Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

Kate couldn’t resist. “But they are the windows of the soul,” she said. Opening her car door, she threw her purse on the seat beside her. “See you downtown, Denny. Want to split the paper work?”

“Okay,” he said, moving toward his Ford.

The two car doors slammed simultaneously. Officers Murphy and Gallagher merged slowly onto Turk Street and headed downtown to the Hall of Justice.

After coffee, Kate drove Sister Mary Helen home. The poor old nun had looked exhausted during dinner, she seemed delighted when Kate suggested they all turn in early. The ride from 34th Avenue to the college was a quiet one, punctuated mostly by yawns. As soon as Kate saw Mary Helen safely inside the convent, she hurried back to Jack.

The moment she opened the front door, she knew he was angry. The loud thud of pots banging against the kitchen drainboard reverberated into the small entrance hall. A cupboard door crashed shut.

“Hi, hon. I’m back,” she called, hanging her coat in the hall closet. Cautiously, she peeked into the kitchen. All evening she’d had the uneasy feeling that Jack was building up to something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

Jack, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow, stood at the sink wiping silverware and slamming it into the drawer.

“I got Sister home okay.” She tiptoed across the room and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Thanks so much for cleaning up, pal…” She was about to add, “I love you,” when Jack flung the towel on the kitchen table.

“That’s it!” Removing his chef’s apron, he threw it in a heap with the towel.

Kate had never seen Jack quite like this before. He was furious. She really didn’t know what to do. The wrath of the patient man… what was the proverb? Beware the wrath of the patient man. Up to this point, Jack Bassetti had been a very patient man. “What is it?” she asked meekly.

“I have had it with this living together business. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with us! It’s the woman who is supposed to feel used and violated. The man is supposed to be able to change his shirt and whistle on his way. Our whole relationship is back-assed!” He slammed an open palm on the kitchen table for emphasis.

“Damn it, Kate.” He was shouting now, his Italian in crescendo. “At the risk of sounding like the heroine in a B movie-either marry me, or I’m leaving!”

Suddenly, Kate felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She knew by the determined set of his lips that even when his temper cooled, he meant it. So this was it-the showdown.

“Well, say something!”

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. An ache closed her throat. Jack stood before her, stiff with anger, waiting for her answer.

“Well?” he repeated.

Quick tears flooded her eyes. Kate never cried. She hated to cry, yet the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. She fumbled for a Kleenex. She tried to speak again, but couldn’t “I love you,” she managed finally.

Jack thawed a little. “Here, sit down.” He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ll pour a couple of glasses of brandy. Let’s talk.”

A little of the anger had left his voice. Kate was glad. Sniffling, she slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it. “I really do love you,” she said.

“I love you, too, Kate. But I mean it!”

Kate rolled the rich, brown liquor around in the snifter, trying to think. “Can we talk about it after this homicide at the college is solved? You know, Jack, it’s really on my mind. I can hardly think of anything else.” She sniffed.

“That’s an excuse, Kate. If it isn’t this case, it will be another. You’ve got to decide.” Jack was coldly logical.

Kate stared into her glass. She had always dreaded this moment. She had hoped it would never come. Yet she knew it was inevitable. She knew Jack wanted to settle down, raise a family. But could she? “I’ll never give an inch to any man,” she had told Ma years ago. Then, she had meant it, too. The police shrink would probably have a field day figuring out her childhood traumas, her built-in views of masculine and feminine roles, and all the rest. All she knew was that up to now she had needed to feel independent, to be successful in a man’s world, never to give an inch. But tonight she wasn’t quite sure.

“Marriage is such a big step,” she said finally.

“I know. But we’ve had more than enough time to test it out. I think what it gets down to, Kate, is this. Do you really love me?” Jack set his glass down.

“Of course I love you.”

“Enough to make a commitment?”

“I’ve made one, or I wouldn’t still be here.”

“I mean a permanent, legal, sacramental one. Do you remember what Sister Mary Helen said tonight about her fifty-year commitment?”

Kate remembered. She had hoped bringing Sister Mary Helen home would somehow put Jack’s mind at ease about their relationship. Instead, the whole damn thing had backfired. The old nun had just bitten into an egg roll when Jack brought it up. “Every commitment, mine or anybody else’s, is a risk,” she had answered, “because you must make choices, give up some things in order to have others. But, if you are sure of your feelings you are willing, in fact, eager, to take the risk, really love someone. And in my case,” she added matter-of-factly, “I’ve never stopped being glad I risked it! Please pass the almond chicken.”

“My question still stands.” Jack’s voice broke into Kate’s thoughts. “Do you love me enough to marry me, or do I move out tomorrow?”

“You don’t mean it?”

“I do.”

“Is that a threat?” Kate’s eyes leveled for the challenge. Even as she spoke the words, she realized it was a helluva time to save face.

Jack shook his head in exasperation. “You have got to be the most goddam, stubborn Irishman… Irishwoman that God ever created, and I must be nuts to want you.”

Jack grabbed her clenched fists. “Kate,” he said, “it is not a threat. It is more like a goddam plea. Will you please marry me?”

Everything in her heart wanted to shout, “Yes, I love you. I’ll marry you.” A sudden tingle of yearning rushed through her whole body. She loved him. She loved that kind, funny, wild Eye-talian just as much as he loved her. And love was a fling of the heart, not a matter for the head.

“Kate,” Jack repeated, “will you marry me?”

Standing, she slipped her hands into his and pulled him up. Without a word, she led him through the kitchen, turning off the lights. Bewildered, Jack followed. She stopped. In the darkened kitchen, she pressed her body against his, put her arms tightly around his waist, and rested her head against his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jack asked, his arms enveloping her.

“Ask me to marry you again,” she whispered.

“In the dark? Why?”

“At the moment, it is the only way I can think of to give in and save face both.”

Jack hugged her. She could feel he was laughing. “Will you marry me?” he managed to ask solemnly.

Against his chest, Kathleen Murphy’s red head slowly, deliberately nodded her yes.

Opening one eye, Sister Mary Helen squinted at her alarm clock. It was 5:30 A.M. She hadn’t slept very well. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the Chinese food she had eaten with Kate and Jack last night. And there had been a little tension in the air while they were eating. Something was definitely wrong there. That bothered her a bit. But more than likely it was this murder business that was keeping her awake. “The very air rests thick and heavily, where murder has been done.” That sounded like something Shakespeare might have said, although she knew he hadn’t. For the life of her, however, she couldn’t remember who had. Then there was this itch she had in the back of her mind, as if she were overlooking something. She couldn’t put her finger on just what it was. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t sleeping.