Read Back in the Habit for Free Online Page B

of the narrow dresser. The spare habit floated like a ghost in the equally narrow wardrobe until she hung her raincoat behind it. With a little effort, she wedged the suitcase under the bed and walked to its foot. Without straining any muscles, she stretched out her arms and placed a hand on either wall.
    â€œI used to think this room design was meant to keep our eyes on poverty and simplicity, but it’s a cell. Why did they bother to stop calling these rooms by the true name?”
    Not even the feel of her inappropriate underwear comforted her. She opened the wardrobe and stared at her reflection in the small oval mirror, trying to assume the role of Sister Mary Regina Coelis.
    â€œI should’ve brought a Cosmo .” She leaned her forehead against the mirror, careful not to knock her veil askew. “In the convent. Right. I could hide it in the Office prayer book and read it during the Litany of the Hours rather than slogging through twenty minutes of rote prayers. Maybe it’ll have a useful article like ‘The Struggling Nun’s Survival Guide: Now with Photos of Our Fave Wanton Underwear.’”
    A discreet knock on the door saved her dignity. Model Sisters didn’t guffaw.

Seven
    Sister Bartholomew stood in the doorway. “Sister Fabian would like to see you in her office.”
    Giulia grinned at her. “Don’t look like that. I’m not in trouble.”
    The Novice’s face regained some of its color. “I couldn’t imagine what you did between the front door and here to have her gunning for you already.” Her mouth snapped shut. “I mean … I beg your … Christ on a crutch.”
    Giulia yanked her inside and only then burst out laughing—quietly. “If anyone else hears that, you’ll be saying fifteen-decade rosaries on your knees for a month.”
    â€œYou’re not angry?” Sister Bartholomew looked just as frightened at Giulia’s laughter.
    â€œWhy should I be? I’m not perfect either.”
    Sister Bartholomew landed on the bed so hard it bounced. “You’re the first Sister who hasn’t lectured me. I mean, I’ve only slipped a few times since I entered, but man, you’d think some of them came out of a twelfth-century time warp.”
    â€œThey’re trying to mold you to fit the image—”
    â€œMold! I hate that word. They mold you and mold you and one day they look at you—”
    â€œAnd say, ‘How moldy she is.’” Giulia finished. “That one has whiskers. How many times have you scrubbed the back stairs?”
    She groaned. “Don’t ask. I see those plastic treads in my nightmares.” She frowned at Giulia. “How come you’re different? You remind me of my older brother’s wife, except she chain smokes and has a Pagan altar in their living room.”
    Giulia laughed again. “Thank you, I think.”
    â€œI love her. She’s a riot. One day their corgi—oh, no.” She jumped up again. “I’m supposed to bring you to Sister Fabian. She’ll have a coronary.”
    Giulia stood and smoothed her habit. “Let’s get it over with.”
    They went down the opposite stairs that led to the chapel’s back corridor and the Superior General’s private quarters. The subdued party-chaos of the other side of the building barely penetrated here. At the first-floor landing, the decrepit plastic runners Giulia remembered cleaning during her own Novitiate had been replaced with stick-on carpeting.
    Sister Bartholomew whispered, “If we were in the world, I’d take you out for a beer afterward.”
    â€œFace-time with Sister Fabian has that effect.”
    Sister Bartholomew coughed. “Are you sure you’re not in trouble?”
    They turned left at the bottom of the stairs, away from the chapel. Formal portraits of past Superior Generals still decorated this end of the