Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,42

it all go. She batted at the fall flies buzzing around in the tiny shack and sighed with contentment as she scratched at her scalp. Her hair had grown during her coma and completed the transformation from merely unkempt to full-on mop top. Once finished, she used a single square of toilet paper, because she didn't want to take any more than that away from the women who'd shown her such kindness.

"I feel better," she said to Rae upon emerging from the outhouse. "I'd always heard being pregnant makes you have to go more, but I had no idea."

The young nun gave her a brave smile. "Do you know if you're having a boy or girl?"

"I don't. Maybe someday I'll find an ultrasound technician, but until then, it's a mystery."

"Sister Agatha says God loves mysteries, and we shouldn't ask about them."

"You don't think it's a good idea to ask questions?"

Rae shook her head. "No. What if the answers aren't what they should be?"

"What do you mean? Answers are answers."

"Not all answers are right in God's eyes." Rae cast her eyes downward. "Sister Agatha says the world is full of dishonesty and lies, and answers can be the words of the Devil, couched in a veneer of credibility."

"That's a pretty grim way of looking at things."

Rae led Hope back into the convent. "If you don't ask questions, you can't ever be disappointed, or… or frightened by the answers."

Hope didn't know what to say to that, except to ask Rae to take her to Sister Agatha's office.

The young girl's eyes never left the floor as she escorted Hope deep into the bowels of the convent.

Chapter Seventeen

Hope and Agatha

Sister Agatha's office looked so old that Hope wondered if the entire convent might have grown around it, the way a tree will grow around a rock outcropping to reach the sun. Shelves along one wall were filled with organized books, many of which were coated with layer upon layer of dust. Only one shelf remained clear of any dirt or debris, and upon it sat a tome as thick as Hope's head. The pages were well-thumbed and discolored from decades of fingers brushing across them. It had no title printed across the spine, but she knew it had to be a Bible. Maybe it was the Bible; the only one that still mattered in the world.

The sister herself sat behind a colossal hardwood desk of wood that had been polished and oiled to the point of saturation. It exuded a rich, earthy smell that seemed to fill not only the room, but Hope's head as well. Despite the daylight outside, Agatha kept her office darkened, with only a candle in a pewter holder at one side of her desk. The flame battled against the oppressive gloom of the room, and Hope found her eyes drawn back to the flame every time they started to wander.

"Welcome, child," said Agatha. "Please, sit down so we can talk."

Hope spotted a straight-backed wooden chair with a knitted cushion on the seat, hulking in a shadow like a beast waiting to strike. She swallowed her anxiety and pulled the chair forward so she could be closer to the light. The candle's presence comforted her in the office, which felt like a place where much misery had transpired over the years.

And yet, Agatha's demeanor was one of solicitous concern. "Do you need anything, child? Food or water? I'm sorry that we don't have better facilities here for you and your baby. As you can see, we have never been a wealthy convent, and we're not really set up for prenatal care."

"No, I'm fine, uh… I'm sorry, what do I call you?"

"Sister Agatha is fine, or just Sister."

"What did you want to, you know, talk about?" Hope felt awkward and nervous, like the many times she'd been called into the principal's office in school.

Agatha leaned forward and clasped her hands atop her desk. In the flickering candlelight, Hope saw her nails were ragged to the quick, as if the nun had been chewing them. "I believe it is nothing less than a miracle that you found your way to us, child. God has brought you to my door, and I won't disappoint Him."

"A miracle? I wrecked my car," said Hope. "Seems like God could have brought me here without that little incident."

Agatha's breath hissed between her teeth, and Hope wondered if she'd caused offense. She told herself she was in the presence of someone for whom religion wasn't just for Sundays,