The Sinners' Garden

by William Sirls

  As they continued to push the bikes, Andy thought about how that section of flowers disappeared right before his eyes and it scared him. Because the only thing that made any sense was that it had to be God. But then Uncle Rip’s theory couldn’t be true because God would know that Mom did do something terrible. And Mom knew it too. She burned him. So why would God let her get away with that? Without admitting it? God didn’t like a liar, did He?

  “Wow,” Uncle Rip said.

  “What?” Andy said.

  “It’s changed again.”

  Uncle Rip stopped walking and nodded across the canal, up to their left. The flowers were now in sight. They were a good fifty yards away, but Andy could tell something looked different.

  “Let’s get up there,” Uncle Rip said, jumping back on his bike and firing it up. They rode slowly along the bank and stopped directly across the canal from the flowers.

  Andy got off his bike again and looked.

  It has changed.

  The dried muck that had remained from what Mom thought was her part of the garden was now covered with high grass.

  “If that one section of the garden was Mom’s,” Andy said, “who are the other three sections for?”

  “Don’t know,” Uncle Rip said. “Other than your mom, the only people you’ve nailed with iPod Bible quotes are me, Kevin Hart, and Heather. Maybe they are for us.”

  Andy wasn’t sure about that, but the longer he stared at the garden, the more he could feel his stomach fluttering with new sensations. Things like fear, awe, and a whole lot of confusion, to name a few. But surrounding all of these things was a feeling of something stronger. Something bigger. What?

  “I feel weird, looking over there,” he said.

  “It’s not weird,” Uncle Rip said, his lips parted in wonder. “That, Andy, is pure love.”

  “I don’t think so,” Andy said. “I think it’s God.”

  “Same thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m gonna let you figure that one out, bro.”

  Andy’s legs felt rubbery. Whatever was in the garden, he wanted to be closer to it, and closer to it right now. And then a cool idea crossed his mind.

  “You think I could jump the canal?” Andy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “On my bike.”

  “That’s what I thought you meant,” Uncle Rip said. “You been puffin’ the wacky?”

  “No,” Andy said and laughed. “I’d like to try to jump it, though. Seriously.”

  Uncle Rip looked at him. “You ain’t gonna try it with your bike, my bike, or any bike. Even if we had a ramp.”

  “I think I could do it.”

  “Just be sure to let me know when you’re getting ready to try it. That way I don’t have to worry about you getting hurt.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll kill you first.”

  Andy laughed. It was a long way to the other side and he agreed it probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.

  “Let’s get back before your mom has a stroke,” Uncle Rip said, jumping up and coming down on the kick-starter of the old bike. “If we don’t return, she’ll think the worst.”

  “Imagine that,” Andy said.

  Uncle Rip tried the kick-starter again, but the bike didn’t respond. At all.

  “She’s spent for today,” Uncle Rip said.

  Andy toed the tire. “You gonna leave her for dead like you said?”

  “Changed my mind,” Rip said. “I think she’s worth saving.”

  “So you can show me up while racing again?” Andy said.

  “Maybe more,” Uncle Rip said with a glint in his eye as he glanced back toward McLouth Steel. “Who knows? With a little bit of work, maybe this dog could make that leap to the other side.”

  Andy did a double take. “So you get to jump it, but I can’t?”

  “We’ll see, bro. We’ll see.”

  Heather was just pulling in the driveway when she saw Rip and Andy come around the corner of the house, pushing their bikes toward the barn. She waved Rip toward the car and he held up his index finger for her to wait a minute.

  When he finally reached her, Rip got in.

  “Ahh, AC,” he said. “It’s hot as blazes out there.”

  “You can say that again,” Heather said. “Hey, I need to pick your criminal mind for a second.”

  “Well, it’s good to see my dark days getting put to good use. What’s up?”

  “The Summer Santa. Something about him is driving everyone bonkers.”

  “He ain’t driving me bonkers.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “Why wouldn’t he just give these people these gifts instead of doing it the way he is doing it? Any guesses?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Why you asking . . . other than the fact you guys can’t catch him?”

  “Because I’m in trouble with work, Rip. And now I’m in even deeper.”

  “What do you mean?” Rip said slowly. “You his elf or something now? You’re about the right height.”

  “Rip. He came to my apartment and left $7,500.”

  He lifted his chin and his mouth closed abruptly. “With you in it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rip exhaled loudly. “Were you scared?”

  “Heck yeah. For a minute. But then I realized he wasn’t going to hurt me. He’s all about doing good. It’s almost as if he wants me to see him doing these things.”

  “By giving you $7,500?” Rip asked. “I might be convinced myself, if I were on the receiving end of that.” He eyed her. “But just in case, I don’t think you ought to be alone tonight. You know, in case he wants to come back and make it an even ten grand or something.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need any company. If he shows up again, I’ll just call him by name and the jig will be up.”

  “You know who it is?”

  “C’mon! Who else has this kind of money to toss around? And who else has access to all our prayer cards—prayers that are so specifically getting answered?”

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “So you think you know who it is. Why would that put you in trouble at work?”

  “I didn’t tell Chief Reynolds about the $7,500,” she said miserably. “And if I do it now, it will look even worse. I’m such an idiot.”

  Rip shifted in his seat. “Trust me on this. It’s always best to turn yourself in. Otherwise, someone you care about can show up at your door with handcuffs and everything is far worse.”

  They shared a long look.

  “I guess I was kind of thinking the money was like an answered prayer,” Heather said. “Like God was telling me to go back to school, just as clearly as my mom likes to.”

  Rip put his hand on her leg. “If the money isn’t traced to anything bad, don’t you get to keep it? Eventually?”

  She shrugged.

  “Why don’t you pray about it?” He turned to face her. “I love the idea of you as a teacher, Heather. You’re so great with kids . . . it’d be perfect.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes saying so much more than their talk about the Summer Santa and money and careers . . .

  “Rip,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you loved me when we dated?” It was out before she’d thought it through. But now she really wanted to hear the answer.

  Rip faked a laugh and looked out the window, breaking their intense stare. He took a long time to answer. “I guess I was emotionally unavailable at the time.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “You never even said it once. Why?”

  “C’mon,” he said. “Why are we talking about this?” He looked as if her questions physically pained him.

  “Did you ever love-love me?” she pressed. “It’s okay if you didn’t. I just . . . need to know.”

  Rip started to say something and stopped. He licked his lips and then looked out the window again.

  “Heather . . . you were—and still are—way too good
for me. Please, it’s best if we never speak of this again.”

  TWENTY

  The parking lot and grounds at St. Paul’s hadn’t been this packed since President Reagan’s campaign stopped by during the 1980 election in an effort to rally southern Detroit’s autoworkers.

  It was ninety-five degrees, and after just fifteen minutes, Rip felt like he needed a shower.

  A few thousand people gathered, mostly out-of-towners, moving shoulder to shoulder, yet still enjoying the Benning Fourth of July Festival along the lake.

  They were fortunate that Pastor Welsh was given a complimentary table under the biggest tent next to the church, and even more fortunate that the minister had invited them to sit with him. At the table were Rip, Andy, Judi, Heather, and Heather’s mom, who—much to the town’s surprise—was out and about, rather than home watching endless episodes of Wheel of Fortune.

  Sharon Gerisch might as well have been Sasquatch or Nessie sitting across the table, because over the last dozen years, the town had seen her only on a couple occasions.

  “Look who’s here,” Rip said to Andy. He nodded toward the makeshift dance floor at the edge of the tent.

  Andy turned around and Rip watched his posture stiffen when he spotted Chelsea Cochran. She was watching the dancers on the floor and leaning against the band booth and a sign for “DJ Allen.” Good call getting a DJ, Rip thought, remembering how last year’s live band spent too much time in the beer tent before the show. Besides, this guy sounded like he chose good tunes, at least.

  “Go ask her to dance,” Rip said.

  Andy looked at Rip as though he’d asked him to run around the parking lot naked. He glanced quickly around the table, then looked back at Rip and shook his head.

  “I really think she likes you,” Rip said, nodding toward Chelsea, who’d clearly discovered Andy’s arrival. “In fact, I’ll bet you a Coke she does.”

  “Why don’t you ask Heather to dance?” Andy said.

  Rip laughed and pointed at Heather. “Because she couldn’t keep up with Uncle Rip.”

  “Ignore your uncle,” Heather said. “He doesn’t like spending much of his time in a place we call reality.” She still seemed edgy after their intense conversation a few days ago. As if she was ready to take him on again.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Rip said. “I’ll bust my dancing shoes out right here and now and put on a little clinic.”

  “Let’s go,” Heather said, standing.

  Rip laughed under his breath, stood, and did a dizzying three-sixty. His back was feeling pretty good today and it’d been years since he’d last danced. And the chance to dance with Heather? He knew it wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t resist the temptation.

  Rip pretended to need a drink before he tore up the dance floor, as Chelsea Cochran sidled up next to the table. This, I gotta see.

  “Hey, Andy,” Chelsea said.

  “Hey,” the kid answered. Andy’s eyes looked like a pair of cue balls and he looked to Rip for guidance.

  “Ask her to dance,” Rip said.

  “He doesn’t have to,” Chelsea said confidently. “I’m asking him.”

  Andy’s eyes widened farther and he double-checked to make sure his hair was pulled forward. “I-I don’t know how,” he said.

  “Who cares?” Chelsea said.

  Andy swallowed heavily and looked back at Rip. Rip guessed Andy was hoping the tent had an emergency exit.

  “Let’s hit it together,” Rip said. “I’ll show you my killer moves.”

  Andy shot him a look of horror.

  Chelsea held out her hand and Andy looked at it like she was holding a stack of hundred-dollar bills. But he stood up. Chelsea finally took him by the hand and led him toward the dance floor, ignoring the fact that Andy looked like he was being led to the gas chamber. Rip and the rest of the table just stared at them. Rip smiled, happy for Andy and for himself, because DJ Allen had just put on a slow song.

  By the time he and Heather had made it to the dance floor to join them, Andy and Chelsea were already dancing like a couple of mannequins on a skateboard, never changing the way they were facing, just swaying slowly back and forth.

  “Hey, Fred Astaire,” Rip yelled to Andy’s back.

  Chelsea patted Andy’s shoulder and pointed at Rip.

  Andy turned around. “What?”

  Rip smiled. “You owe me a Coke.”

  “So how’s your summer been going?” Chelsea asked.

  “Good,” Andy answered, thinking he liked the sound of her voice. Summer had just gotten a lot better, but he had no idea how to tell Chelsea that.

  “I see you at my brother’s baseball games,” she said.

  “I’ve seen you too.” Actually, she was the only reason he went.

  “They are off this week,” she said. “His next game is a week from Wednesday at three o’clock. You want to meet me there?”

  “Sure,” Andy said. The game was actually at two, but he didn’t want to correct her. That would seem creeperish.

  “I’ve been gone a lot with my little sister being sick with her kidney and all,” Chelsea said. “They are using my room for supplies for her, and they were gone all the time, trying to find the right doctors. I was over at my aunt’s house in Carlson for a while.”

  “I know. Didn’t see you around school this year.” He gave her a quick, nervous glance. “You look different,” Andy added. He wasn’t quite sure how that sounded.

  Chelsea smiled shyly. “In a good way?”

  “Yeah,” he said, too fast. He wanted to kick himself for sounding too eager.

  “You look taller,” she said.

  “I am. Grew almost six inches this year.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot,” Chelsea said.

  She knows about my scar. And she still asked me to dance . . . The thought made him feel good, but he held back his smile in case he was wrong. Maybe this is just a mercy dance. We’ll finish and she’ll run back to her friends and they’ll whisper behind their hands, talking about me . . .

  “How’s your sister doing?” Andy asked. It was a lot easier to talk about something other than the two of them.

  “She’s gonna need that surgery for her kidney,” Chelsea said. “Thank God Mr. and Mrs. Hart are doing the fund-raiser for her. And they haven’t charged my mom and dad any rent on our house in like four months either. We’re lucky.”

  “He owns my uncle’s house too,” Andy said. But he doesn’t let him live there for free.

  “I think they own a lot of houses. Hey, me and my family are going to Mack’s on Tuesday. I’ll ask my dad if you can come with us.”

  He stared at her. She likes me. The thought left him feeling a little dazed.

  “Yeah, sure,” Andy said. He wasn’t sure how long he was nodding before the song ended. The DJ started another song and it was a lot faster. Uncle Rip and Heather neared them and Uncle Rip started dancing.

  “C’mon, you guys!” Uncle Rip yelled. “Let’s boogie!”

  Chelsea looked at Andy and smiled. He gave her an embarrassed, shy smile and shook his head.

  “We were just gonna go sit and talk for a bit,” she said to Uncle Rip.

  Andy took a deep breath.

  I don’t think I just like this girl. I think I love her.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Rip sat in Pastor Welsh’s office for close to an hour, privately agonizing in his chair while explaining to the minister what was going on with the flower garden. It had been a particularly brutal day for his lower back; the throbbing pain he’d grown accustomed to felt like it’d grown claws and attached itself to the rear portion of his left rib cage. Probably from trying to get that dang bike started. Or my killer moves on the dance floor. Regardless, he’d obviously sprung something loose and it was getting hard to breathe.

  “You mind if I stand?” he asked. “Every once in a while, my back acts up.”

  “Of course,” Pastor Welsh said. “Just wait till you’re my age. Something new acts up every day.”r />
  “Yeah, I need a job like yours,” Rip said, stretching and wincing. “Sitting around, listening to people like me yammer on. Telling them about God. It’d be a heck of a lot easier than working at Hart Industries.”

  “Think so, huh?” the pastor asked with a wise smile. But then he became serious. “You should think about it, Rip. If you’re called, you’d be a great pastor.”

  Rip looked at him in surprise. “God doesn’t mind felons working for Him?”

  “Felons are His specialty,” Welsh said with a smile. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands. “We’re all felons, right? By grace we’ve been saved.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Welsh’s smile faded. “I think your passion for sharing what you learn would make you a good minister, Rip.”

  Rip laughed. “I wouldn’t mind getting paid to preach at people rather than handing out my vast wisdom for free. You got it made, my man.”

  Welsh lowered his head. “I wish you were serious about it.”

  “What made you think I was kidding?” Rip asked. He liked what Welsh said, and the idea of talking to people about God thrilled him. What a great way to spend the second half of his life . . .

  “You serious?”

  “Yeah. I think I am.”

  “Then let’s sit down and talk about it one of these days.”

  “Sounds good,” Rip said. He folded his arms. “Something’s been bugging me, though. Something that would hold me back from that particular conversation.”

  “What?”

  “I-I really don’t know. I guess I feel like I’m doing my best to lead the right life, but there’s something still missing, something to help me put my past behind me once and for all.”

  “Any guesses what it is?” Welsh said.

  “No clue,” Rip said. “But it’s driving me a little nuts.”

  The pastor nodded and pursed his lips. “I’ve been thinking about what you said when you shared your testimony.”

  “And?”

  “And you said that we’re to glorify God, and you’d set out to do just that, which was admirable.”

  Rip waited, lifting his eyebrows.

  “But there’s a balance, Rip. Between accepting that God is glory, and allowing ourselves to be open enough to reflect that glory. It’s not so much about what we do—what we do to try and make up for past mistakes, or try and live a life that is exemplary.”