Kristopher Reisz - The Drowned Forest

“I know you’ve had some trouble since she passed, making sense of the tragedy.”

“Yes, but … right now, I’m worried about Holly. She’s trying to tell us something, but we don’t know what this ring means.”

Pastor Wesley continues on his own train of thought. “Your parents actually came to see me last week. They’ve been worried about you, Jane. I’ve meant to schedule some time with you and your family. But with Rivercall and everything … ” He waves a hand over his desk calendar.

No, no, no, Pastor Wesley has to see the signs. My fingers strangle one another in my lap. “I’m not crazy, sir. Holly needs help, but we don’t know what to do. We don’t know … please, you have to help.”

“Jane, I want to help you. But I don’t believe this is a message from Holly’s ghost.”

“Who else would it be from? This is Holly’s ring!”

“I don’t know. But sometimes, in times of grief especially, people see what they want to see the most. It’s called magical thinking.”

“I’m not making this up!” My face starts to burn with embarrassment. “Tyler saw the catfish drop it too.” I look to Tyler for support.

He nods slightly. “I did. Really.”

“Jane, nobody’s accusing anybody of anything. But there—”

“Pastor Wesley, please, please, we have to help Holly.”

“But there could be lots of explanations for this ring. I don’t want you getting worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! Holly needs help! I know! I can feel it!”

“Jane, calm down. You need to listen to me right now.”

His voice is placid, so gentle it infuriates me. Jumping up, I turn and walk out.

“Jane, please,” Pastor Wesley calls at my back. “Tyler! Please come back.”

I take the stairs two at a time. Tyler keeps close at me heels. “Where are you going?” he hisses. “You’re the one who wanted to talk to—”

At the foot of the staircase, Brooke looks up. “Um … is Pastor Wesley calling—”

“Okay, see you later.” I wave at her but never slow down. Shoving the door open, I stomp out into the parking lot.

“Jane, you’re the one who wanted to talk to Wesley,” Tyler says. “Now what? Now what do we do?”

“I don’t know. But we’re not going to do nothing.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know!”

People glance over. Tyler leads me to his truck and unlocks the passenger-side door for me. I say, “He’s a man of God. He’s supposed to know the true signs of prophecy.”

“I know,” Tyler says.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. Just go, okay? Just … I can’t be here right now.”

Tyler starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot. Moving makes me feel a little better. As we cruise down College Street, I mock Pastor Wesley’s lofty tone. “‘There could be lots of explanations for this ring.’” I smash my elbow into the door panel so hard, numb pain shoots into my chest. A thought hits me. “The ring! Did we leave it in Pastor Wesley’s office?”

Tyler shakes his head and digs it out of his jeans pocket, keeping his eyes on the road. I take it from him and turn it between my fingers. Looking at it, feeling so useless, physically hurts. “It’s Holly’s ring. Two people saw a fish spit it out. It has HELP written on it. Name one! Name one other explanation for that!”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Tyler, what are we going to do? What is Holly trying to tell us?”

“I don’t know. Should we go talk to your folks?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think they’d believe us either.”

“Why not? And why did they talk to Pastor Wesley last week?”

“It’s just … it’s nothing.”

Tyler sighs, frustrated with me. “It can’t be just nothing. Just tell me.”

My face burns hot, but I need to confess. “I just … I haven’t been doing that great. And they’re sorta worried about me.”

“Like what? What’s going on?”

“I’ve just been praying a lot.”

“Your parents are worried because you’re praying a lot. Your parents?”

Staring at my hands, I say, “Sometimes for hours, like two or three hours straight.” I don’t mention the even-longer crying jags in between, but still, I want Tyler to understand. “And, well, Tuesday, Tim kept bothering me. And I threatened to shove him down the stairs, but he just wouldn’t leave me alone. So I dragged him over to the top of the staircase and lifted him off his feet. I wasn’t going to really do it, but I was mad. And then I locked myself in my room and wouldn’t talk to anybody, and Dad had to take the doorknob off.”

Tyler glances at me, then back at the road. Several seconds of silence pass. Then he starts snickering.

“Stop!” I smack his beefy arm. “It’s not funny.”

“It is, a little.”

“No, it’s not. Stop laughing. You’re making me laugh.” My shoulders bob up and down. “He can’t get the doorknob back on, either. I’ve been using pliers to open my door all week.”

That makes Tyler let out an open-mouthed bray, and you know how infectious his laugh is, Holly. Finally, I gather myself enough to say, “But after that, they called Pastor Wesley and they called this psychiatrist, Dr. Haq. We had to all go to this family therapy session and there’s another one scheduled for next week and … it’s no big deal, but they’re already worried about me. If I tell them about this, they’ll think I’ve flipped.”

Tyler nods and drums his palms against the steering wheel, thinking. The tune he was playing at Rivercall while we sat together is stuck in my head, its sad little melody running over and over.

“Mr. Alton!” Tyler says. “We’ll go talk to Holly’s pa-paw. If she’s trying to talk to us, maybe she’s tried talking to him already.”

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“‘Actually’?”

“You can turn around in this gas station. Come on.”

Tyler steers into a gas station and turns around. We fall into stiff silence again, nothing but wheels on the road and the shimmering heat above the highway as it rolls out of town.

Then Tyler says, “Hey. Sorry you’re having such a rough time.”

“Thanks.”

“If you ever want to talk to somebody about it … you know, like … ”

“I know. Thanks.” If I need to talk to somebody, I can talk to Tyler. He’ll be awkward and embarrassed and useless, but he’ll still listen. That’s something. Actually, it’s a lot.

Foster Mill Road curls away from downtown like a morning glory tendril. We drive into the hot hungry green, kudzu swallowing fences and cloaking the trees. When your house swings into view, I remember playing in the backyard. And watching Grease every sleepover. Then in the morning, we’d cook waffles and watch it again, or maybe Les Miz .

Tyler groans. “Nobody home.”

I look at him, then back at the house. Your pa-paw’s truck is gone. A pile of newspapers in blue plastic bags lies at the head of the driveway, and the hungry green has spread here too, with ragged grass growing to the second porch step.

“What happened? Where is he?”

Tyler shakes his head. We climb out and walk up to the porch. While Tyler knocks on the door, I walk around peeking through windows. Nothing moves inside. Your bedroom looks just the way it did the day you died, Holly. The bed sheets are rumpled, and that heart collage you made in art class hangs on the closet door. A cardinal feather marks your place in the book you were reading so you could get back to it later.

Peeking into your room hurts, Holly. I want to go home. I want to hide under my covers and sleep. But we’ve got to find your pa-paw first. Walking back around to the porch, I flutter the neck of my dress to let some cool air in. This heat is like being wrapped in damp gauze.