Sister Christian, Won't You Join Us?

The shopping trip hadn't gone the least bit how I'd planned. Half of the things I wanted were out of stock, so I had to use second-rate substitutes. Also, the scanner in the checkout lane barely worked, the doors opened so slowly I ran my cart into them, and I almost got run over in the parking lot. It put me in such a stressful mood, I knew Clint would be put off by it, and with how hard he worked, he didn't deserve that.To de-stress and get my mind on something better, I took a detour on the route home. Luckily, I hadn't bought any ice cream, so there was no risk of it melting. That detour took me up through a local canyon leading northeast to the next county over. It had been a year since I had driven up there, and I wasn't sure why. Still, the scenery was every bit as beautiful and lush as I remembered. Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to explore a local urban legend I'd heard a few times.Halfway up the canyon was a property owned by the Catholic Church. This being a largely non-Catholic area, the craziest stories imaginable had risen up around it. I knew all too well from studying Psychology just how easily such stories could be exaggerated, and while I would probably not find anything conclusive, I decided to see if it at least matched up with the layout of the place.From the first look, it seemed like I wasn't the only one who'd gotten the idea to investigate. An old-looking red Buick was parked just outside the building. I parked right next to it and got out. With autumn starting, the colors on the trees were nothing short of breathtaking. Up close to the building, though, it wasn't so pretty. A large pile of red, yellow, and brown leaves had gathered at the bottom of the drained swimming pool next to the house. I decided to tread heavily so I wouldn't surprise whoever had gotten here just before me.Walking the length of the swimming pool, I craned my head up at the trees to help take in more of nature's bounty. Bit by bit, I felt the stress of my disastrous grocery shopping trip melting away.?Enjoying the foliage?? came a feminine voice from nearby.I turned and found myself face to face with a woman dressed in clothes that looked rather normal for the weather, save the coif, bandeau, and veil of a nun's habit. Her coif was navy blue, with a white vest over it. The Catholic girl in me made me jump a bit.?There's no need to be afraid. I won't report you to the authorities or anything.??A nun who's not trying to get me in trouble? That's a new one,? I said, unable to hold my tongue back.?Oh, you grew up Catholic?? She walked faster towards me. ?You...actually look a bit familiar.?I looked her over. ?You look familiar, too.? A moment trawling in the recesses of my mind was all it took to recall her. ?Vanessa?! Sister Vanessa??She broke into a grin, which I thought couldn't have been more uncharacteristic of a nun, especially her. ?Now I know where I've seen you! Clarissa? My word, you've grown into such a beautiful woman!? I didn't fight her as she pulled me into a hug, turning her hips side to side. ?How have you been, dear? It's been so long!?Her hug felt as genuine as it could've, and I felt a couple of things even her habit couldn't hide from me all those years before. ?I'm doing quite well, thanks. I'm married, I have a degree in Psychology, and I have five children.?Vanessa pulled back and looked me in the face. I'd always found her quite attractive in spite of how she treated me. Which, of course, had made me all the more terrified of her. She had green eyes, full, pouting red lips, and perfect facial features. ?That's wonderful! I'm so glad you've come this far. You always seemed like such an unhappy young woman, and I could never quite figure out why.??My mother,? I said without hesitation. ?I'm sure you think she was a sweet, considerate woman, but that's what she wanted everyone to think she was. She's a self-centered, controlling monster, and I only talk to her once a year. She doesn't https://escortium.org even know where I live.?She looked at the ground. ?That you would say such things about your own mother...?My childhood indignation came back to the surface. ?Well, you weren't raised by her!?Vanessa stayed even-tempered. ?No, I wasn't. And I won't pretend I understand what she put you through. I was going to say, she really must have been awful if you'd be so quick to call her a monster.??I...? My indignation faded as quickly as it had come. ?I didn't expect you to be so understanding. All I really remember is you yelling at me when I asked you a question.??I never meant for you to fear me, Clarissa. I was worried for your soul. But I'm done with my business here. If my presence brings up such awful memories for you, maybe I should...? She started off toward her car.?No. Wait,? I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach and started after her. ?It's not your fault I handled myself so poorly. I'd...I'd really like to get to know you again. I was stupid as a teenager, and I've always been terrible at reading people. You saw me at my worst back then.? I paused for a moment, looking at the ground, then slowly looked up her body. My, she really had quite the figure that she'd kept hidden under loose clothes every time I'd seen her. ?Do you have any plans for tonight???I have a room at the Super 5 on Main Street and I was planning to order takeout from Mandarin Palace,? she said. ?Why???Oh, good Lord, you shouldn't order from there! They're easily the worst Chinese place in town. Why don't you follow me home? I'm planning a chicken cacciatore tonight. My kids are at my father's place, but I'm sure you'd like to meet my husband, and I know he'd be delighted to meet you.?The smile returned to her face. I could've sworn that before that day, I'd never seen her smile. ?Hmm...eating mediocre Chinese takeout all alone in a cheap motel room, or having home-cooked Italian with a friend and her loving husband in their comfortable home? What a terrible dilemma.??So that's a yes,? I couldn't help smiling back, and pointed with my keys. ?That's my car right there. Flash your lights when you're ready to head out.?***I walked into the garage, my collapsible cooler hanging from my shoulder, two bags of groceries in my arms, and Sister Vanessa carrying three bags in her arms. Without me needing to tell her to, she positioned her shoulder to steady one of my bags while I opened the door. ?My husband's not home from work yet, but he'll be expecting dinner to be ready or almost ready when he is, and I'd really not care to disappoint him.?Vanessa shut the door behind her. ?I must say, I'm surprised at you. The way you acted, I never would've figured you to become a devoted housewife. 'Submissive' was one of the last words I'd have used to describe you. You were such a rebellious, headstrong young woman. Yet here you are, dutifully getting dinner ready for your husband. What changed in you??I gestured for Vanessa to help me empty the bags and put away the items I wasn't going to use right away, then got out a cutting board and knife for her to help me cut up the chicken and vegetables as I told her about my parents' emotional abuse, my overreaction to it, my misadventures in my early twenties, and more or less being rescued by my husband. ?You've been through so much,? she said, examining her cutlet to make sure she'd sliced it evenly. ?You could have joined the Daughters of Saint Paul. I remember your fondness for music, and we could have used you to make some of our videos richer.??The thought did cross my mind once or twice,? I admitted, ?But living like I did gave me a crisis of faith. I felt like Jacob, constantly wrestling with God in my prayers. I kept asking why, if He loves all His children, He would let me live like that. Every night, my answer was the same. Silence. I just couldn't have imagined spending my entire day around a God who never answers back, especially when I needed it the most.??I can see why not,? she nodded, ?But maybe if you'd lived that way, you might have found your answers.?I pulled out my skillet, giving it a healthy coating of olive oil. ?What makes you so sure???Do you recall what Origen said when a young man asked him what he should do to better understand the Christian doctrine???No, I mostly just read Augustine and Aquinas.??He said 'Young man, you must come and live with us, as we do.' The young man did as Origen bade him, and he later went on to become St. Gregory Thaumaturgus.??I actually tried that for a while,? I directed her to push her freshly-sliced chicken into the pan, ?One of the places I went when I was living out of my car was Lancaster. I spent a week living with the Amish. They were friendly enough, but they just had too many rules for my tastes. I don't know, maybe I went there with the wrong mindset. Or, more likely, I just wasn't patient enough.??Nobody can teach you patience but you,? she said, getting out dishes to set the table. ?It certainly seems you have the patience to cook a delectable meal for your husband.??Oh, I've always loved cooking.? I smiled at her. ?It was one of the few times my father and I got along.?Vanessa laughed. ?Italian families. Not really surprising there. See what I mean? When you want to, you can learn patience for things that you don't particularly enjoy.?Just then, the front door opened and Clint walked in, his sleek brown hair tossed about by a breeze. ?Hey, Rissa!? he said jovially, then looked at Vanessa. ?Oh. Never would've guessed that was a nun's car parked outside.?She stood and bowed to my husband as he came over and kissed me. ?Sister Vanessa. It's a pleasure to meet you. I was in Clarissa's parish when she was a young woman.??Oh, Vanessa?!? Clint's eyes went wide, and he looked at me. ?That's quite a surprise.??It was a surprise for me too. I actually ran into her up at St. Lorena's,? I explained.He smirked. ?Really now? Did you tell her the...colorful past that place has???Colorful past?? Vanessa raised an eyebrow at me. ?What's that??Clint rested his elbows on the kitchen island, folding his arms, and slid into his Palpatine impression, which I'd always thought was spot-on. ?It's not a story the Church would tell you.??Probably because it's a load of crap,? I started adding the crushed tomatoes to the pan. ?It's a good one, though. Dear, you tell her. I need to keep an eye on the tomato sauce so it doesn't burn. And you tell it so well.?My husband dimmed the lights in the kitchen, except the one over the stove, grabbed a flashlight from a nearby counter, and held it lit under his face as he spoke. ?As you know, Catholics don't exactly have a heavy presence in this area. That means that it's a fertile breeding ground for wild urban legends. The cabin there was originally built by a local businessman at the turn of the century, and the Catholic Church purchased it back in the 50s, shortly after the swimming pool was built.??I've heard most of that already,? Vanessa said. ?It was a retreat for nuns. Far away from the distractions of the city, and of course the swimming pool, for exercise. To live like Francis of Assisi, for a week or two.?Even with my back turned and the lights dimmed, I could hear my husband rolling his eyes. ?Well, yes, that's the official story. But the more imaginative locals would naturally never buy the official story. They believed it was a place that the Church used to hide away nuns who had broken one of their vows in a way they couldn't hide.??Oh!? Vanessa seemed to catch on quickly. ?That's...imaginative, indeed.??And that's not all,? Clint hushed his voice to a sinister tone. ?One of those nuns, it was said, decided she'd had enough of the monastic lifestyle, and wanted to devote herself full-time to motherhood. So, she took her little baby boy and ran. The Mother Superior was, of course, outraged, and swore that she would kill both the nun on the run and her baby.?Vanessa gasped, and spoke with the same tone I'd so hated as a teenager. ?My word! The Church's position on abortion isn't exactly secret...and infanticide??I chimed in, hoping to soothe Vanessa just a bit. ?Like I told you, the story is bogus. But you know how hard it is to correct people on these things.??Anyway, as she fled through the woods, this poor, confused runaway nun decided to hide her child under a bush and run off noisily in another direction to keep him safe. Unfortunately, the child cried, and her pursuers took it back. When she didn't hear them chasing after her, she went back to check the bush. Her baby was, of course missing. Dejected, she returned to the house, and to her horror, saw her poor, poor boy floating face down in the pool. Tormented by guilt, she picked a handful of poisonous berries from a nearby shrub, swallowed them, and soon died. Today, it's said, her ghost haunts those woods, crying out for the child she never got to know.??What a horrible story,? Vanessa remarked as Clint turned the lights back up. ?And it's so preposterous, from beginning to end. Any nun would know that suicide is a mortal sin!??I don't know,? I said, spooning the now-finished cacciatore into a serving pot, ?I've always found the sheer absurdity hilarious. It's about what you'd expect from people with as little exposure to Catholicism as the locals here.?Clint sat down at the table. ?It's one of the more entertaining ones around here. This isn't a particularly exciting place. Maybe that's why they chose here to set up a retreat for nuns.?I took out the loaf of garlic bread I'd been warming in the oven, sliced it, and handed the platter to Vanessa, who sat it at the table. My husband asked her to give the prayer for our meal, which she gladly obliged. Throughout the meal, we talked about our children, his work, and Sister Vanessa's duties. The Church had decided to sell the retreat to a local investor, and she had been sent to finalize the details of the sale. After that, she was to make her way to the state capital, where she would take up a job teaching Geometry at one of the state's three Catholic schools.As we ate and talked over glasses of red wine, my husband showed his usual talent for putting people at ease, and with my sense of humor and care to avoid religious jokes, we had the woman I'd known as an uptight shrill laughing and relaxing. At the same time, I noticed my husband sending me the covert hand signals from a system we'd worked out at the beginning of our marriage to tell one another that we found our dinner guests attractive (while keeping said guest in the dark, of course). He traced his index finger around the rim of his wine glass while looking from her to me and back. Vanessa certainly looked a lot prettier when she didn't take herself so seriously, so I rubbed my pinky up and down the stem of my glass while looking into his eyes.When we'd finished, Clint let out a relaxed sigh. ?Rissa, that really hit the spot. Thank you. How about if I clear the table and do the dishes so you two can, uh, catch up??That was my final signal to start my usual thing, since dishes were normally my job, too. I offered Vanessa my hand and led her over to the couch, where I sat next to her. ?Thank you so much for inviting me over,? she said, looking into my eyes, ?That's the best meal I've had in months, and not just because of the company.? At that moment, Clint turned on the sound system, and started playing smooth jazz with a deep bass line.I turned my torso to face her. ?You really mean that??She nodded. ?I do. I'm...not the best cook, and the one at my old convent was skilled, but far from imaginative.?Slowly, I moved my left thigh until it was touching her right. Both were still clothed, but I made them touch enough for her to notice. ?Cooking is far easier than people give it credit for. The biggest mistake most make is to turn the heat up too high. Keeping it at a moderate level cooks more thoroughly, and lowers the risk of burns or just plain overcooking.?