The next day started early with lectures, then small panel discussions, eventually a break for luncheon, and then back to more lectures. In an effort to cover more territory, they had split up for the afternoon and attended different lectures that interested them.
But his final lecture ended rather early. He stepped out into the warm air and lit a cigarette. For a moment, he just stood there, drawing breath, breathing out. On a whim, he began to walk, retracing his steps from the evening prior.
As his feet wandered, his mind dwelled. He was worried about his friend – he thought he could safely call Sister Bernadette his friend. She was so distracted and upset recently, so unlike her usual robust and joyful self.
He was particularly struck by the image she had painted of two selves: Sister Bernadette and… the woman before, he supposed.
And, what did it mean, that the woman within her was trying to think, to feel, to understand herself and the Sister stood in judgement?
What was she feeling? He wondered.
The smell of fish and warm chips brought the Doctor to a halt.
The same blouse and shirt dressed the mannequin in the shop window. He wondered now about her reaction to his jest. Admiring the display? He'd said. Her reaction told him that she had been admiring it – another sin for Sister Bernadette to look down and judge?
I just wish I could take a day off.
How can a nun take a day off from being a nun?
Just for a day – a part of a day – so I could think without feeling guilty for my own thoughts.
He walked into the shop before he could think better of his actions.
/-/-
After her lecture finished, Sister Bernadette found Dr Turner by his car. He sat on the hood, a cigarette between his lips and a newspaper in hand.
Their plan was to drive a portion of the way home and stop whenever they were ready to rest. Dr Turner claimed to know a few towns along the way they could safely stop.
When he noticed her, he dropped the newspaper to his lap and smiled. He didn't smile much anymore, but when he did, Sister Bernadette found such great strength in the genuine, complete joy he expressed.
"Well," Sister Bernadette began, "I think this was a very productive day, Doctor. Thank you for inviting me."
"Of course." He pushed off the hood and came around to the door. "Ready for the long drive back?"
"Well, ready for a short drive somewhere."
He smiled. Then his eyes flashed briefly over the brown-paper package in the backseat. His cheeks flushed a little. Had he made a huge mistake?
Make the offer, he told himself. Make it now.
"About that," he began awkwardly. He looked away, surveying their surroundings. No one was particularly nearby. He rested his arm onto the top of the car, his fingers splaying over the door window. Then he leaned into the sister a little, to make sure his words didn't get swept up in the gentle breeze. "I can't give you an entire day, but I can give you an evening."
Her glasses magnified her stormy eyes. She seemed to understand him. Her lips parted, but she didn't speak.
Quickly, before she could stop him and before he could stop himself, he moved around her, reached in through the back window, and pulled out the brown-paper package and a shoe box.
"I bought this on a whim. Possibly a foolish whim, but…" He held it out to her, offering the gift.
When she didn't take it, he continued. "It's that dress you were looking at. I thought…" He sighed, angry at his words. Then he looked down at the parcel, then back up at her. "Let me give you that evening off, where no one knows us and it'll be completely our secret."
She looked down at the package but still wouldn't reach out to take it. He can see her thinking. A little pink blush tickled around her nose. He could practically see Sister Bernadette hoovering over the wonderful little woman in front of him.
Seconds tick by and she still hadn't spoken, still hadn't taken the parcel. Dr Turner began to worry that he'd gone completely off the mark. He'd offended her. He was going to hell.
And yet, he rationalized, if that were true, she'd have already rejected him.
He decided to make one last push. "I don't think there's any shame in needing some space in order to make a decision. Or to understand why you need to make a decision."
His voice draws her eyes. He hopes that she sees his concern and his honesty. He hopes she sees that he wants to do this to help her.
Quietly, she took the package, the shoe box resting carefully on top, and pulled it tightly against her chest. She excused herself with barely a word and headed back into the building.
/-/-
Most of the attendees were still milling around the front entrance, smoking and chatting. Many were still lining the foyer. Predictably, most were men, but there were a few females.
Being a nun, though, Sister Bernadette could maneuver through the foyer into the back hallway where the lady's was tucked away without anyone taking any notice of her.
She locked the door and, carefully, she set the packet in the sink.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and looked up at herself – at Sister Bernadette.
The habit covered every aspect of her body except for her eyes staring back through her glasses.
She used to have pierced ears. She used to take the time to brush and curl her hair. She had never been vain in her clothing choices, but she used to choose carefully. But the habit had washed away so many aspects of her personality.
The longer she stared at her grey-blue eyes, the more it felt like her reflection wasn't her, but some nun standing in front of her, judging this decision – this crack in faith, this slip into vanity.
She turned away. She removed her wimple, and then the rest of her clothes, gently folding each item and setting the wool into a pile on the toilet cover.
It was only once she had striped to her slip, her bare feet cold on the tile floor, that she opened the package.
It was exactly the dress she was looking at. Sister Bernadette fingered the shoulder of the blouse, enjoying the feel of the soft material between her fingers. It was very pretty and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the entire affair – by the vanity of wanting to wear this new dress, the excitement about spending an evening off, the frivolity and presumption of it, the willingness to abandon her prayers and duties, the selfishness.
The guilt overwhelmed her. It seized at her lungs. She clutched both sides of the sink and looked up into the mirror. She was still wearing her cap and saw Sister Bernadette staring back at her.
She looked back down at the blouse. She was so sick of Sister Bernadette's guilt. What about Shelagh? What about Shelagh's sense of loss, of loneliness, of confusion?
She forced herself to take a deep breath. She held the air in her lungs and asked herself one question: did she want to put on the outfit and take a night off?
She looked at herself in the mirror as she released the breath. Slowly, she removed her cap and set it on top of the pile. Then she let her hair loose and brushed it out with her fingers.
It was so different looking at herself now. Reflected in the mirror wasn't the same face of the 19-year-old girl who had left home, quiet and mourning. At some point, while hidden beneath her habit, she had matured into a young woman.
She dressed quickly, realizing that she had already spent a long time merely undressing.
Almost dressed, she rolled a pair of silk stockings up her leg, loving the feeling of them cling to her skin.
Then she opened the shoe box to reveal a pair of comfortable, practical shoes, but what Trixie might call "quite cute".
Last, she played her fingers through her hair again, trying to organize it, but the way she had had it twisted and pulled up had made her hair curl around her face and settle on her shoulders.
She stood back from the mirror, brushed her blouse down, looked at herself. This was a woman she had never met before.
A little shiver passed up her spine. She didn't know if it was excitement or terror, but it made her move quickly to wrap her habit in the brown paper and rush out of the room.