What Stella Wants

“Was,” I corrected, crossing myself and murmuring. “May she rest in peace.”

Spike’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like cedar.”

“You look like…” Nina started, but I was already sweeping past her, headed for the door. “You’d better go to confession!” she yelled after me.

When I arrived at the nursing home, no one recognized me. Even Marygrace lowered her head and made the sign of the cross.

“Sister,” she said softly. “May I help you.”

I couldn’t help it. I giggled. “Yeah, Marygrace, you can introduce me as the new chaplaincy intern, here for the next few weeks.”

“Shit!” she cried, eyes widening. “Stella, is that you?” She got up from her desk and walked around to inspect me more closely. “Damn, you smell like mothballs or something!”

“It’s my great-aunt Cathy’s habit from back when she was in the convent.”

“What’d you do to your face to hide those bruises? You look pale.”

I smiled. “Well, the wimple hid most of the damage, but I had to use under-eye concealer to get the rest.”

Marygrace frowned at the heavy white cloth that framed my face. “Stella, do nuns even still wear habits? I thought they dressed in street clothes nowadays.”

I gave her a look. “I don’t know what they wear and it doesn’t really matter. All you have to do is make everyone believe I come from a small, conservative outfit that still does things the old-fashioned way. Besides, I doubt anybody’ll have the nerve to ask me about my wardrobe.”

A grim-faced trio entered the room led by a large, redheaded man in a gray suit. They stopped short as soon as they recognized my outfit.

“Oh, Marygrace, excuse us,” the redheaded man said. “I didn’t know you were busy.”

Marygrace smiled nervously, her fingers twisting the lanyard that held her nametag. “Oh, Darren, this is the new…chaplaincy intern, Sister…”

I stepped forward, held out my hand and tried to look severe and imposing. “Sister Angelina Jo-Joseph.” I looked straight into the administrator’s eyes, knowing he had to know Marygrace was lying because he’d have been informed of a new intern on staff, but daring him to give us away.

Darren looked startled, his pale skin reddening just slightly beneath the freckled surface.

“Glad to have you with us…Sister.” He glanced past me to Marygrace. “I hate to interrupt, but these gentlemen have a few questions for you concerning the record audits they’ve been doing.”

I took the social cue and smiled gracefully. “Well, if you don’t need me, Marygrace, I’ll just go down to the west wing and say a few prayers.”

Marygrace’s mouth opened, but she was at a loss for words. I made my way past the two broad-shouldered men in dark suits, committing their faces and general descriptions to memory as I went. The chances were slim that Jake would recognize them from my generic depiction; still I tried to pick out distinguishing characteristics. Crew cuts aside, they were both well over six feet tall, but one had a half-moon-shaped scar circling his left eyebrow and the other had the tip missing from his left ring finger.

The two men certainly looked like government agents, but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that made me wonder if they were our government agents. They just didn’t have that fresh-scrubbed Bureau air, and yet I couldn’t say for sure that they didn’t fit the profile. I left the room but lingered outside the door long enough to hear one of them speak. No trace of a foreign accent. Nope, I was probably letting my imagination run away with me and seeing terrorists everywhere.

I reached the corridor leading to Baby Blankenship’s room just as two uniformed ambulance drivers wheeled a gurney through the back door. A thin, white-haired woman with vivid blue eyes was propped up in a sitting position and seemed to be taking great interest in everything going on around her.

“Hey, I know you!” The little elderly firefighter from our earlier visit sat in his wheelchair at the opening to his room. He was looking right at me and scowling. “I’ve seen you around here, Sister, and believe me, it takes more than a bunch of black and white cloth to hide that package!” He cackled but I was frozen, wondering who’d heard him.

“Mr. Heinz, that’s no way to talk!” A young woman dressed in aqua scrubs emerged from the room across the hall and stood, hands on hips, shaking her head at the little man.

“Don’t pay him no mind, Sister,” she said, smiling at me. “He don’t mean a thing by it.”

“I do, too!” Mr. Heinz sputtered. “I’m old, girly, not crazy! She may smell like a mothball but she’s all woman underneath that get-up! I seen her!”

I hated to do it but it was his sanity or mine. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, let us pray,” I murmured softly.

The little man dropped his head as the aide walked away. “Forgive me, Sister, for I have sinned,” he said slowly.

I couldn’t do it. God might not strike me dead for lying but Aunt Lucy certainly would.

“I’m just praying, son,” I whispered. “It’s not confession time yet.”

The white-haired man peeked up at me. “The hell it ain’t, Sister. You’re hotter than a two-dollar pistol, and I’ve got lust in my heart!”

Before I could move away, my admirer shot out his hand, grabbed a sizable portion of my posterior and squeezed.

“Mr. Heinz!” The aide materialized from another room just in time to catch her patient in action.

The retired firefighter drew his hand back and smiled up innocently at the girl. “Ah, Kenya, there you are! I was looking for you!”

“Not like that you weren’t!” she groused. “Come on. You’re not fooling me or the sister.” She looked up at me and shook her head. “He’s got selective dementia,” she said. “He picks and chooses when to forget his manners. I’m sorry.”

I raised one hand and smiled my best pure-of-heart smile. “Go in peace, child,” I said, and was amazed when lightning didn’t strike me dead. I turned to walk away and found Baby Blankenship watching me.

“One time,” she said, her voice quavering with the effort to speak. “One time that old coot did the same thing to me. I wasn’t as Christian to him as you just were.”

I smiled as I approached the gurney. “What did you do?”

Baby Blankenship smiled. “I told him to go fuck himself!”

The entire nursing station fell silent for a long moment before one of the nurses gave the tall, skinny ambulance attendant a sharp glance.

“I take it the doctor didn’t order Mrs. Blankenship some Ativan before you left?”

“Apparently not.” The guy started to grin, remembered who I was, and stopped.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said pleasantly. “She’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. I’ve worked in nursing homes before. I know how it is.”

The ambulance attendants, accompanied by the nurse, rolled Baby into her room and as I watched, gently deposited the frail woman back into her bed. When they’d gone, I quickly entered the room and closed the door behind me.

“Mrs. Blankenship?” I said, approaching her bedside. The woman’s eyes were closed, but at the mention of her name, they popped open and for a moment she appeared frightened.

“Am I dying?” Baby asked in her shaky voice.

I smiled and patted her arm. “No, dear, not that I know of. I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier today.”

Baby gave me an understanding wink. “I see. You heard about that, did you?”

A wave of relief spread through me. Baby was having one of her lucid periods.

“Yes, I heard. It’s just terrible! Can you tell me what happened?”