by Marla Meyers
Marissa sat listening to the soft music for a moment, then noticed another news clipping inside the little box. She carefully picked it up, seeing that it was very old and not holding together very well. It read:
Three-year-old Andrea Hensley was tragically killed in barn last night when fire broke out. Authorities say the child evidently dropped a lantern atop a pile of hay, causing the hey to ignite, spreading the fire quickly through the barn. In a futile attempt, neighbors helped the family try to save the child.
Are you Sleeping? continued to play as Marissa looked at the date on the article. April 23, 1969. Today was April 23, 1999. Exactly thirty years later. She recognized the picture of the little girl immediately, now realizing that she had seen Andrea in the barn last night, and evidently, so had Mamma. She had so many questions and she could only think of one person that might be able to clear them up. Joshua.
She spent the next two days, hardly eating or sleeping, waiting. going back and forth to the barn.
No Joshua.
She went to the barn at the same time both nights. No Joshua. No image of the little girl no daisies.
When Monday morning arrived, she awoke more depressed than she ever remembered feeling. She walked into the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror, and for the first time realized how truly awful she looked from lack of food and rest. She cleaned up, attempted to eat a donut, then headed towards the lawyer’s office.
Marissa knew her condition must have been obvious to Mr. Watkin’s, the attorney. She asked him to repeat himself several times, as her mind kept trailing off, keeping her unable to concentrate on the issues at hand. Finally, he asked her, “Ms. Dow? Would you like to do this another time?”
Marissa, realizing that he was speaking directly to her, said, “What? I’m sorry what did you say?”
“I said we could do this another day, if you like,” sounding a little irritated.
“Uh…” she paused, “I’m really not feeling too good. Please just tell me where to sign and what I owe you. I’m not really up to going over this in such detail today,” she answered, sighing.
“That’ll be fine,” he responded, seeming relieved that he would not have to continue repeating himself.
Marissa signed the documents, scribbled him out a check, and then walked solemnly to her car. As she started the car, she remembered something. Father Tearney. Mamma had written in her journal that she was going to go see Father Tearney.
She quickly put the car in gear and headed towards St. Anthony’s.
“Father Tearney, please,” she asked the woman at the front desk in the church office.
“He is in a meeting, right now. Can someone else help you?” the woman asked, without looking up, continuing to type.
“I just…” Marissa began, as her voice broke.
“Honey?” the woman asked softly.
“I just ” and Marissa tried to start again.
“Let me go see if I can interrupt Father Tearney,” the woman said as she hurriedly walked away, looking back at Marissa with concern on her face.
Marissa stood there, fighting tears, when she heard a familiar voice. “Marissa, Honey. Is that you?” Father Tearney asked, holding his arms out to her.
The kind Father Tearney’s open arms were a welcome invitation and she quickly ran to him, sobbing.
“Marissa…now…now…come with me,” Father Tearney said, as he led her down a long hallway and into a small office, closing the door behind them.
Father Tearney sat behind the big oak desk and seemed to be waiting for Marissa to calm down. “Marissa…my goodness. What has you so troubled, Honey?” he asked, taking off his glasses and reaching over to touch her hand that was resting on his desk.
“Mamma…” was all Marissa could manage to say.
“Oh ” Father Tearney said, pausing, “sometimes the death of a loved one doesn’t catch up with us for a while. Is that what has happened here?”
Father Tearney was such a kind man. She had known him all her life and she wondered why she had not thought of coming to him sooner.
“Father Tearney,” she began, “did Mamma come and see you not too long before she died?”
Father Tearney, rubbing his chin, seemed to be thinking back. “Yes, Marissa, she did. We talked for quite some time and then she wanted me to hear her confession. Why do you ask?”
“Did she mention someone named Andrea or Joshua to you?”
Father Tearney sat up a little straighter and put his glasses back on. Then looking somewhat troubled, he said, “Why do you ask, Marissa?”
“I need to know, Father Tearney. I just need to know.”
“Yes,” answered Father Tearney, not appearing to give any more information.
“Well? What did she say about them?” Marissa asked anxious, almost desperately.
Father Tearney, sensing her desperateness, asked, “Marissa… why are you questioning me about these people?”
“Please Father Tearney,” she pleaded. “Please tell me what Mamma said about them.”
“Marissa, there are some things that I think you should know that were probably not told to you after your Mamma’s death.”
“Like what?” Marissa asked, concerned.
“Your Mamma had been seeing Dr. Powell, a psychiatrist here in town, for quite some time. She missed your Daddy a lot more than you kids ever knew. Sometimes she just couldn’t cope with the loss. Dr. Powell gave your Mamma some sleeping pills to help her sleep. Your Mamma was also on heart medication, and goodness I don’t even know what all else. I guess what I am trying to tell you is that sometimes your Mamma didn’t make a lot of sense, through no fault of her own, I feel just too much medication.”
“Mamma was not crazy!” Marissa snapped at him.
“Now…Marissa…Honey…I didn’t say she was. I’m sorry if it sounded that way. You know I loved your Mamma.”
“What about Andrea and Joshua? What did she tell you?”
“Well, that is what I was getting to. Are you sure you want to hear this, Marissa?”
“Yes,” she responded, firmly.
“All right, Marissa…” He paused, taking off his glasses again. “Your Mamma did come to me before she died with a rather bizarre story concerning someone named Andrea.”
“What was the story, Father Tearney?”
“Marissa, do you remember a fire in your barn when you were just a little girl? You might not remember…you were awful young.”
“Yes, I do,” Marissa answered, as things began to click in her mind. She could barely remember it. She was only about three or four when it happened. It was shortly after that she could vaguely remember Daddy and Paul making repairs to the barn.
“Well, your folks felt you were too young at the time to be told, but a small child died in that fire. The child’s name was Andrea.”
He stopped, waiting for a response from Marissa.
“Go on,” she said, anxious for him to continue.
“Your Mamma claims to have seen images of this child, Andrea, in your barn!” he said, sounding quite excited and disbelieving.
“Why don’t you believe her? I thought, especially Catholics, believed in ghosts?” Marissa demanded from him.
“Marissa…” Father Tearney said, squirming in his chair and seemingly uncomfortable about the direction the conversation was taking, “there was so much more to it than that!”
Feeling the need to defend Mamma and confirm her own vision, she said, “Just because Mamma was on medication, I think she still had her wits about her. If she said she saw an image, then I believe her. Please go on.”
“Marissa, the church does recognize and believe that such phenomenon do occur, such as your mother described. However, the rest of her story is hard to swallow, keeping in mind her medication and all.”
Marissa was beginning to tire of these insinuations about Mamma’s mental health. “Father Tearney…I want to know!” she said loudly.
“Marissa, settle down. I will t
ell you. Not only did your Mamma claim to have seen this child, which I repeat…the church does recognize these things…but she also claims to have had many…I repeat MANY conversations with a young man named Joshua.”
Father Tearney now had her undivided attention. “Go on, Father…please.”
“Joshua supposedly showed your Mamma the images of the child and they talked on a regular basis!” Father Tearney said, getting all worked up as he spoke.
“Father Tearney? You said that the church recognizes this! Why should it be hard to believe that she talked to a man named Joshua? Maybe Joshua saw the child, too? Have you talked to him!?”
Father Tearney looked at her blankly for a few seconds,
before responding. “Marissa ” he said, appearing tired of the conversation, “the stories your Mamma came up with were just too wild for this old Priest to believe.” Then he sighed, took his glasses off again, and shook his head.
Almost making fun of him and grinning, Marissa asked him, “Father Tearney…what was so wild? Did you ever even try to talk to Joshua? Maybe he could have shed some light on all this. Did you ever even try?”
He looked firmly at her, gently pounded his desk, and said, “Marissa I would have loved to talk to Joshua, but Joshua Hensley hung himself two days after his sister’s death! He was supposed to have been watching her! He died thirty years ago, Marissa! There, I’ve said it. Your Mamma must have been over medicated. The stories were just bizarre! And, the rest shall remain between me and your Mamma!” he finished, making a firm stand.
Marissa tried to stand up.
Chapter 9
Melanie awoke several hours later in St. Joseph’s hospital. She heard monitors and felt a tube in her right arm. She tried to sit up, when a hand grabbed hers tightly. Then a familiar voice said, “Mel…lay down. It’s Becka. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Becka? What happened?”
“You fainted at St. Anthony’s. Honey, you are so thin! Didn’t you eat while you were gone? What have you been doing?” Becka asked softly.
“Becka ” Marissa began again.
“Mel, just rest. We can talk later. I flew down. Father Tearney called me. You had my name in case of an emergency in your wallet. I’ll drive you back when you feel better. We can talk all the way back. For now, get some rest.”
Marissa was too tired, from the sedatives they had given her, to resist. She drifted back to sleep. Becka left Marissa’s room and headed to the nurses’ station.
“Where can I find Dr. Reynolds?” she asked the nurse on duty.
The nurse pointed down the hall to a handsome young doctor. Becka approached him and waited for him to finish talking to two nurses, then asked him, “Excuse me?”
He turned around. “Yes?”
“Are you Marissa Dow’s doctor?”
“Yes. Are you a relative?”
“As close as she’s got…here in the country,” Becka said, referring to Paul being oversees.
“Her condition is stable,” the doctor said, as he started walking down the hall towards Marissa’s room, with Becka by his side. He continued. “She appears to be just run down. I understand, from Father Tearney, that she was here taking care of some things for her Mother…who died recently. Maybe it just all caught up with her. There is nothing wrong with her that some rest won’t cure. You can take her home tomorrow. She seems depressed. Will you be staying with her?”
“Yes,” she answered, knowing she had many questions for Marissa, when she felt up to it.
Becka stayed the night at the hospital with Marissa. The nurse brought in a small cot for her to sleep on. The next morning Becka went to the farm and gathered up Marissa’s clothes and the few boxes she had packed. Then she went to the hospital and helped Marissa check out.
As they headed back to Houston, Marissa stared out the window, drifting in and out of sleep. Finally, noticing that her eyes were open, Becka asked, “Mel? Are you okay? What happened?”
Marissa was distant, as she mechanically told Becka the events of the past week. Leaving out no details, she told her about Joshua, Andrea, Mamma’s journals, everything, before sarcastically remarking, “Hard to swallow, huh?” Becka said nothing for a few seconds.
“Well?” Becka said.
“Well what?” Marissa asked, confused…and having expected more of a response to the story she had just told Becka.
“Was it any good?” Becka asked grinning, devilishly. Marissa looked at her, tilted her head and very slowly asked her, “Becka was what good!?”
“Him you know. that Joshua guy. was he good!?”
Marissa burst out laughing, slapping Becka teasingly on the arm. Anyone else would have shown their doubts about her story, questioned about Andrea and Joshua’s spiritual existence but, not Becka, Marissa thought, laughing aloud. She wanted to know about the sex! Marissa found this extremely funny and found herself laughing, now almost deliriously.
In between laughs of near hysteria, Marissa laid her head back against the seat, and yelled, “It was GREAT!” Becka looked over at her, laughed a little more, then with almost too straight a look on her face said, “Marissa I believe if you believe.”
Marissa looked over at Becka, as Becka reached down and squeezed her hand, then she slowly drifted back to sleep.
As they pulled into Becka’s driveway, Marissa awoke, asking Becka, “Why are we here?”
“I am going to run in and get a few things. I am going to stay with you…just for a couple of days no arguments. It’ll be fun!!”
“Becka that is not necessary. I’m fine!”
“No arguments!! You denied me of all that fun up at the farm. The least you can do is let me hang out with you for a couple of days!” Becka said, jokingly, as she got out of the car and headed up the driveway of her small house. Marissa stayed in the car and watched Becka walk to the door, her long red hair glistening in the sun. Thank God for Becka, she thought.
When they arrived at Marissa’s townhouse, Becka was very motherly, as she got Marissa all settled on the couch, then brought in her clothes and Mamma’s boxes.
Marissa slept the rest of the afternoon. Becka also took a nap on the other couch.
That evening, they each got showered and Becka made dinner. They sat watching TV and ate. Then they sorted through Marissa’s mail that had come while she was away.
“Becka,” Marissa finally started, very seriously, “do you think I’m cracking up?”
“Probably,” Becka answered, matter-of-facdy.
“Seriously, Becka. Do you think I drank too much, took too many sleeping pills? Did I have a little breakdown?”
“What do you think, Marissa?” Becka asked, more serious now.
“Well…I think that everything caught up with me. Yes…I think I drank too much and that I shouldn’t have
taken the sleeping pills…and yes I think I saw an
image of a child that died and that I had sex with the most wonderful ghost!! Doesn’t get much crazier than that, does it!?” she asked giggling.
“In all honesty, Marissa, it is a pretty wild story,” Becka giggled, as she dug her nail polish out of her purse and began to apply it.
“Becka…be serious I am really confused.”
Becka stopped applying the nail polish and placing the brush back in the bottle, said, “Mel ” then she stopped.
“Go on, Becka…let’s hear it.”
“Gkay, Marissa. Don’t get mad, but yes I do believe that maybe you never really did cope with your Mom’s death. I think being back at the farm triggered a lot of guilt because you hadn’t seen her…and maybe that messed you up some. But—” and Becka didn’t get a chance to finish when Marissa interrupted her.
“I knew it, Becka…Why didn’t you just say so? You don’t believe a Goddamned thing I said!” Marissa snapped.
“Marissa would you let me finish. You have been through a lot. The divorce, your Mom’s death and, you’ve been working yourself to death. But…I know you pretty good I do believe
that something very ‘out of the norm’ happened at the farm. I find it hard to believe that you could imagine or make up a story like that! So, what I’m saying is maybe you cracked up a little but, for whatever reason I believe something weird happened.”
Marissa sat staring at Becka, trying to decide if she was just humoring her or not. “Really?” Marissa asked, needing reassurance.
“Yes, really. But, I’ve got to tell you, at this point, I really don’t give a shit about someone named Joshua or Andrea. It’s you I am worried about. You need rest and I took it upon myself to call Sheila and tell her you wouldn’t be in the office for a couple of more days. So, it’s setded. I am staying with you. We will watch movies. We will gossip. We will paint our toenails! We will have fun! And, you will rest! Any questions?”
“I guess not,” Marissa replied, thinking to herself, if the shoe were on the other foot, she would probably be saying and doing the same things Becka was. She even wondered if she would have believed any of the story, if Becka had been the one to experience it.
“That color is horrible,” Marissa then said to Becka, as Becka had begun again to apply the much too pink color on her nails.
Becka, eyebrow raised, looked at Marissa, and replied in her best attempt at a British accent, “Really? well, why doesn’t Madam Marissa just try to go to sleep?”
Marissa smiled and then sure enough did fall back asleep.
“Becka! What in the hell are you doing?” Marissa asked Becka, who was still in her nightshirt and jumping on the end of Marissa’s bed.
Becka’s long red curls bounced as she continued to jump and now panting, said, “Trying to get your lazy ass up!”
“Don’t you think a simple, “Marissa, time to get up’, would have worked!” Marissa replied, amused at Becka’s adolescent behavior.
“HA! Not with you lady!” Becka laughed, continuing to jump, even higher now.
“Becka! Don’t talk to me about being crazy! You are the craziest person I know! And, watch out.You’re going to hit your head on the ceiling!” Marissa said, laughing, hiding under the covers with her pillow over her head.