Final Exam by Maggie Barbieri

I crumbled to the floor on my shaking legs.
    Because I was looking into the face of Sister Mary.
    Well, obviously it wasn’t Sister Mary, but someone who looked exactly like her. The reason I knew it wasn’t Mary is because she was nice .
    She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Varick.”
    “Oh, please call me Coco.” I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was Mary down to the sensible shoes and short haircut but definitely had more élan and flair than my stodgy boss. I pulled my eyes away from her when Eben started talking, my eyes coming to rest on a St. Thomas sweatshirt thrown casually over the banister of the staircase. It was hard to miss: St. Thomas’s school colors are a bizarre combination of purple and yellow, which I’m sure had some deep religious meaning lost on me, the pagan. The sweatshirt material was the purple, and I could see some yellow lettering peeking out from under the wrinkled fabric. I was itching to ask them if their son was a drug dealer and if he had just quit his day job, but being as we had just met, I thought it might be a tad impolite.
    “Coco and her husband . . . ,” Eben started, looking at me questioningly.
    “Chad,” I said.
    “Chad are looking for a house in the area. They got a little turned around and stopped to ask for directions.”
    “I’m glad you did!” she exclaimed. “Who’s your agent?”
    “My agent?”
    “Yes, dear,” she said, fingering her necklace. “Your real estate agent?”
    Crawford tapped gently on the horn and we all looked over at him. “Chad seems to be in a hurry,” I said apologetically, and started down the walk.
    Eben followed me. “Please do look us up when you move in, Coco. We’d love to have you and Chad over for cocktails sometime.”
    I hurried down the walk and called over my shoulder, “We’d love to, too!” I put my thumb and pinkie to my ear. “We’ll call you!”
    “We’re in the book!” he said. “And don’t forget! A left at the Catholic church!”
    “Got it!” I called back and gave him a thumbs-up. Of course it was a left at the Catholic church; I wondered if we could stop in for a little on-the-go confession. I jumped in the car and returned Eben’s wave as we drove off.
    Crawford looked at me when we got to a stop sign. “What the hell is wrong with you? I thought we were going to spend the night there, you were with him for so long.”
    “Before I forget, your name is Chad and mine is Coco and I’m a flight attendant for Air France.”
    “Of course it is. Of course you are.” He let out a little exasperated sigh. “What do I do?”
    I put on my seat belt and adjusted my pocketbook between my feet. “I didn’t get that far. Do you want to be a firefighter?”
    “Do you want me to be a firefighter?”
    New York City cops and firefighters have a not-always-amicable relationship with each other and are somewhat competitive when it comes to whose job is more important and who is braver. It’s stupid civil servant man stuff, but I knew I had to choose my words carefully regardless of how ridiculous I thought the whole thing was. Crawford was already irked that I had gone into the Brookwells’ so telling him I wished he was a firefighter would not help. “No. Of course not. Do you want to be a graphic designer?”
    He started thinking and then realized that we were off topic. “Whatever. What did you find out?” he said, pulling into a parking spot in the middle of town.
    I looked out the window and took in the row of quaint shops and restaurants. “Maybe we should look for a house here,” I mused. Crawford cleared his throat and I realized I had to tell him about the Brookwells. “Very Junior League, country club, blue-bloody types.” I held my hands out to Crawford. “Smell my hands.”
    He did it instinctively before realizing he didn’t actually have to.
    “Smells good, right?” I asked, putting my hands back in my lap. “The hand lotion in the bathroom goes for around sixty