Bad Habit: Downey Brothers Series

by Mara Leigh

  That’s what Mother always said, but then how could one tell the difference between the Devil and a truly good man? According to Mother, all men were bad, but I didn’t want to believe her.

  I took a deep breath and smiled back. Sister Henry was right. If I was going to stay in this city and serve in the mission, I had to learn to live among the inhabitants. I had to learn to trust my instincts. And as uncomfortable as this man made me feel, my instincts said to like him.

  The uncomfortable feeling deep inside me was my failing, not his.

  God was testing me. I could pass His test.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you at Mass.”

  He got closer and so I pushed the ball toward him, trying to mimic what he had done. After striking the floor, it bounced off to the side, but he lunged and grabbed it, his body moving so naturally, his muscles flexing as if they’d been designed for just this purpose. And for some reason, that started the flames licking inside me again.

  Holding the ball under one arm, he tipped his head to the side, almost sheepish. “Yeah, I don’t go to church much.”

  “How come?” Maybe this was God’s test for me. To save this man’s soul.

  He shrugged as he stepped forward, so close now I could smell his scent, something musky and vanilla under a hint of mint. Whatever he smelled of, it was delicious. I wanted to lick it.

  My cheeks burned as I shook my head and took a step back.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry and my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.

  “I got out of the habit,” he said.

  “What habit?” My mind was swirling. Had we been talking about something?

  “Going to Mass.” He laughed. “It’s been a while. I don’t think the father would have enough time on his hands to hear my confession.”

  I knew I should be shocked at this, but his self-deprecating chuckle was endearing. Growing up, I’d confessed my sins daily to Mother, and I was still getting used to the idea of confessing to a priest, a relative stranger.

  “Can we still be friends?” he asked.

  “Friends?” Something stirred my stomach.

  “Yeah. Even if I don’t go to church every Sunday?”

  I nodded. “Of course. I mean, there are ways to practice your faith without attending a physical church.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced around the gymnasium. I wasn’t sure church doctrine would agree. I still had much to learn.

  “Gotta admit,” he said, “my faith’s not that strong anymore, either. Don’t want to lie. Especially not to you, Sister.”

  “As long as we’re confessing…” I grinned. “You don’t need to call me Sister. I’m not a nun.”

  “You’re not?”

  His eyebrows rose slightly, and he moved a fraction of an inch closer. “A novice, then? Is that what it’s called?”

  “No. Not even a postulate, yet.”

  “Yet.” He nodded, a strange look on his face.

  “Yes. I’m going to be a nun, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I haven’t officially entered my discernment.”

  “Discernment?”

  “A time for learning.” And for testing your calling. I left that part out. My calling was strong and didn’t need to be tested, regardless of what they’d said when I’d applied to the convent.

  “Why do the kids call you Sister?” he asked.

  “I corrected them at first, but Sister Henry says it’s not a bad lie and it helps them respect me.” She shook her head lightly. “I’ll be working at the mission for a year, serving with the sisters.” Serving and learning about the Catholic Church, a church I grew up thinking I already knew—but I’d been wrong.

  “Great. How did you end up in the Bay Area?”

  “When Mother died—”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He took a step forward, reaching toward me.

  My body tensed, but I didn’t step back. Still, I was grateful when he didn’t come any closer—or actually touch me.

  “When she died…” I took a deep breath. “I met a priest at the hospital. He was very kind, and Father Graham, here at St. Ignatius, is a friend of his.”

  “And your dad?”

  Looking at the scuffed gymnasium floor, I shook my head.

  He drew in a long breath and looked at me with sympathy. He assumed my dad had died. Was it a lie if I didn’t correct him?

  “It must have been hard to leave your friends.”

  Friends? “Our cabin was isolated. In the North Woods of Minnesota, above Lake Superior. It was miles to our nearest neighbor.”

  “How about at school?”

  “I was homeschooled.”

  “And church?”

  “I guess you could say I was home-churched, too.”

  He barked a quick laugh. “And here you were on my case for not going to Mass.”

  I stepped back.

  He shook his head. “I was joking. Sorry.”

  “No, you’re right. Mother and I… We were very religious in our own way, but some of the things she taught me… I still have so much to learn.”

  “When did you decide to be a nun?”

  I raised my chin. “I was born with a calling.”

  Something beeped. He reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a mobile phone. He cursed, then said, “Sorry, Sister. Or should I call you Faith?”

  “Faith is fine.” He should call me Miss Magnusson, but as I’d learned soon after Mother went into the hospital, the rules of etiquette she’d taught me were old-fashioned. A thing of the past.

  “You and the kids playing basketball tomorrow?” he asked as he slipped the phone into his pocket.

  “Yes. It seems to be their favorite pastime. They all leave when I offer arts and crafts or Bible study.”

  “Great.” He turned toward the gymnasium door, then grinned over his shoulder. “See you then.”

  Mac

  I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside the garage. It wasn’t that dim, it was just that the sun outside was strong, and I’d forgotten to wear sunglasses.

  “Dill?” I called out. “Where are you?”

  “Over here.” From across the room, my twin brother Dillon, peeked around his motorcycle.

  As I passed, I waved at Juan, the garage owner, who was working on a vintage Corvette. “Sweet,” I said to him. “Yours?”

  Juan shook his head. “Some rich asshole from the city.”

  “Too bad. Asshole’s got good taste.”

  “And way too much money. Not sure he even plans to drive this thing. Spends more to park it than I make in a year.”

  I touched the icy, metallic-blue paint job on the hood as I passed. The finish looked liquid, and I was almost surprised my hand didn’t sink right in. What I wouldn’t give to own a car like that—even drive one for a day.

  I made pretty good bank with my brothers and had saved up a lot, but I didn’t waste cash on luxuries. Maybe if we did this job my youngest brother Shane wanted us to…

  “Hand me that monkey wrench?” Dillon’s hand reached from behind the bike as I got close.

  I grabbed the wrench off the tray of tools and slapped it into my twin’s outstretched palm. “How’s it coming?”

  “Great.” He adjusted a bolt, then set the wrench onto the floor and reached up with his grease-stained hand.

  I took it and pulled him to his feet and into our typical backslapping hug.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “We okay to talk here?”

  “Let’s go out back.” He led me to the alley behind the garage and then leaned against the graffiti-tagged wall on the shaded side, opposite the open garage door.

  “Does Shane have a date for the job?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Then why call me over?”

  “The container’s in port.”

  I drew a long breath. Our younger brother Shane was a mess since prison, but this job he’d proposed seemed interesting. What my bro needed was re
hab, but he had yet to admit to it.

  “You think we should do this job.” I studied my brother, younger by ten minutes. We were far from identical, but I could read my twin better than anyone.

  “It’s a six-figure payoff for each of us…” Whistling low, he shook his head. “Man, it would be nice.”

  “Not if we’re all inside.”

  “At least we’d see Da more often.”

  I laughed at Dillon’s joke. Not exactly a joke. Our dad was in San Quentin, but I got Dill’s dark humor.

  “Keagan’s on board?” I asked.

  “Seems to be.”

  I kicked a bottle cap against the wall. Keagan, our oldest brother, became the de facto CEO of our family business when Da went inside. It’s not like I followed Keagan blindly, but the guy did have smarts. I had to admit, if he was going along with this plan, I was tempted. I looked through the garage door at the Vette.

  “The only one not in is Nick.” Dillon pushed his too-long hair off his forehead. How he’d ended up with straight hair when the rest of us were curly was a DNA mystery.

  “Nick will cave,” I said.

  “He seems serious this time.” Dillon pulled out his phone and read something.

  Our youngest brother was by far the biggest of the five Downeys. He had a reputation as a brute, but Nick was more like a teddy bear—a teddy bear that had teeth and fists if someone he loved was threatened.

  Rumor had it, Nick was sleeping with the girl next door. But the idea of Nick, or any of my brothers, in a serious relationship didn’t fit. I tried to imagine a woman at our family gatherings—or five women if we all found girls.

  An image of Faith flashed in my mind, and I laughed.

  “What?” Dillon looked up from his phone.

  “Nothing. I was thinking of someone I met this afternoon.”

  Dillon raised his eyebrows. “She hot?”

  I shook my head. “A fucking nun.”

  “Now that’s hot.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Dillon grinned.

  He might be sick, but he wasn’t wrong. “Hot” wasn’t the first word that came to mind when I thought of Faith, but she had an undeniable something. Something unique I’d never seen in a woman before. An intoxicating combination of strength and innocence without an ounce of pretension.

  Most girls I knew were always slathered in makeup, and many had started using Botox and fillers—in their twenties! But it was more than physical pretense… Almost all the women I knew worked hard to hide who they were, and I liked how Faith seemed transparent. So real.

  Let’s face it, I wasn’t going back to the basketball court to spend time with the kids.

  “You’re in, right?” Dillon asked, bringing my mind back to the job.

  “You sure it’s worth the risk? Even if we get the container, it’s a lot to fence. It’ll be hard to do it without attracting attention.”

  “That’s why we have you.” Pushing off the wall, Dillon tossed his head to free his eyes from their veil of hair. He stared at me with an expression I would’ve called begging if I didn’t know him so well.

  “Why do you want this so bad?” I asked my twin. “Money troubles?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t you ever want something more?”

  “Like that vintage Vette?”

  “Nah. I mean something more out of life.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno.” He pushed his hair off his forehead. “Not for sure. Just thinking this payoff could be a stake.”

  “A stake for what?”

  “To start something new. Go ‘legit,’ as Nick always says.”

  I widened my stance. “You too good for the family business?”

  Dillon rolled his eyes, and I gave myself a mental slap. It was like I’d heard Da’s voice—or Keagan’s—coming out of my mouth.

  “What would you do with the money?” I asked.

  “Not sure. Start a business, maybe go to school.”

  “School?” He wasn’t serious.

  He shrugged and looked down the alley.

  I was acting like the idea of college or doing something legit hadn’t crossed my mind. Lately, I had started to wonder if fencing the shit we stole was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As much as I loved the flexibility—hanging out, playing basketball almost anytime I wanted—lately I’d caught myself thinking, Is this all there is? I was nearly twenty-six.

  Faith was barely in her twenties, if I had to guess, at least four or five years younger than me. But she already had her life figured out, had more of a plan than I did. I shook my head. Was there such a thing as a quarter-life crisis? If there was, maybe that’s what I was going through now I’d hit that age where thirty was closer than twenty.

  Both our phones pinged, and I pulled mine out.

  “Keagan,” we said in unison.

  He’d called a family meeting. With the container in port, the plan was developing, and it was time to piss or get off this particular pot. Sounded like I should start lining up some buyers for the largest haul of electronics we’d ever landed.

  If nothing else, there’d be a great TV for Isaiah and Angie.

  Two

  Faith

  I added another peeled potato to Sister Henry’s pile for chopping. Preparing food for the mission’s soup kitchen was one of my favorite daily tasks. The time went quickly, and it was one place where I didn’t feel inadequate. I knew Mother had done her best to raise me in the Catholic faith, but since arriving here I’d been shocked to discover how much of the Catechism she’d either altered or skipped altogether.

  She’d done her best. If we’d lived closer to a church, my religious education might have been more complete. Clearly Mother had misremembered a few things, and I still fell back into her ways, even saying the Lord’s Prayer incorrectly when I wasn’t concentrating. I had so much learning to do to catch up to where my fellow postulates would be when I entered my formal training.

  Peeling veggies, that was solidly in my wheelhouse.

  Plus, it gave Sister Henry and me a chance to talk. At thirty-nine, Henry was the nun at the mission closest to my age. Adding another peeled potato to the pile, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the kitchen door was closed.

  “Sister Henry, can I ask you something?”

  She stopped humming and nudged me with her hip. “Anytime. Always. What’s on your mind?”

  My mouth went dry. Almost as dry as it went every time I saw Mac. He’d been helping me with the basketball for two weeks now and, if anything, my wicked thoughts had grown worse. Further proof of my failing. Further proof I needed to confess to Sister Henry.

  “There’s something wrong with me.”

  “What?” Henry stopped chopping and turned to look me in the eyes. “Are you ill?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  The relief in her eyes was clear.

  “It’s not physical,” I added. “Well, not entirely physical.” My cheeks flamed, and I furiously scraped the skin off a big potato. When I’d rehearsed this conversation, it had gone more smoothly.

  “You can’t say anything to shock me,” Henry said. “I promise.”

  I nodded in relief and drew a long breath. “Lately, I’ve had some strange… feelings. My body…”

  “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

  Maybe I was sick. But I sensed it wasn’t that simple.

  “It’s more of a spiritual issue.” Looking down at the pile of potato peelings, I shook my head. “Lately, I’ve been having these strange feelings, um, here.” I circled the potato over my nether regions.

  “What kind of feelings?” Henry asked. “Does it burn when you use the toilet?”

  “No.” I shook my head. I knew about bladder infections. Mother had had one in the hospital because of the catheter.

  “But…” I continued. “It is kind of like burning. There’s heat, and tightening. And when I’m feeling that way and I go
to the bathroom…” I closed my eyes, hoping to hide from my shame. “The first time I rushed to the bathroom, thinking my monthly visitor had arrived early, but the moisture wasn’t blood.”

  Sister Henry put her hand over mine and smiled. “Do you know what brought on these feelings?”

  I nodded, but shame kept my confession trapped in my throat.

  “Were you around a good-looking man? Or thinking about one?”

  I dropped the peeler to the floor and turned toward her sharply. “How did you know?”

  “Oh, honey.” She took hold of my arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Have you really never felt like this before?”

  I shook my head, though I realized I wasn’t being totally honest. Once, when I was thirteen, I’d rubbed my inner thigh against the edge of a chair… I raised a damp hand to my flaming cheek. It started by accident, scratching an itch, but before long I’d been straddling the wood, rubbing hard when Mother caught me and explained how wicked I was. I never did it again, and it led to my yearlong vow of silence. But that had been nothing compared to how I felt around Mac. How I felt now, even thinking about him.

  “Faith, what you’re feeling… it’s just arousal.” Sister Henry patted my arm. “Sexual arousal. Perfectly normal. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

  “But my calling!” Nuns were not supposed to feel that way.

  “It’s also normal for you to question your calling. It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. I swallowed to wet my throat. “When will these feelings stop? When I take my vows? Sooner?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “They probably won’t ever stop.”

  I gasped. “Do you have them?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “But you’ve taken a vow of celibacy!” I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Faith…” She laughed softly. “Every day I become more amazed by how sheltered you were growing up. Sometimes you seem more like twelve than twenty-two.”

  Tears sparked at the back of my eyes, and I looked away.

  Her hand on my chin, she drew my gaze back to hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just surprising. You’re surprising. In a good way. And to answer your question, when you become a nun, you won’t stop being a woman.