Charisma Read Free

had brought in and handed her one.
    “Did you get it all straightened out about the car?” she said. “I heard you on the phone last night. What makes them think nuns have credit cards?”
    “They don’t think nuns have credit cards, Reverend Mother. They just don’t rent cars to people who don’t.”
    “There probably are nuns who have credit cards,” Reverend Mother said. “Out there, somewhere.”
    “Out there, somewhere” was Reverend Mother’s code for what other people called “the spirit of Vatican II.” It took in a lot of territory. Susan drank coffee and put her cup down on the edge of Reverend Mother’s desk.
    “My brother Dan straightened it out,” she said. “He called and rented it himself. I think he used a little pull.”
    “Pull.”
    “He’s the district attorney for the city of New Haven, Reverend Mother. And it is a local rental company. Local to New Haven County at any rate.”
    “You should have joined an order with a Motherhouse farther away,” Reverend Mother said. “Maybe that was the problem. Usually, I think it’s better for women to be close to home, but in your case—”
    A look passed between them, something that said they both knew everything there was to know about “this case.” And would rather not talk about it. Susan had a sudden, vivid memory of the day she had told Reverend Mother what had happened in her life. She had sat in this chair in her novice’s habit and talked for six hours.
    Reverend Mother poured more coffee, which Susan knew she wouldn’t drink. Reverend Mother never drank more than one cup a day.
    “Do you know what you’re going to do with yourself?” she said. “I can’t imagine you want to work for the district attorney’s office. I can’t see you as one of those new women lawyers with their suits and their athletic walking shoes.”
    “I’d have to go to law school for that, Reverend Mother. And I don’t think Dan could hire me even if I wanted him to. They have rules about nepotism, you know.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-five.”
    Reverend Mother nodded. “I think I’ve heard of your brother. There was a case, about two years ago. It was in all the papers. About child abuse in a daycare center.”
    “That was Dan,” Susan said. “And it was certainly in all the papers.”
    Reverend Mother shot her a strange look. “What’s the matter, Sister? Don’t you get along with your brother? The papers at the time made him sound like—well, like a crusading knight.”
    “I like my brother just fine, Reverend Mother. I suppose I don’t know him all that well. He’s ten years older than I am. He’s never even been to visit me up here. I’m closer to the younger one.”
    “Younger than you are?”
    “A little.”
    “And?”
    Susan shrugged. “His name’s Andy. You may have seen him once or twice. He’s been up here on visiting days.”
    “What does he do?”
    Susan smiled. “Reverend Mother, the three of us were brought up with a lot of money. Sometimes, with people who have been brought up like that, it’s better not to ask what they do.”
    “Meaning he doesn’t do anything,” Reverend Mother said.
    “Meaning he thinks he’s an artist,” Susan said.
    Reverend Mother sighed. “I think you should have taken that job with the archdiocese,” she said. “I know it was social work and you’re not trained for that, but you could have handled it. It would have made a good transitional phase. Halfway in and halfway out.”
    “Except that sometimes it’s not so transitional, Reverend Mother. Sister Davida took a job with the archdiocese in 1972. She’s still there.”
    “Nineteen seventy-two was a very different year.”
    “An entirely different decade.”
    “And Sister Davida was a very different kind of nun.”
    “Reverend Mother, Sister Davida was a psychopath.”
    Reverend Mother got out of her chair. She was a huge woman, tall and grotesquely fat, except that under the folds of a conservative habit