Metsy Hingle - Flash Point

It was too late now to second-guess her actions, Kelly told herself. She’d done what she’d had to do. Doing her best to forget about what had happened, she focused on her surroundings. The dark heavy drapes that hung from the windows had been pulled open, allowing morning sun into the somber-looking room. She could smell the hint of lemon on the freshly polished furniture, and the tile floor gleamed as though it had just been waxed. Shelves of books lined one entire wall, while another wall was adorned with an oil painting depicting the Blessed Mother’s Assumption. Ivory candles and a vase of pink roses with baby’s breath rested on a table beneath the portrait.

Wandering about the room, Kelly trailed her fingertips across the open Bible lying atop a table. Her lips twitched as she caught herself remembering Sister Grace’s infamous white-glove tests in the rooms at St. Ann’s. Not a smidgen of dust to be found in here, Kelly mused. Which came as no surprise. If there was one thing she’d learned in her years at St. Ann’s it was that the nuns truly believed in that old adage, “cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Santos.”

Kelly swung around at the sound of the nun’s voice, surprised that she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the nun enter the room. “Not at all, Reverend Mother,” she told the tall, energetic woman in the flowing blue-and-white habit. “I only arrived a few minutes ago.”

“That’s good. I’m afraid we had a little problem with the choir practice after mass and it has my whole morning running behind schedule.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sister Wilhelmina. I’m supposed to be the one who keeps everything in line here at the Sisters of Mary Convent, although I’m not at all sure I succeed.”

“From what Sister Grace told me, you do an excellent job,” Kelly said, already liking the woman. She shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re most gracious as well as lovely, Ms. Santos. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Kelly.”

The nun bowed her head. “As you wish. Why don’t we have a seat over here,” she said, motioning to the settees grouped around a coffee table. “I’ve asked that tea be brought in for us.”

Kelly took the seat indicated. “I appreciate you agreeing to see me on such short notice, Reverend Mother.”

“Nonsense,” the nun told her as she sat down across from her. “I only wish it could have been under happier circumstances.”

“So do I.”

“Since I’ve only been here for a short time, I’m afraid I didn’t know Sister Grace very well. But I do know she was devoted to ‘her girls,’ as she called her former charges from St. Ann’s. She was particularly proud of you and your success as a photographer.”

Kelly swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you for telling me.”

The Reverend Mother dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Ah, here’s Bess now with our tea,” she said as a plump, rosy-cheeked woman brought in a tray bearing a silver teapot, china cups and serving pieces. She placed it on the table. “Thank you, Bess. I’ll pour.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” the woman replied, and quietly exited the room.

As the Reverend Mother served them both tea, Kelly experienced a moment of déjà vu. Suddenly she was ten years old again, seated in the parlor of St. Ann’s on Christmas Eve. The other girls had all departed for the weekend to spend the holiday with extended family members while she had remained at St. Ann’s because she’d had no place to go, no family to visit. Evidently Sister Grace had picked up on her loneliness, because shortly after the last of the girls had left, she had called her down to the parlor. When she’d arrived, the nun had prepared a pot of tea for them and had served it in the convent’s good china cups. It had been the first of many holiday afternoons that she had spent in the nun’s company.

“Kelly?”

At the sound of her name, Kelly shook off the memories. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you’d like sugar with your tea?”

“No, thank you. Just milk, please.”

“You looked as though you were a thousand miles away just now,” the nun pointed out as she added milk to Kelly’s cup and then to her own.

“I was remembering Sister Grace,” Kelly admitted. “She served me my very first cup of tea in a silver pot very much like that one. And we had old-fashioned English scones and lemon curd with it.”

“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have any scones,” the Reverend Mother informed her, a smile in her voice that matched the one in her hazel eyes. “But Bess’s chocolate-chip-walnut cookies are excellent. Would you like to try one?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kelly replied, and took one of the cookies from the dish and placed it on the plate beside her tea.

The nun placed a cookie on her own plate and sat back. “So tell me about your tea party with Sister Grace. Was it for a special occasion?”

“Actually, it was Christmas Eve,” Kelly told her. “It became sort of a ritual, you might say. After that, every year, whether I was at St. Ann’s or in a foster home, she and I would still meet to have tea and scones together.”

“It sounds like a lovely tradition.”

“It was,” Kelly replied. And instead of dreading the Christmas season because she had no family to share it with, she’d come to look forward to her time with Sister Grace.

“Were you and Sister Grace able to continue your tradition after you left New Orleans?”

“No,” Kelly admitted. “When I left St. Ann’s, I left New Orleans.” And she’d sworn never to return. Kelly put down her teacup and broke off a piece of the cookie. “This is the first time I’ve been back since I left ten years ago.”

“I see. I seem to recall Sister Grace mentioning how demanding your job is. She said you traveled a great deal.”

“Yes.” But her traveling and her job hadn’t been her reason for staying away, Kelly admitted silently. “I should have come back to see her.”

“I’m sure Sister Grace understood about the demands of your career, Kelly. I do know that she was happy that you and some of her other girls stayed in touch with her.”

“I still should have come,” Kelly replied, unable to take any comfort in the nun’s words. She met the other woman’s eyes. “A couple of months ago Sister Grace asked me to come. She said she needed to talk to me about something. But I…I put her off and took an assignment in Europe instead.”

“And now that she’s dead, you feel guilty.”

Kelly nodded. She returned the untouched cookie to her plate. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Probably.” The Reverend Mother put aside her tea and leaned forward. “But there was no way any of us could have known that she would be taken from us so soon. You have no reason to feel guilty for your decision.”

“I have every reason to feel guilty,” Kelly insisted. “I could have turned down the assignment and come back like she asked me to do. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to come back here.”

“Why not?” the nun asked.

“Because I knew coming here would dredge up unhappy memories,” Kelly confessed. She clasped her hands. “Except for Sister Grace, there were few bright spots in my life here. I swore to myself that as soon as I was old enough, I’d leave and start over. Build a new life for myself, a happy life.”

“And did you succeed?”

“I enjoy my work and I’m good at it. And I’m not unhappy,” Kelly responded, knowing as she spoke the words that the description of her life left much to be desired. “But I wish…I wish I had known how ill Sister Grace was. If I had, I’d have come.” And if she had, maybe she wouldn’t be plagued with such a sense of loss.