He heard himself say that, say small problems. That was partly true. Problems, yes. Small, maybe not.
As the two women sat side by side, Sister Michael Judith’s hand lay in Gina Rossellini’s. They looked like a mother and child, Rossellini the mother holding her child’s thin, small hand, ready to do anything it took to protect her from the world.
“Yes, Mr. Lindsey,” the old nun asked, “two problems.”
“The first,” Lindsey cleared his throat, “ah, the first is Mary Joseph.”
“Sister Mary Joseph.”
“Yes. I understand, ah, from Miss Rossellini’s Uncle Aldo, that Gloria Dorato is Sister Mary Joseph. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is she here? May I speak with her? Can this be verified?”
“Yes,” Sister Michael Judith said, “and yes, and yes. You may speak with her but will she speak with you?” S
