Part 22 (2/2)
”You any good?”
”Not bad.”
”Let me guess: rapid-fire serve but it rarely goes in. Killer at the net but opponents often get you with pa.s.s-shots. Correct?”
I laughed out loud.
”You're pretty close, but you forgot to mention that I have a weak backhand.”
”Didn't want to offend you.” She grinned. ”We should play sometime,” she offered, but I couldn't tell if she was serious.
She sliced her next three drives and cursed at every one of them.
”What do you need from me, Kristin Ashe?” she asked as she reached into her bucket for three more b.a.l.l.s.
”This is off the subject of why I came here, but why did you leave the convent?”
”I love women,” she said with no trace of shame or further explanation.
I burst out laughing again, partly because I was uncomfortable with her candor, but mostly because the irony was priceless. Not well, indeed!
”No one's ever laughed that hard,” she said, chuckling herself.
”Sorry,” I said as I tried unsuccessfully to stop laughing.
”Don't be. Went into the convent because I loved women and left it because in the eyes of the church, I loved them too much. Guess that's funny.”
”Not to some people. Sister Margaret told me you weren't well, but I'll tell you this much, I don't know what she was talking about. You look a h.e.l.l of a lot better than she does.”
”Happiness will do that to you.” She enthusiastically hit the next three b.a.l.l.s straight into the sky.
”But I must say, you certainly don't look like a nun, or even an ex-nun, for that matter.”
”Girl, in my heyday I did. Had a hairdo that would have scared G.o.d.” She let out a deep laugh.
I chuckled.
”I was thinking I'd have to meet you in a nursing home and hold your hand. And now, here I am sitting at a golfing range, watching you hit the ball farther than I can see.”
”If I were any younger, I'd let you hold my hand anyway. Wouldn't that shock the good Sister Margaret?”
We laughed and laughed until the golf pro came by and asked us if we could quiet it down a bit.
In silence, except for an escaped giggle here and there, Fran Green hit the rest of the b.a.l.l.s in her bucket, and we adjourned to the clubhouse for drinks.
”What was it like being a nun?” I asked as I took my Dr. Pepper and twisted it in my hands.
”Quite challenging really. Contrary to popular belief, we're not all teachers, and not any of us are waifs. Strongest women I met were nuns.”
”What kind of work did you do for St. Peter's?”
”Handled what would now be called 'Social Services.' Worked on adoptions. Set up a soup kitchen for the homeless a” first of its kind in Denver. Visited the elderly in their homes and in rest homes. Developed a prayer program for prisoners. Name it, and I probably did it,” she told me as she sipped her soda.
”Destiny was your first adoption?”
”Yep. Would have handled her second adoption, too, and done a heck of a lot better job of it, except I was out of state when her parents died. In Minnesota, nursing my mother. There for almost a year before the cancer beat her.”
Reflexively, I said, ”I'm sorry.”
She dismissed my condolences with a wave of her hand. ”Don't be. Wasn't a great way to go, but it was her time.”
”Did you choose the Kenwoods for Destiny?”
”In a sense, yes. But mostly, they chose each other. I knew Destiny would need more love than most babies, and when I met Peter and Barbara, I knew they could give it to her.”
I was confused.
”Why did Destiny need more love a” was she ill?”
”Don't you know a” Destiny was a child of rape.”
My eyes must have bugged out of my head. I was so shocked, I choked on my Dr. Pepper. To her credit, she immediately jumped up and came around the table to a.s.sist me.
”Sorry. No delicate way to put it,” she said as she thumped on my back. ”But I shouldn't have been so blunt.”
”No kidding,” I agreed as I struggled to breathe. ”Her natural mother was raped?” I asked after I'd swallowed hard a few times.
She nodded.
”Tell me about it,” I requested when I was done hacking, coughing and clearing my throat.
”Not much to tell. Young woman was from a prominent family in the parish. Going to school at the University of Denver when it happened. Raped by a boy who asked her out. Ending her senior year at the time, I believe.”
”How tragic!”
”After the rape, she moved back with her parents. Weeks later, found out she was pregnant. They put her in isolation. Told everyone she was traveling in Europe for a year. Actually, she never left their house. One tragedy after another, that poor girl suffered. I counseled her extensively after the rape. She wanted to keep the baby, but the parents insisted she give it up for adoption.”
”Abortion wasn't an option?”
”Afraid not in those days.”
”So she gave her up?”
”Not easily. Gave us quite a scare there for a few days. She had an extremely difficult pregnancy and an even harder labor. After the baby was born, she wouldn't sign the papers to give her up. Cried for days about her little girl. Funny thing is, no one ever told her it was a girl. Still, she knew.”
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