“Burning the records was a very efficient way to seal the records forever,” Melissa said bitterly. “I’ve hated even the sight of nuns ever since. I stopped believing in God, and never went to church again when I came home. Mom didn’t dare press that point. Dad acted like he knew nothing, and Mom got sick a few months after I got back, so we never talked about it. You and Carson are the only ones who know.”
“Do you think it would make a difference if you went to Ireland yourself? Some old nun might remember something. It’s a long shot, but it might be worth it,” Hattie suggested.
“When I called them, the mother superior said there were none of the old nuns left. It was thirty-three years ago, and they’re all dead, retired, or had been reassigned years ago. There have been four mother superiors since. And no one wants to talk about it or remember. They sounded sympathetic, but were very skittish when I called. I don’t think going back there now would make a difference. I’ve tried to make my peace with it for thirty-three years. I almost have, but not quite. I still haven’t forgiven Mom, but what good does that do? With Robbie gone, it would be nice to know where my daughter is, just to meet her and make sure she is having a good life. I’m no use to her as a mother now, she’s an adult, and she probably hasn’t forgiven me either for giving her up, but I’ve lost two children. Robbie, who I loved so much, and a little girl called Ashley I never knew. I’m sorry, and it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but I just couldn’t stomach it when you became a nun. All I could think of every time I saw you were the nuns at Saint Blaise’s. It made you one of them. It’s nice not seeing you in your habit now. You look like you again. I could never understand why you’d want to be part of all that. I still feel traumatized when I see a nun. Fortunately, I don’t see them much anymore.”
“Most orders don’t wear the habit now. I’m sorry you went through all that, and I made it worse for you.” Hattie said it with deep feeling.
“Why did you do it?” Melissa looked baffled. “You were such a happy kid. Why would you want that life? We were never that religious, except for Mom.”
“Things happened that made it seem like the right choice, the only choice, at the time. It’s hard to explain.”
“You were a good little actress. You had talent. One minute you were starting to get good breaks, and the next minute you were gone.”
“Sometimes the careers we choose when we’re young aren’t the right ones for us. You gave up writing, and you had a lot more talent than I did. When I went to L.A., I realized acting and Hollywood weren’t for me.”
“That’s different. I couldn’t do it anymore after Robbie died. Feeling anything was just too painful. I wanted to be numb. You have to feel everything in order to be a decent writer. You can’t run away from the truth. And after Robbie, the truth just hurt too much, that he was gone and I’d never hold him in my arms again. I stopped feeling anything for Carson, or for anyone. It’s why I never blamed him for having an affair. I needed to stop anything I was feeling, for a long time.”
“And now?” Hattie asked, worried about her.
“I love my house, and I’m happy to see you again,” she said. She hadn’t opened the door wide to her, but it had opened a crack, and for now it was enough. “And sitting here like this, you don’t seem like a nun, just the sister I grew up with.”
“Thank you for letting me come,” Hattie said, deeply moved by Melissa’s openness with her.
“I think I needed to see you. It was very strange. The fire that almost took my house was started by an arsonist. When I found out, I hated him. I wanted him to rot in prison for what he’d done. I went to see the arraignment, like going to a public hanging, and all I saw was this terrified seventeen-year-old kid who’s had a terrible life, and is probably very sick. He wasn’t the monster I expected him to be, and as I drove away from the courthouse, I