"I think places hold the past. Perhaps not real 'ghosts' but things we don't understand-some essence of what occurred there. People subconsciously realize this. That's why they visit birthplaces, places of monumental happenings like battlefields or sites of great tragedies- to absorb a tiny bit of what happened there. Maybe places retain all of the past, every antecedent happening, not just the bad but the good too. Like Bird Song. Since the first time I stepped inside I had a sense of all of the love and happiness and peace those walls have witnessed. Perhaps some unhappiness, too, and tragedy, but even those emotions seemed wrapped in forgiveness. I guess there was death-but not scary death-only inevitable, the-time-has-come kind of passing. But more than anything else, there was love at Bird Song."
He didn't say anything. Finally, she asked, "Does that make sense?" He nodded his assent and she continued. "Perhaps it's me. Maybe some people sense that sort of thing more than others-that feeling you get when you're standing in a spot where you know something really dramatic occurred."
"Do you believe Annie died at Bird Song?"
"Yes."
"We could probably find out for sure if we kept checking enough records."
She smiled. "I don't want to know. I just want to believe. That's good enough for me."
"And her ghost lives on?"
Cynthia smiled. "Sort of. But now she's a contented ghost. I don't sense any feeling of uncertainty or anguish. She knows Rev. Martin really loved her. Perhaps they're together now."
"Only if St. Peter lets in hookers and hypocrites. Don't you suppose they might both be doing time in the other place? Shoveling coal? After all, he was a wayward man of the cloth and she did peddle her butt for bucks, whatever the extenuating circumstances."
"That's an unforgiving male chauvinistic attitude! I'm sure God has forgiven their little transgressions and the two of them are contrite for their actions. Besides, it reads much better the way I want to believe it!"
"Always the romantic," he smiled. "Okay. I'll buy that they're up there keeping an eye on Bird Song and watching out for us. But tell me, where does Mrs. Martin fit into this blissful picture?"
"His wife? Oh, she empathizes with what they did. See? When you die and go to heaven, you have universal knowledge and understanding. Everyone else feels the same as you and sympathizes perfectly with just how you feel."
"Like some kind of celestial ménage à trois?"
"Of course not! That's sacrilegious! Let me explain. You see, when you die, you have your heaven and I have mine. Everyone has their own heaven. The you in my heaven is the person I create in my mind, the perfect you, who never drinks his milk from the cereal bowl and remembers every birthday and holiday with the nicest card he buys the day before, and he sends roses for no reason at all...."