I pull up the app that lets my phone mirror hers, and I see that she has a playlist pulled up. It’s always an eclectic mix. New music and old. Country and rock. Rap and pop. Love songs andrage songs. It looks like a little window into her soul. Whether it's the echoes of her past life she's found in those lyrics or just the pleasure of living vicariously through the melodies, I'm not sure yet.
I came here expecting someone completely different from the person I found—boring, plain, carrying out her father’s orders like a good soldier, with very littlerealgood in her. I’d been sure, given the evidence of her support for his campaigns in the past, the seemingly picture-perfect family, and her proximity to a treasure trove of relics—one that might include the final piece to the collection he was creating. It was all a sure sign of her involvement with him. But she seems to genuinely care about the other nuns here and always seems to make the sightseers smile when she tours them around the abbey. All of her interactions with me leading up to today have been nothing short of innocent goodwill. So much so that I almost feel guilty for stalking her like this. Almost but not quite.
It means I’m missing something, potentially the key piece we need to make the whole puzzle come together, and I can’t afford to waste much more time trying to figure it out.
FOUR
Levi
I’m toobusy scrolling through the playlist as I walk down the pier to see the person standing on it, and I have to quickly tuck my phone away when I finally notice her. She’s clueless to my presence even as I get close, too used to the safety of the small community here. She’s humming along to the song and dancing her way over the worn-out old boards.
When she spins around, her eyes widen, and she starts to scream, but it's quickly silenced as she chokes on it instead. Then she stumbles backward toward the edge of the pier. I lurch forward, grabbing her upper arm through the oversized cable-knit sweater she's wearing, and pull her forward before she can stumble back into the dark waters behind her.
She blinks for a moment, taking me in and confirming I’m not a mirage before proceeding to pull her headphones down around her neck. She fumbles around her pockets, frantically searching for her phone when the sounds of the risqué pop song come blaring through the speakers. I grin as she works to turnit off, her cheeks blazing with heat and her fingers deftly flying over the screen to try to silence her late-night dance party.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she apologizes as she finally gets to the screen she needs, and silence falls between us.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a nun with a playlist quite like that,” I say. There’s no way I could have seen the whole list from her quick fumble with it, but she’s too embarrassed to realize, and I’m too dishonest to admit I already know every song on it for a different reason.
“Oh, um. It lets me unwind a bit from the day. I just need to let loose sometimes after all the cooking and cleaning. I’m sure you know what it's like. There have to be hard days. Giving last rights, taking confession—” She stops abruptly when she realizes what she’s walked into.
“No hymnals?” I frown slightly as though I’m disappointed in her lack of devotion.
“I, uh, have another list with those on there.” It’s an obvious lie. One I’d see straight through even if I didn’t know it for certain. She did have a playlist of Gregorian chants and one of the Boys' Choir for Christmastime. Maybe she was counting those to skirt the falsehood. But I’d rather pin her to it, let her squirm a little. After all, I need answers.
“I’m starting to see why you end up in confession so often.” I cant a brow skyward as my eyes drift over her skeptically.
Her lips press together, and her eyes dart down. It’s hard to believe this mild-mannered nun is the daughter of the man I hate so much. She barely seems like she could hurt a fly, let alone be part of a politically corrupt, empire-building family. But maybe I haven’t applied the right pressure yet.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that?” She steals a glance at me, but then her eyes hit the floor again.
“Talk about what?” I pretend to have no idea what she means.
“About the confessional today—” When she looks up, she stops abruptly, realizing I’d been trying to give her the out. “Oh. Sorry. I… I’m so bad at this.” Her cheeks brighten.
“What’s this?” I ask using air quotes and trying to soften my countenance enough for her to relax.
“Awkward things.” There’s a long beat of silence, and then she shakes her head, her face marred with mortification. “I had no idea it was you. I would have never confessed to that if I’d known it wasn’t Father Mark. I’m sure it was awkward for you too.”
“What you tell me in the confessional stays there. Between you and God.” I reassure her, and she nods her understanding, but her eyes drift to the horizon in thought. “Unless you feel like you need to talk about it more to alleviate your conscience,” I add.
Every single bit of information I can squeeze out of her means a little more data. The more weaknesses she reveals, the more opportunities I have.
“Well, given that we’re already discussing it… I could use your counsel, I think.”
“Of course.”
“I just wanted to say I know it’s wrong. I know what I did was wrong. I’m sorry for how it must make you feel.”
“Why is it wrong?” I want to hear her say it.
Her eyes meet mine again, and she studies them like she’s trying to root out whether or not this is a test or something else.
“I shouldn’t have those dreams. Or those thoughts. But the closer I get to my final vows, the more doubts I have. I think the dreams—it’s my subconscious manifesting those doubts.”
“So you’re not out to seduce me then?” I tease her.
A small smile flits across her face and fades.
