The Sinners' Garden Read online

  “Hello, Heather,” he whispered with a little chuckle.

  “And hello, Summer Santa,” a man said behind him. “Get your hands up.”

  His heart about jumped out of his chest. Slowly he raised his arms. He knew the voice. It was Chief Reynolds.

  “You might have avoided Deputy Gerisch all summer,” gloated the chief. “But I had a feeling I might find you out tonight. Turn around and take that mask off.”

  “I don’t think you want me to do that.”

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “Because you don’t want to positively ID me.”

  “Quit messing around. Turn around slowly.”

  He took a deep breath. “If I do, things get very messy, very quickly, because you know where I’ve been pulling the cash to fund these gifts.”

  “You really think so?” Reynolds said.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m taking it from the very same place you did, illegally, years ago. You’re retiring soon, aren’t you, Chief? Are you hoping to retire here, in Benning? Think the people will still feel so warmly about you when they find out what you did?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Reynolds and saw the man was faltering, his gun partially lowered.

  “You arrest me, and I’m taking you with me,” he promised. “You understand me?”

  The chief was silent for a long time.

  “I won’t arrest you,” Reynolds said. “But I want you to quit, now.”

  “I will. After one more delivery. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He slowly edged away from Chief Reynolds, half expecting him to shout at him again, tackle him.

  But the man didn’t give chase.

  He smiled, thinking about the chief’s demand. Then he thought about his last gig and all the good that it would do.

  Flight of the Summer Santa, he thought, chuckling under his breath. It was almost over with. Just one last visit remained.

  The big one.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Rip had been upstairs most of the afternoon, praying and asking God to give him the right words. He hadn’t said anything to Judi or Andy yet, and was glad Judi thought he was kidding about only having six months left. Once he had a grip on it himself, he could tell everybody. The right way.

  He’d invited Heather and Pastor Welsh over and figured if he was going to drop the bomb, he might as well hit the four people closest to him with one shot.

  Why am I not sad?

  He shook his head and gave thanks.

  And then he thought about what Judi had said last night, before he went to bed, about this being the weirdest summer ever. He kind of guessed it was now going to be a weird fall and winter as well. And then he thought about spring, which was about seven months away . . .

  And then he thought about Andy.

  Lord, help me to let him know that I’ll be with You. Let that be a constant comfort to him.

  He stood and went downstairs. Pastor Welsh was talking to Andy at the kitchen table, and Heather and Judi were at the kitchen window, speculating where Milo had spent the night this time. When they saw Rip sit in the La-Z-Boy, they all gathered in the living room.

  Judi and Andy went to the love seat, opposite Heather and Pastor Welsh, who sat on the couch. Rip still didn’t have the faintest idea how he was going to break the news, but figured God would guide him.

  “Lay it on us,” Heather said.

  “Where have you been all day?” Rip asked.

  “Nowhere special,” Heather said. “So what’s your big news?”

  Rip couldn’t find the right words and looked at Andy. For some reason, he looked more like ten than fourteen and it saddened Rip.

  “You got a new job!” Judi blurted.

  “Actually,” Rip said, “I’m thinking about retiring within the next six months.”

  “Unemployment doesn’t pay that much,” Judi said, smiling like the new person she had become. Rip gave thanks again for that too and glanced back at Andy.

  “I don’t need unemployment,” Rip said. “When Heather and the rest of the gang raided my place and thought they took all my money before I went to prison, they missed a spot. I hadn’t planned on using any of it, but if need be, I’m pretty sure I’ll have enough money to get by until I retire.”

  “We didn’t miss any spots,” Heather said. “What are you trying to tell us, Rip?”

  “I’m telling you I’m leaving,” he said.

  “Where you going, Uncle Rip?” Andy asked. “Can I come?”

  “You bet,” Rip said. “In fact, you can all come. But I want you to wait awhile, though. Take your time.”

  “Where?” Judi asked. “Did you get a job out of state?”

  “No,” Rip said.

  “Spit it out,” Heather said, looking hurt. “Tell us where you’re going.”

  Rip smiled and pointed at the ceiling.

  “I’m going to heaven.”

  Heather laughed and pointed at Andy. “Did the iPod tell Andy, ‘Thou shalt surely die’?”

  “No,” Rip said. “Doc Strater told me yesterday morning.”

  “Shut up, Rip,” Heather said. “That’s not even—”

  “Cancer,” Rip said. “Six months. I’m totally serious.”

  Three of the four of them got it then.

  Judi leaned back and brought her hands to the top of her head and Andy just stared at Rip.

  Welsh bit gently on his bottom lip and slowly nodded.

  On the couch, next to Welsh, Heather leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. She tilted her neck to the side and her eyes widened in anticipation. He’d seen that look hundreds of times before. She was waiting for a punch line.

  Rip ran his hand along the side of his face and exhaled loudly through his nose. “I guess there’s no right way to deliver that news.”

  Heather covered her eyes with her hands. And then she peeked at him between her fingers and squeezed them back together. Judi’s eyes were now closed and Andy put his head on her shoulder.

  Welsh asked the obvious. “What’s the treatment plan?”

  “I’ve got the first available appointment to go out to U of M and have some more tests run, but I really don’t think I’m gonna spend my last six months doing the whole chemo and radiation thing if—”

  “Yes, you are!” Heather yelled, taking her hands away from her face. He’d never heard her yell so loud. She was crying and rubbed tears away from both eyes with the back sides of her hands. “You’ve played tough guy your whole life, and you’re not going to do it now! If treatment can make you better, you are going to do it.”

  Rip couldn’t look at her. Judi was crying now too. Rip was glad that Andy wasn’t.

  “We lost Mom and Dad to cancer, but we’re not going to lose you,” Judi said, standing and pointing out the window toward the lake. “I will sell this house and all three hundred acres and we’ll find you the best treatment center in the world.”

  Rip knew only a miracle would save him, but his sister was broken, desperate. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s just see what the next round of tests say and then we can take it from there. Together.”

  Mr. McIntosh had never asked Andy why he wanted to go up on the roof of Mack’s on a Friday. Andy only went up there on Wednesdays to clean and he’d told Mr. McIntosh that he just wanted to go up there and read for a little while. He had been leaning against the chimney for close to an hour and hadn’t read a single page of Flowers for Algernon.

  Andy also hadn’t been able to get the power to work on the iPod since he found out that Uncle Rip was sick, but he still kept it close by his side. Not that the power mattered, he mused. If God was going to speak through it again, Andy supposed He could power it up.

  But he still wished the power would come back on. To remind him that God was near. That He saw what was happening with Uncle Rip—what was happening to all of them. Andy looked up at the sky. Don’t take him yet, God. Don’t take him!

  He didn’t hear anything in res
ponse. Not that he expected to. In fact, if it weren’t for the iPod or the garden, there wasn’t a whole lot for him to believe about God. And now, when he needed it most, the iPod was silent.

  Six months.

  He’d be about halfway through his freshman year when Uncle Rip might die.

  Just thinking about that last word saddened Andy and he closed his eyes and wanted to pray for his uncle, but he wasn’t even really sure what that meant. Uncle Rip was always talking about the need to talk to God about things, but really, how did a dude pull that off, other than speaking into the silence? He tapped at the iPod’s power button again. Nothing happened.

  Thinking about Uncle Rip dying made him think about little Marjo. She, at least, had a long shot at life, with the surgery. It didn’t sound like a surgery would give Uncle Rip a shot.

  Six months.

  A little flash of hope ran through him. Uncle Rip still had more tests that needed to be done, so maybe they weren’t one hundred percent sure. So he tried to pray again. God, please tell me my Uncle Rip is gonna be okay . . .

  He waited to feel something in his belly. That same good feeling the garden gave him.

  Nothing.

  “Please?” Andy said to the sky.

  He still couldn’t feel anything, but a clanking noise startled him and then he saw the top part of the ladder that was attached to the building start to shake. Somebody was coming up.

  When Chelsea peeked over the edge of the roof, Andy wanted to smile, but couldn’t.

  “There you are,” she said. “I called your house and your mom said you went to the Dairy Queen. I just finished my shift and waited for you to come up. If it weren’t for Mr. McIntosh coming in for a Peanut Buster Parfait, I’d still be waiting for you to show up.” She reached the top of the ladder and looked around. “I’m surprised he lets you come up here.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” Andy slid over and she sat next to him with her back against the chimney.

  “I thought you had to be sixteen to work at the DQ,” Andy said. He’d always thought it’d be cool to work there and score free sundaes. But he had to admit, Chelsea looked so cute in the uniform, he wouldn’t ever want to replace her.

  “You do, but I just fill in some, when other kids go on vacation. My best friend’s mom owns it.”

  “Ahh.”

  “What are you doin’ up here?” she asked.

  “Reading,” he said, patting the cover of the book. He wanted to tell her he’d been trying to pray, but they weren’t supposed to talk about Uncle Rip’s cancer until his other tests were done. “How’s Marjo doing today?”

  “She’s good,” Chelsea said, and Andy realized how upbeat and positive she always seemed. He wished he could be like that.

  “Why’re you always in such a good mood?” he asked.

  She smiled in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you are. I think it’s great that you always seem to look at the bright side of things.”

  “I try,” she said. “What good does moping around do for anybody? Did you know that a bad mood is the fastest kind of mood to spread?”

  Andy thought about that for a few seconds and what she said made sense. It sounded pretty adult, almost like something Uncle Rip would say. He agreed with her, but it really didn’t make him feel any better.

  “Sorry if I’m moping,” he said. “I’m such a tool.”

  “I don’t think you are a tool,” she said and smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were. Something wrong?”

  “Just having a bad day,” Andy said. “You mind if I don’t talk about it?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Believe me, I understand that stuff happens and that it’s not always good.”

  Stuff does happen, Andy thought. You spend six years hating your mom for something she didn’t do. It gets fixed. Everything is perfect. And before you know it, the person who has done the most for you in your life, the one you’ve taken for granted, is going away forever.

  “It’s actually getting cool out,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms and hunching her shoulders. “Kind of weird. It’s been so warm this summer, I forgot what it feels like to be chilly.”

  She was right. The light was starting to drain from the sky and the temperature had to have dropped fifteen degrees in as many minutes. Andy crossed his arms, mirroring Chelsea, and looked at her.

  “You know that saying ‘You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone’?”

  “Sure,” Chelsea said.

  “I heard a guy on television say that’s not true.”

  “Why?”

  “The guy said, ‘You always knew what you had, you just never thought you’d lose it.’ ”

  “Makes sense,” Chelsea said, taking the iPod out of his hand. She ran the tip of her index finger across the cracked screen. “You can always get a new one, though.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” he said.

  “Yeah, I do. Everybody at church thinks you are hearing God through this thing. Isn’t that what you’re talking about?”

  Andy didn’t want her to know he was talking about Uncle Rip, so he went along with it. “I don’t even remember any of the things I hear through it.”

  “But the things you’ve heard and said . . . they’ve helped people, right?”

  He shrugged. “Seems to. Mostly. That’s if they’re listening.” He turned the iPod over in his hands. “But it looks like it’s all over with now. The thing won’t even take a charge.”

  “Andy, you can hear from God without a miracle iPod,” she said, giving him a surprised look. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

  “Oh yeah, right,” Andy said, nodding eagerly, as if he totally knew.

  But the truth of the matter was, he doubted her words. Hadn’t he already tried to listen?

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Andy couldn’t remember ever being so tired, but at least his headache was gone. He figured he would have cried himself to sleep, thinking about Uncle Rip only having six months to live.

  He sat up in his bed and pulled his knees up toward his chest. He rolled the iPod over in his palm and squeezed it tightly, wondering if it was ever going to work again. Then he yawned and stretched his arms out over his head before resting his arms on top of his knees.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Please, God,” he whispered. “Please make Uncle Rip get better.”

  He wasn’t sure what else to say. It was all he really wanted. He waited for a few seconds and when he opened his eyes, he was sitting at the bank of The Frank and Poet. It was so dark. There was no sound, no wind, and everything was perfectly still. All he could see were some clouds, a handful of stars, the full moon, and a thin strip of moonlight on the water a few feet away.

  How did I get out here?

  He squinted and tried to make out some of the shadows around him. That’s when he saw the little hint of light between his fingers. The iPod. He opened his hand and the screen was brightly lit, accenting the crack in the plastic.

  He held it up in front of his face and smiled. He could hear a buzzing sound and looked around to see what it was and where it was coming from.

  The earbuds.

  He lifted one and placed it in his ear. He immediately recognized the buzz as the sound of a motorcycle. It was coming from the direction of the house, cutting through the woods and heading into the corn.

  Andy stood and faced it. It was getting louder. Closer.

  The bike was quickly nearing the end of the cornfield and would reach the canal bank within a matter of seconds.

  He craned his neck forward and still couldn’t see it. The noise became unbearable. It was coming right at him. He dove to the ground and pulled the earbud out of his ear as the bike sounded like it flew right over his head.

  And then everything went quiet.

  Andy rolled over and then brought himself up to his knees, staring into the darkness across the canal. And then like a spotlight on a dark stage,
the two final sections of the garden lit up.

  In the section to the right, Uncle Rip was right in the middle of the flowers, sitting on his motorcycle, facing Andy and leaning forward on the handlebars. He was smiling and talking, but Andy couldn’t hear him.

  Andy stood and shouted, “I can’t hear you!”

  Uncle Rip held his hands up in the air and then dropped them to his sides. Then he pointed at his own ear and then the ground.

  The iPod.

  Andy turned around, picked it up, and put one of the earbuds in his ear.

  “Uncle Rip?” he said.

  “You won’t believe it, Andy!” Uncle Rip said through the earbud.

  Andy had never heard someone sound happier.

  “What are you doing in the garden?” Andy asked.

  “It’s okay,” Uncle Rip said. “You were right. I wasn’t ready to come in here. But then I figured it out and Pastor Welsh told me I was ready! You won’t believe it, bro!”

  And then Andy thought he heard barking and pressed the earbud a little farther into his ear. He recognized the bark and smiled as he could see the top of Milo’s head as he scampered through the flowers toward Uncle Rip.

  “What’s Milo doing over there?” Andy asked.

  “Don’t worry about him!” Uncle Rip said. “Don’t worry about me either. You wanted my cancer gone and it’s gone! I’m healed! Everything is perfect here!”

  Uncle Rip tapped the side of the bike and Andy watched as Milo ran up next to him. Uncle Rip leaned over and picked up Milo, and Andy saw that Milo had four legs again. He blinked twice, doubting what he saw.

  “Look at the light, Andy!” Uncle Rip yelled as the garden lit up even more. “It’s all coming from Him!”

  “From who?” Andy shouted back.

  Uncle Rip kissed the top of Milo’s head and put him back down in the flowers. “Get rid of that iPod, Andy. Chelsea was right! You don’t need that thing! Throw it in the water! You won’t believe it here! I’m telling you, you don’t need it! You don’t—”

  Andy sat up straight in his bed. His heart was knocking inside of his chest and sweat was rolling down the side of his neck. He needed to wake up Uncle Rip.