Kicking the Habit
Authors: Kari Lee Townsend
Kicking the Habit
Kicking the Habit
Kari Lee Townsend
The characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead,
is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text
copyright © 2013 Kari Lee Townsend
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas
& Mercer
P.O. Box
400818
Las Vegas, NV
89140
ISBN: 9781477858639
This book is dedicated to my agent, Christine Witthohn, of Book Cents Literary Agency. You are so much more than just an agent to me. You are a very close friend. Thank you so much for always standing in my corner, fiercely fighting for me, and making my dreams come true.
Table of Contents
Forgive me, Father, for
I have sinned. I didn’t mean to; really, I didn’t. I just never expected
temptation to come in that form. And ohhhh, what a
form it was! Who knew keeping my vow of chastity would be so hard? Now, now—it’s
not what you think, but still, it’s bad just the same. Confusing, I know, but
trust me, you’ll understand when you hear me out.
“Forgive
me, Father, for I have sinned,” Cece Monroe said,
hearing the gravity in her own voice but plunging ahead nonetheless. She
couldn’t stop now. If she did, she’d never find the courage to say what she
must. “It’s been a while since my last confession,” she managed in a shaky
voice as she sat on the other side of the confessional in Our Lady of Glory
Church.
“Sister
Mary Cecelia, is that you?” the priest asked, sounding surprised.
Cece closed her eyes and her pulse picked up, matching the
tempo of the organ keys as the organist pounded out the hymn for this Sunday’s
mass. Twisting her black robes, Cece struggled to
find the right words. “Yes, Father, it’s little ole
me,” she squeaked. Just her luck she’d get Father Flannigan. She’d never been
very “nun-like,” no matter how hard she’d tried. The poor man was always
bailing her out of trouble.
Hence, confessing
this
sin would be that much harder.
“You
can talk to me any time, my child. Why choose to do so in the confessional?” he
asked in his kind, gentle voice.
Cece
stifled a groan. “Oh, trust me, Father. When you hear what I have to say,
you’ll be glad you don’t have to look into my eyes.” She felt the heat of her
blush climb her cheeks, and she hadn’t even said the words yet.
“Go
ahead; I’m listening,” his soothing tone filtered through the screen. She could
hear the smile in his voice, even though she couldn’t see his face that well. He
probably thought she’d used a cuss word or had eaten a second helping of supper
or—God forbid—longed for some fancy trinket.
If
only!
There weren’t enough
Acts of Contrition or Hail Marys out there to absolve
her of this one, she feared. The guilt pressed down on her shoulders, weighing
on her heavily, as she sought the courage to continue.
“It’s okay. Nothing you
could have done would warrant God striking you dead with a lightning bolt, so
have no fear; tell me what’s on your mind.”
Ha! She wasn’t so sure
about that. “Okay, Father, but you might want to ground yourself.”
The lights in the
confessional were low, the benches sideways, granting Cece
a dim view of the priest’s profile. This was meant to put the sinner at ease,
but there was nothing easy about what Sister Mary Cecelia had to say. She took
a deep breath. The aromas of wood polish, candle smoke, and a faint dusty “old”
smell filled her senses, calming her nerves a bit.
After a moment she
blurted, “Dreams, Father—I’ve been having dreams.”
“Is that all? We all
have dreams.”
“I sincerely doubt
we
all have these kinds of dreams.”
“And what kind of dream
would that be?”
Cece looked around, knowing
full well there was no one in the confessional with her except the priest, yet
she still felt as though the whole world were listening. She whispered, “The
kind that involves doing the Humpty Dumpty.” There. She’d said it. She let out
a huge sigh of relief as she awaited Father Flannigan’s reaction.
Father hesitated then
asked, “The Humpty What-y?”
Great. He had no clue what she
was talking about, but what had she expected? The man was in his seventies. It
had been quite some time, if ever, since he’d done the Humpty Dumpty.
She tried again. “Um,
well, you know, the Humpty Dumpty. Let’s just say it involves a little bumping
and grinding and a bit of twisting and shouting.” Okay, so she’d done a whole
lot more than a bit, but he didn’t need to know
all
the details.
“Ah, I see. You dreamt
about dirty dancing. That’s not—”
“Oh, for the love of
God, Father, I had sex. S–E–X. Sex, Father. Seeeeeeex!”
she said, drawing out the word.
The organist hit the
wrong key and then stopped playing altogether. The shuffling in the choir
section ceased. Even the janitor quit banging about as he cleaned the pews,
judging by the tomb-like quiet that had settled over Our Lady of Glory.
Oh, boy, what have I done?
Cece thought.
Father cleared his
throat in such a manner that all activity within the church resumed, full force.
In fact, the mumbling grew so loud that Cece was
positive the news of her indiscretion had already spread from New Hope,
Massachusetts, all the way to the West Coast.
“Sister, are you saying
you broke your vow of celibacy?” Father sputtered.
“Not physically, but my
dreams are so steamy they’re hot enough to curl my habit. My
habit,
Father. I’m actually
wearing it in the dreams, by the way. That has to be wrong. Has
to be.”
“Curling your habit, you
say? That does sound serious. Quite serious, indeed.” He
cleared his throat again, more softly this time. “Well, you are on the path to
becoming a full nun, so you really shouldn’t be thinking about … about …”
“Doing the naughty?” she
supplied.
“Precisely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The
conversation sounded like a normal chat over a cup of tea. Cece
felt like she was standing outside her body, watching the bizarre events
unfold.
“Anyway, you shouldn’t
be thinking about having carnal relations with a man—I’m assuming it’s a man.”
“Yes!” The word burst
out of her.
“Good,” he said, and she
could just make out his frown through the thick screen. “I mean, not good, but—”
“I get it. You were
saying?”
“Well, perhaps your
dreams will go away.”
“Somehow, I doubt it. You
see, they’ve escalated over the past couple months to the point where I’m
having them during the day too.” She paused and then decided she might as well
confess everything. “Even when I’m in church.” She
pressed her lips together and waited.
Hmmm. No lightning bolt. Go
figure.
“Oh,
my. I’m
not quite sure what to say. Maybe if you talk to this man, get to the root of
why you’re dreaming about him, you will stop having dreams of this nature. Celibacy
is not easy for any of us. Many people of the cloth turn to vice. Maybe you
need another outlet.”
“I’ve tried everything:
meditation, exercise, cooking, knitting … nothing works. The dreams won’t stop,
and I can’t confront my dream man because he doesn’t have a face.” But based on
what he did to her in her dreams, she was pretty sure he wasn’t of heavenly
descent. She shivered, thinking about it, and then winced. “I can’t serve God
while thinking about ‘doing the naughty’ when I’m in His house. It’s just not
right. I’ve let the Mother Superior know I’m leaving.”
“Oh, dear, that’s quite
a pickle,” Father said, and Cece wondered in an
insane moment of panic whether he’d had a glimpse of her dreams. She shook off
that crazy notion and squinted as Father Flannigan tipped his head back and
took a swig from what looked like a flask—obviously, his “vice”—then screwed
the cap back on. “Medicinal purposes for the rheumatism, you know,” he
clarified when he noticed the silence.
“Right. Well, I feel better,
having confessed my sins and filled you in on my decision to leave the
sisterhood.”
“I know it hasn’t been
easy for you, but you’ve made it through most of the steps. Are you sure you
don’t want to take that final step and petition for your permanent vows? Nine
years of work is a lot to throw away.”
“I haven’t made this decision
lightly, and I’m not throwing anything away. We both know I’m more like the
Flying Nun than Mother Teresa. I truly believe I have a different calling.”
“What will you do, my
child?”
“Well, I’ve decided to
move back in with my granny and sister. I’m older and wiser now. Maybe I can
help them. In fact, just because I will no longer be a part of the sisterhood
doesn’t mean I can’t still help the people of New Hope. I’m thinking about
opening a counseling clinic as soon as I find a place and a way to afford it.”
“That sounds like a
great idea, dear, but we’ll miss you.” He gave her a penance, and she walked
him to a meeting he was running late for.
Halfway there, he said,
“Oh, dear me. I forgot my special Bible in the confessional. I’ll never make
that meeting if I go back for it.” He stared at her with a meaningful look.
She smiled. “I’ll get
it. I know how much you love that Bible. I don’t think I’ve seen you without it
since I met you.”
“Bless you, child.”
“And thank you, Father. For everything.”
“You’re very welcome, Cece.”
He hadn’t called her Cece since she was a teenager. It felt a little strange not
being Sister Mary Cecelia anymore, but she had no regrets. She truly believed
everything happened for a reason. Now she just had to figure out what she was
meant to do with her new life.
Father Flannigan winked
as he continued on his merry way, with a spring to his step that belied any
stiff or achy joints. Cece shook her head and
chuckled, strolling back to the confessional.
What a character
, she thought.
What a day.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Yup, you
guessed it. It’s me, Cece. Bet you probably didn’t
expect to hear from me again so soon, but this time I think you’ll approve. Not
about being an imposter, but about trying to help. It sounds crazy, I know, but
I truly believe what I’m doing is right. “What happens in a confessional, stays
in a confessional,” right? Besides, I won’t really have to lie; I just won’t
tell everything I know.
By
the time Cece reentered the church, the choir had
taken a break from practice. They probably needed therapy after what they’d
heard her shout a little while ago. And the janitor had most likely stepped out
for a smoke, as was his usual routine.
Sure,
now
the church was empty—but bad timing had
always been Cece’s luck. Her strong convictions had
her sticking her nose where it didn’t belong time after time. Even though she
had good intentions, things never worked out the way she planned. She always
found herself in bizarre predicaments, struggling to make the best of bad
situations.
Confessing her sins and
screaming “Sex!” in front of half the staff of Our Lady of Glory really hadn’t been
surprising behavior on her part, Cece knew. She only
hoped Cece’s Counseling Clinic—for that was what
she’d decided to call it—would be a fresh start all around. First, she had one
last thing to do before clearing out her belongings and saying her good-byes.
After climbing the steps
to the confessionals, she slipped into the side where the priest sat. She took
a moment to sit on the bench and adjust her eyes to the dim light, feeling it strange
to be “on the other side of the fence.” In a way, this was exactly what she
would be doing once she opened her clinic: listening to people’s problems and
counseling them on how to improve their lives.
She felt a surge of
excitement but reminded herself she was still in the confessional and in no way
a priest. “Aha, there you are,” she mumbled as she bent down to pick up Father
Flannigan’s Bible. A secret compartment flipped open, revealing a silver flask
inside.
Why, that stinker. So that’s why
he considered this Bible “special,”
she thought with a smile.
The confessional shook
as someone rushed in on the other side and plopped down on the bench. Cece sat up and struggled to see through the screen, but
the hunched-over man wore a suit and an overcoat, with his collar up and fedora
pulled down low. She tried to speak up to inform him she wasn’t a priest, but
he started talking so fast she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
“I’ll tell you, Father,
I had no idea anything illegal was going on, or I never would have gotten
involved. I trusted this person, never thought in a million years I would find
myself betrayed. This will ruin me if it gets out. What am I going to do?”
Cece gasped. She knew that
voice. New Hope was a small town. “Senator Sloan?”
His head whipped to the
side, his eyes wide with shock, then horror over what he’d just admitted. “Y–you’re
not a priest!”
“I tried to tell you,
but you wouldn’t stop talking. I’m sorry,” she said, feeling guilty.
“Y–you shouldn’t be in
here,” he stuttered. “Why are you in here? Oh, my God, I’m ruined!” He shot up.
“Wait!” She tried to
stop him, but he bolted through the curtain as she finished with, “I’ll never
tell, I swear it.” She grabbed Father’s Bible and clutched it to her chest,
scrambling out of the confessional to chase after the senator. “Senator! Wait, please!”
Dropping his hat, he
kept walking, picking up the pace as he made a beeline for the front doors. “I’ve
already said too much. Just leave me alone.” He pushed his way through the
double doors, and sunlight streamed inside, blinding Cece.
She shielded her eyes
and blinked to regain her vision. The doors closed, granting her one last
glimpse of the senator. Rays of sunlight reflected off his shiny black hair
like a spotlight, and then he was gone.
Gathering her skirts in
her hand, she picked up his hat and ran after him. Her slippers muffled her
footsteps along the way. They also hid her hot-pink toenails—another non-nun-like
frivolity Cece had never quite been able to give up.
A loud noise came from
outside, but it didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like one of the local
teens had set off a firework, but Cece had more
important things to worry about—like reassuring the senator that his secret was
safe. Cece shoved her way through the doors of Our
Lady of Glory, tripped over her robes, and fell onto the steps out front.