesesteak for you, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks; we’re good.” Frank squeezed a Pollock painting of ketchup over his fries. “I haven’t eaten anything today.”

  Giulia swallowed two fries at once. “I’m living on fake eggs and chicken-shaped cardboard. This is Heaven.”

  “Tell me what you’ve got.” He reached into the folds of his coat and brought out a pen and a covered six-by-nine notepad from the inner pocket.

  Between bites of spiced meat and fries—“All food should taste this wonderful”—she told him about Sister Fabian’s useless folder of information, the Fabian-Ray affair, little Sister Arnulf, the Novices, and the groping of the underwear.