Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,24
was the Sister’s small office. And over the next hour, in there we sat, me affixing labels to empty bubble-wrap envelopes, she clicking away on the computer.
When the buzzing of the delivery room sang, she told me to go see to it. It was Jack, the UPS man, who had been delivering here for at least two years. Young, handsome, charming. Also a nice person. In a world with so few of them, the nice ones always stood out to me.
I made my way over to the counter and considered him while he opened the sliding door on his truck. Just because I was dedicated to our Lord and Savior, didn’t make me ignorant of the ways of men. Our friend Jack here had the hots for the good Sister. But like I said, he was a good man. And it was just too bad, really, that the two had no chance together. One, she’d never pursue it. And two, he’d never dip his toe into that particular pool. Society’s frown on sacrilege was just too loud, too deep, too harsh. It was something I thought about a lot over the years, actually. The blatant desire that was there for all to see, juxtaposed by a blinding will to fight it, to hide it, to hold it back. Both were a visible thing. One of my talents, I guessed…. the ability to see people’s true self. The self God was said to shun.
Such a shame these two couldn’t heed their desires.
Jack came striding over, humming something under his breath. His smile faltered a bit when he saw me, as if disappointed, but then he recovered, his eyes friendly and full of honest charm again. He held up his boxy-tablet thingy. “Ah, afternoon, Sister. I have a few things today, just need Sister Hannah’s signature on this.”
I folded my hands in front of me, like the good girl I was, and led him to Sister Hannah’s office. She looked up when we entered, and when she saw Jack, the longing that showed in her eyes after the heated blush of her cheeks ran its course was so loud, I was surprised no one came running into the room to investigate.
As it was, it was still just the three of us in this small space.
“Well, I am here too, child,” Mr. Voice said in my ear. I wasn’t surprised. I had a feeling he’d show up again so soon after appearing out of the blue earlier.
I didn’t bother to respond to him, just acknowledged him with a pass of my hand. He was very chatty today, and I wondered why, but I pushed it aside for later.
A thought was brewing, one that sprouted from that place inside me the convent wanted to burn to the ground. A veritable garden of devious delights and hungry seedlings that begged to be fed, writhing in want in the dark—and it was always dark. But it was resilient, my garden. Made of strong shoots of steel, with carnivorous thorns and thirsty roots. And no matter what the Church tried, nothing could kill its fruit.
I shut the door behind me, locking it. While Jack handed Hannah his tablet for her signature, I grabbed one of the folding chairs against the wall and set it up at the door, then took a seat and faced the room.
The show was about to begin.
“How are you today, Sister?” Jack asked her. He watched her with soft eyes, his hand going to his nape to rub gently at the short brown hair that reached the collar of his uniform.
I watched their body language, a language that was truer and spoke clearer than any tongue could ever possess.
Her posture rounded in on itself like a dove seeking its feathery shelter from the rain. The burning in her cheeks grew more rosy. “I’m well, thank you.” With a slow flourish of her name with the stylis, she finally looked up into his face. “And you?”
I rolled my eyes.
This was taking forever.
I needed to speed things along. Mother Mary Margret wasn’t one to forget her duties, and we had an appointment, she and I. And soon.
The lights went out, my finger on the switch not making a sound.
“What—” Jack started, then looked to me. There was just enough light from the small, painted-over window to see by.
“The power must have gone out.” Sister Hannah looked over my way and straightened, like she’d forgotten I was even in the room. “Sister Constance, why are you