The Sinners' Garden

by William Sirls

Maybe we should look after old Jimmy Keeler’s teeth first . . . but what would be the best way to do that and when?

  Nah, let’s take care of Heather first.

  FOURTEEN

  Kevin Hart tossed the latest copy of the Benning Weekly on top of his desk and laughed as he studied the headline on the front page: “Santa Comes Early Again.”

  He leaned back and took a nice long look at the painting of his father.

  “I don’t like the things this Andy kid has been saying, Dad. What would you have done about it?”

  He wouldn’t have done it to me, Kevin. Just you. And he did it to you again because you let him get away with it the first time he did it. Now it’s my turn to ask you something. What are YOU going to do about it?

  Kevin pushed away from his desk, walked to the window, and then turned around and sneered at the painting.

  “Thanks for the help, Dad. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  Heather could tell Chief Reynolds wasn’t happy. For him to come into the station and call a meeting on one of his days off, some heads were probably going to roll. And she suspected hers may be the first on the chopping block.

  “Where’s Ruthenberg at?” Reynolds barked, clenching his teeth. A little vein peeked out of his salt-and-pepper crew cut across his left temple.

  “He’s got the flu,” Ray Blankenship said. “He’s going to be out a few days.”

  “Who is covering for him?”

  Heather glanced at Blankenship and then at Allen Dunning. They had each been on the force for around five years longer than she had and both gave her the same look that said, Not me.

  “I’ll do it, sir,” Heather said.

  “Good,” Reynolds said, patting nervously at the side of his face and then grabbing a mint out of a glass jar on his desk. He took it out of its plastic wrapper, popped it in his mouth, and then threw the wrapper at a trash can behind him, missing horribly. “And see if you can make it a week without playing demolition derby.”

  “Yes, sir,” Heather said. Nothing like a little humiliation among peers to brighten a girl’s day.

  “I got a call at home from the mayor this morning,” Reynolds said. “He was at a conference up in Lansing and there were a few jokes made along the lines of ho-ho-ho. Does anybody want to guess what that’s about?”

  Dunning leaned against the wall. His hobbies included golf, pulling over attractive women, and covering his butt with both hands if there was ever a problem. “Our little Santa friend hasn’t done anything on any of my shifts.”

  “Shut up, Dunning,” Reynolds said. “We are a team here. And we—regardless of public sentiment—need to catch this clown and catch him soon. I’ve got two years left to retire and I’m not going out as the head of the laughingstock department in the state.”

  “We are doing everything we can,” Heather said. “We’ll get him.”

  Reynolds stood. “Heather, I want you to keep this little news reporter in your back pocket. Make sure she understands this guy is breaking the law. And make sure she realizes that we don’t appreciate speculation in our newspaper. Only facts.”

  “She does,” Heather said.

  “And also make sure she understands this isn’t cute, and it certainly isn’t funny.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And if you three can’t bring this guy down—and pass this along to Ruthenberg when you talk to him—I’ll find some cops who will. That’s it. Now go and make things right for the citizens of Benning Township.”

  FIFTEEN

  There has to be an explanation,” Rip said, sitting next to Judi. They were inside Pastor Welsh’s office, weeding out all the things that couldn’t be responsible for Andy’s newfound ability.

  “I heard what he said to Kevin during service,” Pastor Welsh said. He ran his hand back through his straight white hair and a few strands fell back across his forehead. “And I also heard what he said during Bible study. And how that eloquently delivered little pearl of wisdom was aimed at you, Rip.”

  Rip held up his hands in surrender.

  “Where is all of this coming from?” Judi asked. “Andy has that Bible Rip gave him, but he said he’s only read a little bit of it. And I’ve never heard him talk about anything he’s read, let alone walk up to somebody and start quoting it in their face.”

  “Andy said that it may be God telling him these things,” Welsh said. “Why not?”

  Rip and Judi looked at each other and Judi shrugged. “Doc Strater said nothing seemed unusual about Andy. All he said was that the mind can surprise us sometimes.” She paused and shrugged again. “And to see if his behavior seems any different beyond the odd things he has been saying.”

  “Does it?” Welsh asked.

  Rip said yes at the exact time Judi said no, and they quickly looked at each other. Rip was sure of it, and was also pretty certain Andy’s wasn’t the only person’s behavior to have changed. They hadn’t even told Welsh yet about the flower garden or how Judi wigged out over at McLouth.

  “I haven’t noticed anything,” Judi said.

  “C’mon,” Rip said. “Just the idea of Andy acknowledging God is unusual behavior for him. I don’t ever remember him even saying he believed in God.”

  “Andrew believes in God,” Judi said as if he had insulted her.

  Rip didn’t respond to that, but there was something else he wanted to talk about. “Why can’t he remember any of these things after he says them?”

  “I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to be focusing on,” Pastor Welsh said.

  “What do you mean?” Rip asked.

  “Maybe it’s who he is saying these things to,” Welsh said slowly, fiddling with a pencil. “If they’re scriptural, I think we ought to pay attention.”

  Judi shook her head. “What about the thing he said regarding Heather’s father and Mr. Hart?”

  “Oh yeah,” Rip said. “Andy pointed at a photo of them and said, ‘They are able.’ I couldn’t find that anywhere in Scripture.”

  Pastor Welsh put a finger to his temple. “Let’s just see what happens for a while. Maybe it will end here. Or maybe, if it keeps going, we’ll learn more. I wouldn’t lose much sleep over it.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Judi said.

  “Me either,” Rip added.

  Pastor Welsh stood. He had that fatherly expression on his face he liked to use during certain sermons. He always paused and let you absorb it for a few long seconds, letting you know he was about to say something to remember.

  “Rip and Judi,” he said, “the Lord works in great ways. Unexpected ways. I’m telling you to just be thankful that Andy is giving credit to God.”

  Asphalt cut the shore, outlining the edge of Lake Erie like a thin scratch of black ink on an old map. The path was brand new and so much easier to ride on than the leaves and hardened dirt it had been paved over.

  Andy smiled and sped up. He had figured out how to adjust the governor on the throttle to return the bike to its original speed. It felt good to go fast, and he flipped up the visor, welcoming the oily scent of hot tar that filled his nose. Faster and faster he went, the sun’s glare bouncing off the trail, wrapping around him, warming his face and neck.

  It was getting too hot out, and he’d have kept going, but he spotted the new water fountain that had replaced the old pump. He remembered when he was little how he always liked cranking the rusty handle of the old pump. Up and down, up and down it went. And then he’d wait for the iron-smelling water to come, finally spilling out on his open palms for him to sip at and then slap on the sides of his face.

  He pulled up next to the fountain and got off the motorcycle. He kneeled down and ran his finger across the top of the seat, thinking about how Mom had taken him to Dr. Strater’s earlier and how they had sat there for what felt like forever before Dr. Strater came in the room. Mom had babbled on about how Andy had been saying some strange things, not caring in the least how much she was embarrassing herself and him. Then Mom actua
lly seemed happy when Dr. Strater told her that nothing was wrong with him. She reverted to her normal and miserable self, of course, when it came time to pay the bill. Shocker.

  Andy laughed about the doctor’s visit. So what if he didn’t remember the things he supposedly said? All he could really remember was how good he felt right before and right after he said those things.

  Andy took a sip of water from the new fountain and then thought about all those times he used to ride his bicycle out here near the lake when he was younger. He remembered how he used to adjust the baseball card that Uncle Rip had clothespinned to the bike’s frame. He liked the card there. The faster he went, the more the card rattled off the back spokes, making a sound just like a motorcycle. And now here he was, on a real motorcycle. It made him almost smile.

  He stood and turned to the lake, thinking about what had been happening with the iPod again. Maybe Uncle Rip’s God-lectures were finally rubbing off on him. Whatever it was, he could feel something happening inside of him, and he knew—he just knew—it was God. He smiled and took in a deep breath, watching the waves and enjoying how the sun glistened off the water.

  A car horn beeped behind him and he turned to face it. A beautiful car approached. Shiny and red, with that loud purring sound that all fast cars made. A man was driving. It was hard to tell who it was because he was wearing dark glasses.

  “Hey,” Andy said, taking a step toward the car, wondering if the dude needed directions or something.

  The driver revved the engine and Andy felt his eyes widen in approval. He moved closer to the car and then stopped, hoping the man would rev it again. He spotted the little silver horse on the side of the car and how it stood out against the red. A classic Mustang.

  The driver turned the engine off and stuck his head out the window. Andy still didn’t recognize him under the sun’s glare and took off his helmet.

  “Hear anything good today through your headphones?” the man asked. Andy recognized the voice then. It was Mr. Hart.

  “Not today,” Andy said slowly.

  “How old are you now, Andy?”

  “I just turned fourteen,” Andy said.

  “It’s a shame how long you’ve been walking around with that face of yours, isn’t it?”

  Andy froze, wondering if he’d heard him right.

  “Look in the mirror lately?” Mr. Hart said.

  “Yeah,” Andy answered. Of course he did. He looked in the mirror every day. Several times a day.

  “You care about your Uncle Rip?” Mr. Hart asked. “About his home, about his job . . . about his freedom?”

  Andy figured he had to say something. “Yes, Mr. Hart.”

  Mr. Hart put his hands on the steering wheel and looked out at the lake. “I know you don’t do all that well in school, but I still think you are smart enough to know what will happen if you ever mention this conversation to your Uncle Rip or try to embarrass me in front of a group of people again.”

  “I don’t even know what I said, Mr. Hart.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Andy.”

  “I don’t remember saying that eith—”

  “You tried to say that God told you to say those things, but God would only give a gift like that to someone He loves. God doesn’t love you.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Hart,” Andy said, feeling a surge of frustration. “Uncle Rip says He does.”

  Mr. Hart took his hands off the wheel and looked right at Andy. Then he took off his sunglasses and started to laugh. “Your Uncle Rip said that?”

  Andy nodded.

  “Really?” Mr. Hart said, laughing again. “If God loves you, I wouldn’t want to see what He does to people He hates.”

  Andy took a step back and dropped his helmet. He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands, unable to do anything but that—something he used to do when he was a little kid and others shamed him.

  Mr. Hart started the car and then it made a terrible sound and gray smoke came out of the tires. Little pieces of rock started hitting his arms and legs as the Mustang spun away.

  When he couldn’t hear the car anymore, he slowly took his hands away from his face and felt himself trembling. He opened his eyes and could see the little red welts that were rising on each of his arms. He clenched at his shorts and then lowered himself to one knee, squinting at matching cuts that were about an inch apart, halfway down his right shin.

  He was glad that nobody else was around to see him. Not his arms and legs—but the side of his face.

  A tiny droplet of blood was heading down his right shin. He dabbed at it with his thumb and then stood and faced the lake. He took a deep breath, ran his hand along the side of his face, then looked at the sky.

  Maybe Mr. Hart is right . . .

  He wiped the tears from his eyes, unable to remember the last time he cried. And then he picked up his helmet, got back on his motorcycle, and headed for home.

  Andy pulled the motorcycle back in the garage and could see Uncle Rip and Heather sitting out on the picnic table near the lake. He lifted his head to the sky, wondering if he had it in him to pretend that everything was all right.

  “Your ears must be burning,” Heather said as he walked out of the garage. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Shocker,” Andy said, sitting Indian-style in the grass next to the picnic table. Milo got in his lap and rolled over for a belly rub. He still smelled a little of skunk, but it was bearable.

  “What happened to your legs?” Uncle Rip asked.

  “Nothing,” Andy muttered, ignoring the urge to tell him. Mr. Hart had warned him what would happen if he said anything. “Why were you guys talking about me?”

  “We were talking about some of the things you’ve been saying,” Heather said.

  “Here we go again,” Andy said. “Like what?”

  “Like what you said to Mr. Hart at church,” Heather answered.

  Andy froze at the mention of Mr. Hart’s name and stopped petting Milo.

  “And what you said to me and your mom,” Heather added. “About the picture of my dad and Mr. Hart’s dad. And what you said to your Uncle Rip at Bible study too.”

  “I seriously don’t remember,” Andy said, wishing he could. He had already told Uncle Rip the only thing he could recall was how good he felt when he was done saying those things and how he sort of felt the same way looking at the flower garden.

  Then he wished he couldn’t remember what Mr. Hart had told him.

  “You’ve got us thinking we’ve lost our marbles,” Uncle Rip said.

  Andy tried not to think about anything that had to do with Mr. Hart. All he wanted to do right now was pet Milo, who looked like a little baby in his arms. He liked the way Milo’s only back leg moved while he scratched his belly. The faster he scratched, the faster that paw pedaled at the air while his tongue hung out the side of his mouth like a big piece of wet gum.

  “Sorry I’m driving everybody crazy, Uncle Rip.”

  “No worries, bro,” Uncle Rip said. “We’ll figure it all out.”

  Figure it all out, Andy thought. One thing they would never figure out would be why Mr. Hart would want to say those mean things to him. He swallowed hard, trying to forget the words that rang through his head as if on repeat.

  “The truth isn’t always easy,” Andy blurted, surprised the words came from his mouth. “But I know whatever I hear in the iPod is the truth.”

  “The truth isn’t always easy?” Uncle Rip said. He looked about as surprised as Andy felt. “That’s not from the Bible and I don’t see an earbud next to your ear. Where did that come from?”

  “That’s just from me,” Andy said. He didn’t have the faintest idea why, but he had never been so certain about anything in his life.

  Uncle Rip stood. He came over and took the iPod out of Andy’s hand.

  “I just don’t get it,” Uncle Rip said, studying the iPod. “You hear scripture through this? Not, like . . . Christian music or something?”

 
Andy shook his head. “It’s music, but nothing like you’ve ever heard on the radio. All I know is I hear a song and a voice. I guess I’m just repeating what I hear.”

  Uncle Rip held one of the earbuds to his ear.

  Heather had a funny look on her face. “What do you hear, Rip?”

  “Nothing,” Uncle Rip said. He seemed to be thinking. “But whatever Andy is hearing seems to be generally scriptural. And what he said at the Bible study about loving your enemies and praying for those that persecute you . . . it was really something I needed to hear. It’s something I need to do.”

  Heather also stood. “But what about what he said when he pointed at the picture of my dad and Kevin’s dad? He said, ‘They are able.’ Is that from the Bible?”

  “Yes, it is,” Andy said. He wasn’t sure why he said that either, but he had no doubt about it. “It’s the truth too.”

  “They are able?” Uncle Rip said. He looked at Heather, shrugged, and then looked back at Andy. “I’m clueless on that one, bro. Haven’t found it in the Bible yet.”

  “You guys ready to go?” It was Mom.

  Uncle Rip held up the earbud to his ear again and smiled. “I still don’t hear anything. I’m jealous.”

  Andy stood and Milo sprang up on all three legs. “I know why, Uncle Rip.”

  “Really?”

  Andy took the iPod from his uncle and squeezed it tightly in his hand.

  “Because you and Heather . . . Mr. Hart and Mom . . . you’re not listening.”

  Heather and Judi sat on Judi’s front porch. They had returned from dinner at Migliore’s Steakhouse over an hour ago. Rip had gone home and Andy went to bed.

  “Is this the hottest summer ever?” Judi asked.

  “Feels like it,” Heather said. She wasn’t thinking about how warm it was. She was thinking about Rip.

  Judi smacked a mosquito on her arm. “Why are you acting so weird? You seem mighty quiet.”

  “Everybody’s acting weird,” Heather said. “I kinda feel like I’m having a midlife crisis.”