by Tony Martin
“Glad to,” said Joshua, not entirely truthfully. While working on his Bible study, the issues of the prior week kept creeping into his thought patterns. He’d actually wanted to take a break from dealing with Meredith and her problems, but that didn’t seem to be an option.
Joshua and Jimmy met at Donatello’s at noon. They placed their orders and made general small talk waiting for their food to arrive. When their meal came, steaming and smelling terrific, Jimmy stirred and picked at his fettuccini for a while before eventually asking, “So … what do you make of all this?”
Joshua was in mid-bite. He’d dived into his lasagna with relish. He put down his fork and thought about his response. Finally, he said, “I think Meredith has some issues that need to be dealt with, and I’m not sure if I – we – are the ones to help her.”
“Do you think she’s that messed up?” asked Jimmy.
“Messed up,” Joshua repeated. “Maybe that’s a little strong. I just believe that she hasn’t completely dealt with the death of her parents, and what she’s experiencing is an outgrowth of grief. Frankly, I’ve never seen anyone deal with grief like this, but I suppose it’s possible.”
Jimmy looked intently at Joshua. “Do you think it’s going to hurt Christine in any way to be around her?”
“No, no, not at all,” Joshua said. “God knows Meredith needs a friend right now, and Christine is a great source of stability. I don’t think Christine is buying into all that Meredith says she’s hearing and seeing, and yet she’s not passing judgment on Christine. That’s a good healthy sign.”
“Josh,” Jimmy said, turning red, “do you think you’ve ever seen a ghost?”
“No,” said Joshua firmly and a little too hastily. Then, “Why do you ask?”
“I just can’t buy all this kind of talk,” said Jimmy. “It’s crazy. I don’t know what Meredith is seeing or hearing, but it’s not a ghost. Nossir.”
Joshua looked a Jimmy, who was still red. “You sound pretty sure about that.”
“Well, aren’t you sure?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m sure,” Joshua said with a little less conviction. “You’re probably like me – you’ve heard ghost stories all your life, and they’re just entertaining and creepy. I’ve never talked to anyone who’s had experiences like Meredith says she’s having, although what she’s telling us falls in a rich tradition of spook tales – and reports of what they say are ‘actual’ hauntings.”
“Ghost stories never entertained me,” Jimmy said with some finality. He took a deep breath. “Look, Joshua, I deal in facts and figures all day long. It’s just how my mind works. To be a banker you have to work in concretes, not abstracts. I just can’t accept the notion of a dead person coming back to … to haunt us.”
“You’ve got to acknowledge the existence of the supernatural,” Joshua began, returning to what had become one of his favorite themes.
“I was in church when you preached your Saul and Samuel sermon,” said Jimmy, smiling humorlessly. “I can buy that, just because it’s in the Book. But as far as that stuff rearing up in today’s world – well, I have some problems there, definitely.”
“I get that a lot,” said Joshua, and they both laughed. “Believe me, I agree. Our task at hand now is to get Meredith through this, maybe get her some help, something. I left that call with her. I just don’t want her state to get any worse than it is.”
“None of us do,” said Jimmy. “I don’t envy your position. You’ve got a fine line to walk. You really can’t humor her, because that would give credence to what she says is going on. On the other hand, you can’t afford to alienate her, either. Want some dessert?” A waitress had been hovering patiently nearby.
“No. I’m plenty full. Should have quit eating before I did.”
Jimmy rose, and Joshua followed his lead. “I’ll get the tip,” said Joshua, fishing for his wallet.
“Naah. It’s all on me,” said Jimmy, tossing a couple of dollars on the table. He headed toward the cashier. “Thanks for looking after my little girl. She’s pretty special.”
“That she is,” said Joshua as Jimmy paid the bill. The two paused outside the restaurant. Jimmy seemed to want to say something.
“I just want all of you to keep your heads about yourselves,” Jimmy said, opening his car door.
“Don’t worry,” said Joshua. “I’m the soul of caution. We won’t let this thing get any deeper.”
“See you tonight?” asked Jimmy, relieved.
“You bet,” said Joshua, shaking hands. He went to his own car, evaluating his mealtime conversation as he drove back to the church.
Wednesday night services came and went. Joshua always enjoyed the midweek meetings. Calvary Church had a “church hostess,” a middle aged black lady, who prepared supper on Wednesday nights. Louise was a miracle worker; for three dollars a person, she could fix a meal that couldn’t be beat. Tonight was fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade rolls and lemon pie. “When we get there, I’m gonna nominate you for head cook in heaven,” Joshua told her as he returned his plate to the window.
“When I get to heaven, Preacher, I promise you I won’t be doing any more cooking,” Louise told him.
Joshua led the group in the fellowship hall in “prayer meeting,” which was something of a misnomer, since there really wasn’t very much praying going on. There was a prayer list in “Table Talk,” which Joshua read over, asked for updates and for any other additions to the list. There were the usual items: someone’s great aunt was anticipating gall bladder surgery; a brother-in-law was anticipating a job change and a move to another community; and “Miz Abernathy over at the nursing home is mighty low … they’ve called the family in.” Only in the South, thought Joshua, as he called on one of the deacons to lead in prayer.
After the prayer, Joshua spent the last fifteen minutes leading a Bible study. When he’d first come to Calvary he’d taken pains to prepare handouts – study guides – with fill-in-the-blanks and discussion questions. He learned quickly that the Calvary people weren’t interested in anything interactive. Mostly, they just wanted to sit and listen (or doze) while Joshua taught. Joshua thought this was a lousy way to learn, but in one of many concessions to the culture, he obliged by lecture.
After Joshua finished his teaching he was fundamentally through for the evening, but before going home, he “made the rounds,” as he called it, checking in on other groups. The children were in their missions activities, the youth were in their Bible study time (called “Breakthrough,” although as he looked at the apathetic group there didn’t seem to be much breakthrough happening), and the choir was rehearsing. Bethany sang in the choir and thoroughly enjoyed it. Joshua was thankful that whatever other issues Calvary might have, the music ministry was going well.
Joshua went home, kicked off his loafers, and pulled a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. He noticed that there was a message on the answering machine. He checked; it was from Christine Tracy.
“Brother Josh?” the recording said. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m spending the night with Meredith tonight. Say a little prayer for us, OK? I think she’s doing fine, but if she wants to talk, I want to be able to say the right thing. Thanks. Bye!” Click.
Joshua settled in his recliner and fished the remote control from under the cushions. He turned to The West Wing, one of his favorite guilty TV viewing pleasures. About fifteen minutes into the program, Bethany came home. Bethany knew not to interrupt his viewing until a commercial break.
“So, how was your evening?” asked Bethany during an opening.
“Fine,” Joshua said. “Had a message from Christine. She said she was spending the night with Meredith tonight.”
“I wonder if anything’s up,” said Bethany nonchalantly.
“She didn’t say, but I didn’t get the impression anything was wrong. Christine’s a sweet, sharp girl. She’d let us know if anything was out of kilter.”
Bethany turned this over in her mind. “
Something’s going on over there,” she said finally.
“I know that,” said Joshua, a little too brusquely. “Meredith has some significant emotional problems.”
“There’s something else,” said Bethany, and her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid of you getting too involved in it.”
“Like it or not, I’m already involved,” said Joshua. His tone softened. “Hon, I’ll be careful. I won’t over-invest myself. Besides, I’m confident that you’ll let me know if I start getting too weird.”
“You’re already weird,” said Bethany, rolling her eyes. “What was that line from Raiders of the Lost Ark? ‘You’re tampering with powers you can’t possibly comprehend.’”
“I think that was from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” Joshua said. “I can’t believe that you’re buying into Meredith’s story.”
“Me either. Call it intuition. Maybe even spiritual discernment. I just think there’s stuff happening here beyond the norm.”
“Maybe we just needed some excitement apart from the day-to-day church stuff.”
Bethany rubbed her temples. “I don’t want any excitement. I want things to be boring and mundane.” She laughed. “I never thought I’d say that, either. You will call on someone else if this gets too wacky, won’t you?”
“Who ya gonna call?” sang Joshua, right on cue.
“There’s not any Baptist ghostbusters in the phone book, I’ll bet,” said Bethany.
“This is degenerating pretty fast,” said Joshua, toying with the remote. “Hey, I’ll just wait to hear from Meredith or the Tracys. We’ll take it from there.”
Bethany sighed melodramatically. “I’ll be watching you,” she said. “And believe me, if you start getting nutso on me, I’ll be all over you. I’ll have you committed to Brice Hospital before you get too far gone to help.”
“You may come home finding me huddled in the corner, eating Ding Dongs and trying to burn the house down,” said Joshua. “At that point, you have my permission to do what you want to.”
Without warning, Bethany vaulted from her chair and landed right in Joshua’s lap. He grunted. With a mischievous grin, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
“Here’s what I want to do,” she said, and kissed him firmly on the lips.
“If this is insanity, then normal folks don’t know what they’re missing,” said Joshua, and returned his wife’s kiss.
Chapter Six - Invasion
Christine happily clanked and banged around the kitchen of the Dubose house. Meredith sat at the breakfast table and watched her. Earlier that day Christine was struck with an urge to cook supper for Meredith and herself, and had called Meredith and told her not to plan a meal. Bernadine had decided to spend the night with her sister in town, so the two girls had the house all to themselves.
Christine went all out, making French onion soup, a Caesar salad, and “some kind of chicken thing,” as she told Meredith. Christine also brought half of a pound cake her mother had made.
The two girls sat a long time at the table, nibbling away at twin slices of cake. Meredith sighed.
“You’re gonna make someone a good wife,” Meredith said, chasing a wayward crumb around her plate.
“Don’t I wish,” said Christine. “I hope cooking doesn’t have a lot to do with it. I’d like to be a good wife based on other skills.”
Meredith grinned. “Well, in the meantime, supper was good. Not exactly southern cooking, but it sure was nice for a change.” Bernadine kept Meredith well-fed with classic comfort foods: fried chicken, meat loaf, pot roast, fresh vegetables, and her legendary corn bread.
“It’s kind of fun to branch out,” said Christine.
They continued with small talk in this vein for some time. Eventually, Meredith arose and helped Christine load the dishwasher. Afterwards, the girls went back into the parlor and watched TV. Christine had rented a couple of movies before coming out to the Dubose house. They decided on an older movie, Meet the Parents. Both of them had seen it, but they laughed uncontrollably at all the right places.
“I’ll just bet you that’s how my dad’s gonna be when I bring home my fiancée,” said Christine.
Meredith grew quiet. Christine looked at her and felt a pang of remorse. She knew what was about to come from Meredith.
“I just wish my dad were here to bring someone home to,” she said, with a tremor in her voice.
Christine didn’t say anything, but looked closely at her friend. There were no tears in Meredith’s eyes, but her face was pained. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“I know I’m an absolute joy to be around,” Meredith said. “Lord, I’m a wreck. When will this all end?”
“You’re gonna be fine, sis,” said Christine. “You’ve got too many people concerned about you and praying for you for it to be anything different.”
Meredith thought about this a moment before speaking. “This is going to sound hopelessly romantic, but I’m ready for someone to come along and look after me.”
Christine laughed aloud. “Are you looking for Prince Charming, someone to sweep you off your feet?”
“Not necessarily,” said Meredith. “I just get tired of being so lonesome. I mean, heck, you’re my best friend. I’ve got plenty of friends. I’ve just got enough romance in me to want to be cared for and protected and …” Her voice trailed off. “Boy, does that sound mushy.” She shook her head helplessly.
Christine laughed again. “You nut. Just you wait. Once you get back to school, some guy will fall for you hard. And I’m going to end up an old maid.”
“I miss my folks,” Meredith said without emotion.
“I know,” said Christine, wondering what direction this conversation was taking. “That’s probably why you want to be looked after.”
“Everyone is convinced that I’m going to be fine,” said Meredith, sounding unconvinced. “Do you think I need to take the preacher’s advice and let him get me some counseling or something?”
“Sis, I sure can’t answer that for you.”
“I think I may give it just a little more time. I am feeling better. At least, I don’t think I’m as crazy as I once did.”
“You aren’t crazy,” said Christine. “Look. Let’s give this a rest. We’ve talked it to death.”
“You’re right,” said Meredith. She walked to the DVD player. “Want to watch another movie? What else did you bring?”
“Finding Nemo.”
“Cute,” said Meredith. “Poor Nemo.”
“Yeah, and poor Nemo’s daddy,” said Christine, tossing her the DVD. “He was kinda clueless. Sort of like mine on a bad day.” Meredith slid the disk into the player.
They were both asleep within minutes; Meredith on the sofa, and Christine sprawled out on the floor, hugging a pillow.
They slept soundly for some time. At some point, Christine awoke, every joint aching. Grunting, she raised herself from the floor and roused Meredith. Meredith seemed disoriented. “Where we going?” she said groggily.
“Upstairs to your room,” said Christine, taking her by the hand. The girls stumbled up the stairs and down the hall to Meredith’s room and tumbled into bed, fully clothed. They were soon sound asleep again.
Christine wasn’t aware what woke her, but she awoke with a start. She first looked toward Meredith. To her relief, Meredith was snoring softly. Impulsively, Christine reached over and laid her hand on Meredith’s forehead. It was cool and clammy.
Christine lay very still. She saw that Meredith was sleeping well, but Christine felt as though needles pricked her. It was as though she had awakened to a heightened awareness of the room, of the space she occupied, of every sound and shadow. It was so quiet that she could hear the blood coursing in her ears. The simple movement of adjusting her head on the pillow seemed too loud.
Well, thought Christine, this is a heck of a state to be in. Her eyes strained to make out anything in the darkened room, but there was nothing to see. Then -
The whispering in the hall paused. Christine held her breath. Then it began again, and this time she could make out a fragment of a phrase:
“… and our family will be forsaken …” There were a few more words too faint to discern, then, “…abomination.”
With that word, the whispering stopped. “Jesus,” Christine murmured, as her pulse throbbed in her temples. For long minutes, she lay still, waiting for any other sound. There was none. She had half expected to hear a man’s voice – after all, Meredith had – but the hallway was perfectly quiet.
Christine lay there, in an anxious fit, and then gently slid the covers back and stood to her feet. She crept to the door, placing her hand on the doorknob, nerves jangling. As she turned the doorknob and eased the door open, she realized she was playing the role of every idiotic heroine in every grade-B Hollywood shocker she’d ever seen. How many times had she shouted at the TV or movie screen, “Don’t go up there! Don’t open that door!” only to see the character get grabbed or eaten or otherwise jumped by the boogerman. Well, she thought, I think I understand their motivation now, because I need to see what’s out there.
So Christine opened the door about a foot and slowly, gingerly thrust her head into the opening and into the hallway. She was at first relieved that nothing grabbed her; and was secondly relieved that there was nothing in the hall.