In This Small Spot (17 page)

Mickey looked up. “So, does this mean the
diocese will tell them to go to –” She blushed. “Sorry,
Mother.”

“I quite understand, and I would probably
phrase it the same way myself,” Mother said wryly. “I don’t know. I
have forwarded copies of this letter to the Bishop and to Father
Thomas as well as to Wendy’s attorney. I may get my hands slapped
for that, but I’m not convinced Father Thomas wants you to be found
innocent, and I didn’t know how promptly he might act on this,
so…”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission?”
Mickey grinned.

“Exactly.”

╬ ╬ ╬

“Any response yet?” Jamie asked when he came
out for a Thanksgiving Day visit.

“Not yet,” Mickey sighed.

“How are things here?”

“Better. The atmosphere doesn’t feel quite
as paranoid as it did,” Mickey said. “But I still catch Sister
Scholastica watching me. I’m not sure what exactly she thinks she
might see me do in the middle of seventy-five nuns during the day,
but it’s clear she still thinks I’m guilty of something.”

“Um, maybe being a lesbian?” he offered.

Mickey snorted. “Probably. If she’d been the
abbess, there’s no way I would have been admitted.”

“On another note,” Jamie said, “Have you
written Mom?”

“No,” she laughed. “Why in the world would I
do that?”

“Mick –”

“Jamie,” she cut in, “she didn’t even come
to Alice’s funeral. You heard her last year. She has never accepted
me as I am.”

“She’s not getting any younger,” he gently
insisted. “Someday it’ll be too late to even try making this
better.”

Mickey couldn’t help but think of Sister
Anselma in the orchard that night.

“I’ll think about it,” she said
grudgingly.

All the juniors’ spare time for the next
several days was taken with decorating the Chapel, so that it
wasn’t until late November, during a cold, rainy afternoon when
everyone was inside for Recreation, that Mickey had a chance to
seek out Sister Anselma.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” she
asked. “Privately?”

Sister Anselma nodded and ushered her to the
same conference room they had used for Mickey’s retreat. Somehow,
within the confines of this room where so much of Mickey’s soul had
been laid bare, it was easier to delve into this topic.

“My relationship with my mother is almost as
dysfunctional as yours was,” she began. “My brother is encouraging
me to make amends while I can, and I couldn’t help but think of
your situation.” She paused. “If it’s not too difficult for you to
discuss, I was wondering how you’re feeling about… everything now
that you’ve had a few months for it all to sink in. Do you wish
you’d done more to re-establish communication with your mother when
you could?”

Sister Anselma looked at Mickey in that
unsettling way she had of seeming to see deep inside Mickey’s
heart. “What is the basis of your difficulties with your mother?”
she asked, and Mickey felt like she was back in her retreat.

“Well, being gay definitely didn’t help, but
it started way before that.” She frowned, trying to recall. “It
always seemed, as far back as I can remember, that she favored my
twin brother, Jamie, and my father favored me.”

“Can you think of any reasons why that was
so?”

Mickey thought again. “My father was a
chemist, and I was always fascinated by what he did. Jamie is an
artist, a sculptor, and he and dad never connected in that
way.”

Sister Anselma tilted her head. “Could your
mother have been jealous?”

Mickey had such a comical look of surprise
on her face that Sister Anselma smiled.

“Maybe that is the root of your conflict
with your mother,” Sister Anselma suggested. “If you and your
father shared a common interest, a passion, that your mother and
brother didn’t – perhaps your mother felt threatened by that bond.
What does your father have to say about this tension between you?
Does he see it?”

“He died over ten years ago,” Mickey
replied. “And Mom has been more and more bitter and angry since
then. She surrounds herself with all the material things his life
insurance and will provided for her, but it doesn’t make her any
happier. Or nicer.”

“And your brother is encouraging you to keep
trying to bridge the gap?”

Mickey smiled. “Jamie is such a good guy. He
has always been the peacekeeper.” The smile faded. “My mother never
acknowledged Alice. It made me angry, but Alice always said the
best way to change her attitude was for us to just keep loving one
another. If it were up to me, I’d probably never see her again, but
I think Jamie is concerned that I’ll regret it if Mom dies, and I
haven’t at least tried.”

“He’s right.” Sister Anselma frowned at the
floor a few seconds before continuing. “I told you I wrote my
mother a couple of times when I first entered because Mother
Theodora urged me to do so. But when I didn’t get any response, I
stopped.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“What I didn’t understand then was that
Mother didn’t ask me to write to make my mother feel better; she
asked me to write for myself.” She looked intently at Mickey again.
“You have no control over what people do with what you offer. All
you can control are your own actions. Do you give unconditionally,
and keep giving even if your gift is refused or abused or
misconstrued somehow? Or do you stop because the offering didn’t
elicit the response you wanted?”

Suddenly, Mickey was back in the car with
Alice, watching her jacket flap in the wind.

“Are you all right?” Sister Anselma
asked.

“I… yes…” Mickey stuttered, “It’s just that
Alice said almost the exact same thing to me once.”

“Then she must have been an extraordinarily
intelligent, insightful woman.”

Mickey stared at her. “Was that a joke?”

Sister Anselma looked at her with a
perfectly straight face. “I never joke.”

╬ ╬ ╬

Jamie wrote Mickey a card excitedly telling
her that he and their mother would be out for a visit Christmas Eve
afternoon.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Mickey greeted her,
forcing herself to initiate a hug which was stiffly returned by
Natalie.

“Thank you,” Jamie whispered as he held her
tightly.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Mother Theodora
said as she came unexpectedly to the visitors’ parlour, “but I
heard you were visiting, Mrs. Stewart, and I wanted to thank you
personally for the cases of oranges and grapefruits you sent us. We
are inundated with sweets this time of year, but it is such a
delight to have fresh fruit. It was so kind of you.”

Mickey hid a smile as her mother stuttered
that it was nothing. Even Natalie Stewart could not resist Mother
Theodora Horrigan’s charm, and she was pouring it on.

“And James,” Mother said, turning to Jamie,
“I understand you are a very accomplished sculptor. If you are
returning tomorrow, perhaps you could bring some photos to show
me?”

Jamie blushed furiously, but promised to
bring them.

Later that night, voices rang out during the
Midnight Mass, singing the timeless words of the angel to the
shepherds,
“Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax homnibus
bonae voluntatis…”

For Mickey it felt even more spectacular
with her mother and Jamie there, and everyone getting along for the
first time in ages.

The Christmas Day schedule was a day of free
time after breakfast, with Mass scheduled for eleven and the family
reception immediately following. Sister Lucille found Mickey in the
common room where someone was at the piano, playing
Winter
Wonderland
.

Beckoning Mickey over, she said, “Sister?
You have visitors. I thought they were relatives and invited them
to come back for Mass and the reception, but they asked to see you
now if possible.”

“Did you get a name?” Mickey asked as she
followed Sister Lucille toward the entry.

“The Wilsons.”

Mickey stopped. It couldn’t be. She finally
forced her feet to keep moving. When she got to the entryway, there
stood Danielle Wilson and her parents.

“Danielle?” Mickey exclaimed. “Look at you!
You’re all grown up!” She gave Danielle a tight hug.

Danielle looked shocked at the sight of
Mickey in a habit. Mickey laughed. “A little different than the
last time you saw me, huh?” She turned to Danielle’s parents and
greeted them also, inviting them all into one of the parlours.

“How old are you now?” Mickey asked once
they were all seated.

“I’m sixteen,” Danielle answered. As she
sat, Mickey noticed a prosthetic foot sticking out from her pants
leg, a result of the amputation Mickey had performed when Danielle
was ten.

“How in the world did you find me?” Mickey
asked.

“I’m afraid Danielle made a pest of herself
at your office until they gave her your address just to get rid of
her,” Mrs. Wilson explained apologetically.

“Well, what brings you all the way up here?”
Mickey turned back to Danielle, puzzled.

“Well,” Danielle said shyly, “I wanted to
give you this.” And she held out a photo of herself with a scruffy
terrier mix. “That’s Mickey, the puppy you brought me.”

“Mickey?” Mickey laughed.

Danielle grinned and shrugged.

“Well, thank you, but I’m sure there’s some
other reason you came to see me.”

The room got very quiet.

“I’ve decided I want to be a doctor, a
surgeon like you,” Danielle said.

“Danielle, that’s wonderful –”

“But my cancer has come back.”

Mickey felt like a dagger had been plunged
into her heart. “Where?” she asked quietly.

“My lungs and spine.”

From long practice, Mickey kept her face
neutral. “Is your oncologist recommending chemotherapy or
radiation?”

“Both, and probably surgery. That’s why I
came to see you. To see if you would do my surgery.” Danielle’s
blue eyes bored into Mickey’s.

Mickey was not expecting this.
“Danielle…”

“We tried to tell her it was impossible.”
Mr. Wilson spoke for the first time.

“You always told me anything was possible,”
Danielle insisted.

“And it is. You have to believe that,”
Mickey assured her. “But I don’t practice medicine anymore,
Danielle.”

“But you could,” Danielle said stubbornly.
“You could operate and make me well like you did last time.”

Mickey reached a hand out to Danielle’s
shoulder. “I want you to listen to me. One thing I’ve learned being
here is that I didn’t make you well – I was only an instrument God
used then. Now, you need to trust your new doctors and I will pray
non-stop for you. I’ll ask everyone here to pray for you.”

“But it’s not the same,” Danielle said with
tears in her eyes.

“It’s better. I can be of more use to you
here than I can in an operating room,” Mickey told her gently. Just
then, a bell tolled. “It’s time for Christmas Mass. Come to the
Chapel and then come talk to some of the sisters afterwards,
please?”

Mickey showed the Wilsons to the Chapel, and
took her seat in the choir. Father Andrew and Father Raymond
co-celebrated the Mass, Father Raymond’s reedy voice straining
breathlessly while Father Andrew sustained the chant in rhythm with
the nuns’ responses. The music was glorious, but Mickey’s heart
felt weighed down. Danielle’s cancer had been serious the first
time; they had been lucky to catch it early and seemingly get it
under control. But now, with new tumors in her lungs and spine, it
was doubtful medical intervention would work this time,
so
something else must,
she thought as she prayed.

After Mass, Mickey introduced Danielle and
her parents to Jamie and Natalie, and then began introducing her to
some of the other nuns. As Danielle was engaged in conversation,
Mickey slipped away, watching from a distance. Sister Anselma came
over to her as she watched Danielle laughing with Jessica and
Tanya.

“A friend of yours?” Sister Anselma
asked.

Mickey nodded. “A former patient also. She
tracked me down, like a terrier,” she said with a small smile. The
smile faded. “Her cancer has returned. She came to ask me to
operate on her again.”

Sister Anselma searched Mickey’s face. “She
must have a lot of faith in you, to come all this way to find
you.”

“I guess she does,” Mickey said softly.

“What did you tell her?”

“What could I tell her?” Mickey said in a
low voice. “I told her I’d pray, that we’d all pray, but… her
cancer is very likely terminal.”

Sister Anselma’s eyebrows raised in mild
reproof. “Where is your faith? Isn’t this why you chose a life of
prayer over a life practicing medicine?”

Mickey looked at her. “You’re right,” she
admitted, abashed. “She had that much faith in me; now I just have
to find a way to match it.”

Chapter 22

“Come in,” Mickey called out in response to
the knock on the door.

“Hi, there,” Alice said softly as she peeked
around the door.

“Hi,” Mickey smiled as she got up from her
desk. She pushed her office door shut and gave Alice a long, slow
kiss.

“What was that for?” Alice asked when they
came up for breath.

“Just because,” Mickey said tenderly,
brushing her fingertips over Alice’s cheek. She took Alice by the
hand and led her to the couch along the wall. “So what brings you
downtown?”

“I finally made that appointment to see
David about the back pain I’ve been having,” Alice answered. “He
wants me to have physical therapy. He thinks it may be
arthritis.”

Mickey frowned a little. “I know we’re not
kids anymore, but I doubt if it’s arthritis. Did he order any scans
or x-rays?”

“Not yet. He said he will if PT doesn’t
help.” She changed the subject. “Can you get away for dinner?”

Mickey noticed Alice’s tactic, but let it
slide. “I could be here all night, but being with you sounds like a
lot more fun. Let me just finish this outline for tomorrow’s
lecture.” She went to her desk and stood leaning over to type the
last bits of the lecture outline.