The Sinners' Garden Page 28

  Heather and Judi edged nearer.

  “Bye, Milo,” Judi said, choking on tears. “You were a good boy. Well, not so good. But we loved you anyway.”

  “Good-bye, Milo,” Heather said. “I’m going to miss you.”

  Andy looked at Rip. “What I meant to say was, I knew something happened to him. Remember when I said that right after I asked you why Milo would have all four legs in my dream?”

  “Yeah,” Rip said, staring at the small grave.

  “Maybe God wanted me to see Milo, whole, in the garden, so I’d be even more sure about you,” Andy said. Heather noticed the troubled look on his face. “I just wish He could’ve let Milo live and still convince me.”

  “That would have been cool,” Rip said.

  “Good-bye, Milo,” Andy said. Then he leaned over the grave and made a quick, almost sarcastic, sign of the cross. And then he turned around and quickly walked away.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Andy needed to talk to somebody about God, the iPod, the garden, and why Uncle Rip and just about everybody else weren’t taking his uncle’s cancer more seriously. Though he and Pastor Welsh had never had a conversation with just the two of them, he was the only person Andy could think of qualified to answer all of his questions.

  Andy had just come out of the woods on West Jefferson, about a quarter mile north of the church. He got off the motorcycle and pushed it on the roadside gravel for a little over a hundred yards, and then he took it across the street and onto the bike path that ran along Lake Erie. There weren’t many people around, so he decided to jump back on the bike and head down the path toward St. Paul’s.

  When he approached the water fountain where Mr. Hart had told him God didn’t love him, he slowed down and circled the fountain a couple times, almost wanting Hart to come back. Andy smiled, wondering how tough and mouthy Hart would be now that he knew Uncle Rip wouldn’t hesitate coming after him. Between the lost job and the death sentence, there wasn’t a lot to hold Uncle Rip back . . .

  Andy laughed out loud, zipped the rest of the way down the path, and then cut across the road and into the back of the parking lot of St. Paul’s.

  When he walked in the church, he took a few steps into the sanctuary and was surprised how different it felt with the lights off and no people in there. Until recently, the only reason he ever went there on Sundays was to make Uncle Rip happy. Maybe there had always been too many distractions, but today, in the silence, he could feel something, something familiar. In the smallest part of his stomach was a tingle, a tiny sliver of that good feeling . . . the one he would get from the iPod or from looking at the flowers.

  Not that he’d had that feeling recently.

  The iPod was toast. And just that morning he had taken the bike out to the flower garden to talk to God and felt nothing. Not even a faint reminder of the healing dream and the hope he’d felt for Uncle Rip. Was it all just one big, fat lie?

  Andy studied the stained-glass windows that ran the length of the wall to his left and then reached behind one of the pews and pulled a Bible out of the little wooden compartment attached to the backrest. He leafed through it and thought again about how long Noah lived and how short Uncle Rip’s life might be in comparison. It didn’t seem fair.

  A door slammed behind him and it startled him, causing him to drop the Bible on the floor. The sound echoed near the church’s wooden ceiling. He turned around and Pastor Welsh was standing in the entrance to the sanctuary. He was carrying a cardboard box and placed it on a table near the door.

  “Hello, Andy,” he said, taking a quick glance around the sanctuary. “Where’s your uncle?”

  “Home.”

  “I see. You mind giving me a hand with something real quick?” Pastor Welsh pointed at the cardboard box. In his hand was a pocketknife. He pulled out the blade and then ran it through the tape on top of the box to open it. He took out a couple handfuls of those self-help booklets and stacked them neatly on the edge of the table.

  Andy walked back next to Welsh and read a couple titles on the booklets:

  HAS A FRIEND ASKED YOU ABOUT CHRIST?

  HOW CAN I HELP MY CHURCH?

  Andy was pretty sure the booklet he was looking for wasn’t in there:

  IS YOUR FAITH A RESULT OF DREAMS, FLOWERS, AND TECHNOLOGY?

  Welsh handed Andy a stack of each and pointed at a pair of clear plastic booklet holders that were mounted out on the wall next to the exit. Andy filled each one and Welsh closed the box back up and joined him.

  “I had a feeling you’d be coming by one of these days,” Welsh said.

  “Really?” Andy said. “Why?”

  “You’ve had a pretty full plate this summer and it’s just gotten a lot fuller. Your uncle send you down here?”

  “No,” Andy said. “I want to talk about him, actually.”

  “I see,” Welsh said, shifting the cardboard box from one arm to the other. He pointed down the hall to where his office was. “Shall we?”

  Andy followed Welsh to the door of his office. “You like being a pastor?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know . . . coming to church and stuff.”

  “I do,” Welsh said. “I like being the church, here and elsewhere.”

  Andy considered his words, trying to figure out what he meant, even as he nodded. They walked into Welsh’s office, and he tried to remember if he’d ever been inside before.

  “Have a seat,” Welsh said, walking behind his desk and sitting in a big leather chair.

  Andy sat down and wracked his brain on how to begin. There was an awkward silence.

  “Your mom said you were thinking about getting another pup already,” the pastor said.

  Nice segue, Andy thought. He liked that word. Mrs. Mason taught that one to the class during the fifth grade. Welsh’s segue softened the blow of the dying uncle conversation by opening up with a reference to the dead dog.

  “Not sure if we’re gonna get one or not. He’s just been gone a few days.”

  “He was, what, five or six?”

  “Almost seven,” Andy said.

  “We could all learn something from the way he lived his life. He didn’t sit around too much. If he saw something, he went for it. Even though he was only six, he got his money’s worth.”

  Andy nodded. “Suppose Uncle Rip doesn’t get better. Did he get his money’s worth?”

  Pastor Welsh didn’t answer.

  “What do you think is gonna happen to him?” Andy asked.

  Pastor Welsh pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I’m really not sure, Andy. We’ll wait and see what they say at U of M.”

  “What if they say the same thing Doc Strater said? Then what would you say?”

  Pastor Welsh leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You really want me to answer that, Andy? I think you’re ready for an honest answer.”

  “Yeah,” Andy said.

  Pastor Welsh nodded. “I lost my father when I was about your age. He was a drinker, like I was after him. He used to embarrass us a lot. Showing up at the school drunk, coming out in the yard when I was playing with my friends and falling down, stuff like that. But I still loved him. Then one day Mrs. Nagy, my eighth-grade social studies teacher, came and got me when we were in the cafeteria. She told me my mother was in the office and that was it. My dad was gone.”

  “What happened?”

  “Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor.”

  “That sucks,” Andy said.

  “When it happened, it was almost like my head was in a fog. Like it hadn’t really happened. Like it was a big dream.”

  “I know what you mean,” Andy said. He’d felt that way for a long time after his dad moved away.

  “And then my head filled up with all the things I wanted to say to my dad . . . that I should have said. I’d still give anything to spend six more months with him, Andy. Anything.”

  “Six months?”

  Pastor Welsh nodded. �
�Your uncle loves you more than anything in the world. You are just about all he talks about. It’s in God’s hands, but make the most of your time with him, Andy. Treasure every day. Say all that’s in your heart—don’t hold back.”

  So the pastor thought Uncle Rip was going to die. It kind of took his breath away for a moment. But he didn’t know . . . didn’t know about Andy’s dream.

  “I just want him to get better, Pastor Welsh. And when he’s ready to go in those flowers over by The Frank and Poet, I think God’s gonna do it. Heal him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I had a dream about the garden . . . a couple dreams, actually. One about Heather and one about Uncle Rip. And in the one about Uncle Rip I could see that if he went into the flowers, he’d be healed.”

  “I really need to get my keister over there and see those flowers. It must be some garden.”

  Andy stared at him for a second, checking to make sure he wasn’t making fun. But the old pastor looked dead serious. “In the dream I had about Heather, there was a man in the garden. Do you think it could be God?”

  “A man?” Welsh said, leaning a little closer. “What’d he look like?”

  “I couldn’t see his face. Heather saw him and said the same thing.”

  “Interesting,” Welsh said, as if Andy told him something he already knew.

  “Is it God?”

  “I don’t know, Andy.”

  “I want to see His face.”

  “You and everybody else. But God has blessed you and you’re helping Him help others. Through that iPod of late, and in other ways in days to come, I’d wager.”

  “God needs my help?”

  “God doesn’t need anybody’s help. But He wants it.”

  “Why me?”

  “Why not? Keep reading that Bible your uncle got you and you’ll find that God has chosen some pretty unlikely candidates to give Him a hand.”

  “I want to help. But other than that dream, it seems like God’s left me.”

  “God never leaves. People leave Him, but He won’t leave you.”

  “Ever since I found out Uncle Rip was sick, I don’t hear anything in the iPod and I don’t get that good feeling when I look at the flowers.”

  Welsh smiled. “That good feeling is the Holy Spirit, Andy. You don’t need earbuds or a garden to feel that.”

  “That’s basically the third time I’ve heard that,” Andy said. “I sorta felt it when I came in here today. A little bit.”

  “You can feel it anywhere, anytime. Because He is everywhere.”

  “I have another question,” Andy said.

  “Fire away,” Welsh said.

  “When we went through the McLouth Steel side to get near the flowers and Mom saw the garden, she freaked out and kept asking me to repeat a Bible verse I told her. She kept asking, ‘What did you say to me? What did you say to me?’ But then I realized she wasn’t really talking to me. She was talking to the garden.” Andy stopped and waited for a response.

  “So what’s your question?” Welsh asked.

  “Do you think it’s possible that God is in the garden?”

  “Like I just said,” Welsh said with a playful grin, “He’s everywhere.”

  “Uncle Rip said the same thing when I asked him what Mr. Hart meant when he said God must be in prison.”

  Welsh laughed. “He’s right.”

  “I’m telling you, Pastor Welsh, that dream I had is right. When Uncle Rip is ready, he’s gonna go into those flowers and he won’t be sick anymore.”

  “What do you mean by ready?”

  “You have to tell me. You’re the one who’s supposed to tell Uncle Rip when he’s ready to go.”

  Pastor Welsh considered him. “According to your dream?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said, more convinced than ever that it was right.

  “Well, you know I love you and your Uncle Rip, Andy. I’ll do whatever I can. You can count on me.”

  “Thanks,” Andy said, rising. “You know something, Pastor Welsh?”

  “What?”

  “Uncle Rip’s right. You really are pretty cool.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Heather was amazed at how well everyone was doing at keeping a positive attitude about everything, so the little dinner get-together they had originally planned in Judi’s backyard had turned into more of a barbecue. Heather even managed to convince her mother to come with her, after picking up Chelsea Cochran on the way.

  Andy’s gonna be so happy. Just the thought of another smile on the boy’s face made Heather smile too. What joy, Father! Thank You for the changes You’ve brought to Judi and Andy this summer, even in the midst of the fear . . .

  She got up from the picnic table the second she heard the side door close. Rip and Andy were walking toward her and she wanted to make sure there was room next to Chelsea for Andy. Not that Heather would mind sitting between Rip and her mother . . . Mostly next to Rip.

  “Honey, can you get a tank of propane out of the barn?” Judi yelled to Andy from the porch.

  “Okay,” Andy said, separating himself from Rip and heading toward the barn without ever noticing Chelsea. He stopped at the small grave they had made for Milo and seemed to study it for a few seconds.

  “Nice little group we have this afternoon,” Rip said, shaking hands with Pastor Welsh and then patting Chelsea on the shoulder. He sat next to Heather and leaned forward to look around her. “And a special hello to you, Mrs. Gerisch.”

  “Hello, Gerald,” Mom said.

  Heather smiled at Rip and he did his best to keep a straight face.

  “You can call me Rip if you’d like,” he said.

  “Then you can call me Sharon,” Mom said. “I remember when you had really long hair.”

  Rip pointed at Pastor Welsh and then to Andy, who was on his way back, carrying the propane tank in front of him like a big pumpkin. “I don’t see any other guys around here with short hair. I’m thinkin’ maybe I should grow out what I have left of this fine blond hair to try and keep up.”

  “You’ll be a cue ball before long,” Mom said with a snort. Heather knew Mom didn’t mean anything by it. She also didn’t know Rip had cancer and that if he decided to do chemo, when he decided to do chemo, it would make him a cue ball for sure.

  Heather looked over at Andy, who had obviously noticed Chelsea. He’d stopped dead in his tracks with a silly grin painted on his face.

  “Hey, Chelsea,” Heather said. “Lift that spell you’ve put on Andy for a second, or I don’t think he’ll ever make it to the barbecue.”

  Embarrassed, Chelsea waved at Andy in a hurry up fashion. “Come and take me for a ride on your motorcycle before the burgers go on the grill.”

  Andy glanced over at Rip with an expression like he’d heard Chelsea speaking Chinese. Either that, or he was looking for Rip’s permission to take her on the bike.

  Rip gave Andy the thumbs-up. “Take it slow and just go around the yard. And make sure you both have helmets on.”

  Andy replaced the tank under the grill in record time and then he joined them at the picnic table.

  Heather nudged Rip with her shoulder. “How ya doin’?”

  “I’m unemployed, living at my sister’s, and a dead man walking,” he whispered. “Things are just peachy.” He smiled and nudged her back. “Let’s watch Romeo for a second.”

  Andy smiled shyly at Chelsea as he got closer.

  “Well?” Chelsea said to Andy. “You gonna take me for a ride or what?”

  “Yeah,” he said, as if more than one word would result in his arrest.

  “Ride slowly,” Judi said.

  Chelsea took Andy by the arm and everybody within thirty acres smiled except Andy. It looked like he had stage fright as she led him toward the garage. They all waited until they heard the bike start and then slowly pull out. Andy was wearing the old helmet, and Chelsea was wearing Andy’s new one, which was covering her entire face and head. She had her arms wrapped around Andy’s waist
and Andy gunned the throttle a few times, a dreamy expression on his face. Clearly he was over the moon to have Chelsea on the bike with him.

  “To be young again,” Pastor Welsh said, raising his glass of lemonade.

  Heather watched as Andy pulled the bike around the front of the house and disappeared. “Remember your old Harley, Rip?”

  “Sure do,” Rip said. “I thought I was pretty tough on that chopper.”

  “You thought you were a regular Hell’s Angel,” Judi said. “Remember when you rode it to the Upper Peninsula and it died on you up there?”

  “I’m guessing it’s still up there,” Rip said. “That bike wasn’t a Hog . . . it was more like a pig.”

  “Ever think about getting another one?” Heather asked.

  “I already have a bike,” he said. “It still needs a little work done to it, but I’ve got big plans for her. If I did get a new bike, maybe I could finance it, you know . . . six months same as cash?”

  “Shush,” Heather said. She didn’t like his jokes about his cancer, but knew it was his way of dealing with it. “I always liked riding on that Harley with you.”

  Rip looked at her and they seemed to share another intense moment. It went away as Andy and Chelsea came zipping around the back of the house. Andy stopped the bike next to the picnic table, and he’d clearly gone from outright shy to thinking he was the man.

  “Go around again,” Rip said.

  Andy looked back and nodded at Chelsea. She had the visor up and was smiling from ear to ear before lowering it and leaning forward to rest her head against Andy’s shoulder. Andy gunned it and they were off again, doing a little fishtail that the bike quickly recovered from.

  “Slow down!” Judi yelled, red-faced. Rip guessed her blood pressure was going off the charts.