The Sinners' Garden

by William Sirls

  They hadn’t been back up on the roof for more than ten minutes when Andy heard another door slam. He looked back behind Mack’s and down into the parking lot. His heart beat about as fast as it had when Milo played stunt beagle and leaped off the roof. Chelsea Cochran was getting out of the car with her mom, dad, and sickly little sister, Marjo, who looked more like she was four years old than eight. Other than at church, Andy hadn’t seen Chelsea in over a year. Ever since Marjo’s kidney issue had come up, Chelsea had gone to live with her aunt and went to a different school, because her parents were gone so often. She looked like a completely different person than she did a year ago, and as she and the Cochrans walked toward the back entrance of the diner, Andy carefully slid around the side of the chimney, hoping he wouldn’t be seen.

  She’d never want to talk to somebody like me anyway.

  Chelsea was beautiful and she belonged with somebody else who was beautiful. Maybe a football player or someone popular, like a class president. Certainly not the kid with the ugly scar on his face.

  When Andy heard the back door open beneath him, he stood up and took a deep breath. He walked to the edge of the roof, and when he glanced back to where he’d been sitting, he couldn’t help the wave of sadness that overcame him. The title on the worn binding of his book said it all.

  The Phantom of the Opera.

  Kevin Hart leaned back in his office chair and studied the oil painting of his father on the wall. The old man had spent a fortune on it. In the painting, he was sitting on his dock, looking out at the lake, with the old house behind him. It had to have been done from a photograph, unless the artist sat in a boat on the lake. Hart smiled. He wouldn’t be surprised if the old man paid the guy to sit out there and paint it over a couple hundred sittings.

  Hart stood and walked to the window, wondering if his father would have been proud of what he had done with Hart Industries. Sales had never been better, the company was still growing, and with Phillips on board, the sky would be the limit.

  He looked back at the painting. “What do you think, Dad?”

  Hart bit his lip, practically expecting his father to look up from the lake and answer.

  Yes, son. You are doing an amazing job. Keep up the good work, kid.

  Hart’s thoughts then skipped over to the gun. If Ripley went public with the fact that Kevin Hart carried a gun, what would people think?

  After all, the gun was just tucked away for safekeeping, a memento of things that could happen. And God forbid he ever saw another need to possibly use it.

  He pushed the idea away and then smiled, thinking about the night ahead.

  “Andy hates me with a passion,” Judi said as she and Heather walked on the path that separated the cornfields. They’d both felt the urge to go and check out the flower patch again from Ripley’s Field.

  “First of all,” Heather said, “he doesn’t hate you.”

  “And now Milo hates me too. It’s spreading.”

  The two old friends shared a rueful smile.

  When Andy brought the dog home, Milo had a minor skirmish with a skunk and it had become a major problem for the little guy. Judi had quarantined him to the outdoors until later, when Rip was coming over to clean him up. When Judi had taken his food bowl outside, Heather couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Milo looked at Judi like she was about to put him down.

  “When I’m feeling like the deck is stacked against me,” Heather said, “it always helps me to think about all that is going right. You know how many people would trade places with you in a minute?”

  “Yeah, right,” Judi said. “Come trade places with the lady with a big, empty house and a son who hates her.”

  “Not a big, empty house. A big, beautiful house full of history, set on all this beautiful land we get to walk through like it’s our own private park,” Heather said.

  “A private park? More like wasted land. I don’t make squat off leasing all these acres of corn to part-time farmers.”

  “But it’s land that remains open, preserving the prettiest view in Benning. And you have a healthy son,” Heather added. “Even if he’s being a pill right now. Just look at the Cochrans and what they are going through with little Marjo.”

  “That’s true,” Judi said, nodding.

  “Just be thankful you can have kids,” Heather added. “I can’t.”

  “Sorry,” Judi said. “You’re totally right. I’m giving in to my own pity party again. It’s just that with Andy . . .” She shook her head. “I have no idea how to cross this valley that just keeps getting deeper and deeper between us.”

  “It’s okay,” Heather said as they approached the end of the corn. She looped her arm through Judi’s. “Remember what Welsh has told us about a hundred times . . . about how things we take for granted, someone else is praying for?”

  “You’re right,” Judi said.

  “Plus, don’t forget, Andy’s at that age.”

  Judi’s eyebrows huddled again, as if they were saying, Thanks for the pep talk, but Andy’s been at that age for a long time.

  And then Judi pointed.

  Heather turned her head and when she saw the flowers, it looked like the strength went right out of Judi’s legs and she fell to her knees. Heather took her hand and tried to lift Judi to her feet, but she couldn’t. Judi was still pointing and her mouth was gaped open. Heather had a feeling her own mouth was open as well. There’d been a part of them both that almost wondered if their experience on the McLouth side of the canal had been a dream. A crazy, fantastic, weird dream.

  But there the flowers were. Bigger and brighter than before.

  The garden seemed different from this side. Safer. It was more like a painting or a photograph, impossibly perfect. It was like the flowers had been Photoshopped into the most incongruous place on earth, right behind the dark, ghostly factory.

  She looked up toward the bright sun and squinted, a big part of her expecting to see a hole in one of those puffy white clouds. Like that beautiful flower bed had simply fallen out of the sky and landed across the canal, a piece of heaven snatched away.

  And then Heather realized she was smiling and didn’t have the faintest idea why.

  “What did you say to me?” Judi said, her arm finally lowering. It was the same thing she was saying when they’d been over on the McLouth side.

  But she wasn’t speaking to Heather. She was talking to the flowers.

  Heather’s smile faded and her heart pounded. What was going on here?

  They’d tried to talk about what had overcome Judi that day over at McLouth. Heather and Rip had figured it was just stress leaking out over Judi’s relationship with Andy, and they’d thought a return visit might help resolve it. But whatever it was, it looked like it was trying to rear its head again.

  “I need to know what he said to me,” Judi called over to the garden. “I still need to know.”

  Heather kneeled next to Judi and didn’t say anything. When she looked back at the flowers, gooseflesh riddled her arms and back. She felt like she was standing next to a window on a bright winter day and the sun’s reflection was warming her entire body. She looked away from the flowers and the feeling disappeared. She turned back to the flowers and it returned. Off and on. Off and on.

  “They are all gone when I look over there,” Judi said.

  “What’s all gone?” Heather asked.

  “My worries,” Judi answered, turning to face Heather. “When I look over there, I feel like I don’t have a care in the world.”

  Heather knew exactly what Judi meant. They stood and the two of them walked up to where the grass led down to the canal and sat there for close to half an hour, silently staring at the wildflowers, only taking little breaks to glance at each other and smile.

  Heather didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on, but whatever it was, no matter how much it scared her, she couldn’t bear to look away. Because . . . it was good.

  This was a lot harder than he thought it wou
ld be. It was way too dark out and by the time he got the second tire off, he wished the police had declared old Mrs. Coventry too old to drive. She was ninety-three and never left Benning, but if she was ever going to go faster than twenty and quit creating the only traffic the town ever saw, the bald tires had to go. The new tires were an odd prayer request, particularly for somebody her age, but he was glad he could resolve this one.

  He lifted the mask off his face, stood, and thought he heard a car coming. He removed his right glove, rubbed at his eyes, and then laughed quietly. Nobody was coming out here at two in the morning. He shook his head and then walked around the other side of the car to change the other two tires.

  TWELVE

  They are almost ready for us!” Heather yelled as she walked back into her Sunday school class. “About three more minutes.”

  Heather kneeled on the carpet next to Marjo Cochran, who lay on her stomach with her left palm propped under her chin and a red crayon in her other hand. Marjo would be delivering the final line in the skit they were about to perform for the congregation.

  “You ready, Marjo?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, Ms. Gerisch,” Marjo said. “All I have to do is yell ‘amen’ when you look at me.”

  “That’s right, sweetheart,” Heather said, standing. “If anybody filled out a prayer request card, let me have them and I’ll give them to Mr. Hart before we start the skit, okay?”

  Marjo sat up and handed Heather one of the cards. It had been folded in half.

  “Can you see if I spelled everything right?” Marjo asked, pointing at the card.

  “Of course,” Heather said, opening it.

  DEAR GOD I DON’T WANT TO GO THE HOPSITAL ANYMORE I DON’T LIKE NEEDLES AND JUST WANT TO BE HELTHY LIKE THE OTHER KIDS THANK YOU MARJO

  Heather’s heart sank and she felt selfish, thinking about her own prayer request card. Here this little kid was fighting for her life and all Heather asked God was to give her the discipline to save the seventy-five hundred bucks she needed in order to go back and finish her teacher’s certificate.

  “Did I do it right?” Marjo asked.

  “It’s the best one I’ve ever seen,” Heather said. She hesitated. “I don’t know about you, Marjo, but I’m praying your family gets the money you need for one last hospital stay. One last round of needles. So I’m praying that your request is answered with a big yes.”

  “Really?” Marjo said, her eyes lighting up with hope.

  “Really,” Heather confirmed, leaning over and holding out her hand for a high five, which Marjo gladly gave before hugging Heather’s leg.

  “I guess I could go one more time,” Marjo said seriously. She looked up at Heather. “You think God will help us pay for my doctor and make me better?”

  “I’m going to pray hard for that,” Heather said, picking the little girl up. “Let’s go, guys!”

  Heather marched the kids out the door and to the entrance of the sanctuary. They stood near the last pew, waiting for Rip and Kevin Hart to collect prayer requests, and when Rip approached them, she put the kids’ prayer request cards in the basket and gave him a little smile. Rip didn’t smile back. He just crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, drawing a laugh from a few of the kids.

  Heather led the Sunday school class up the main aisle for children’s time in front of the entire congregation. She was holding Marjo’s little hand and smiling inside, admiring how cute the girl’s short brown hair looked with the shiny white ribbons pinned in it. Heather hoped Marjo was going to hit her one-word part in the skit.

  When they passed the first pew, all fourteen kids made their way up the three steps that led to the landing next to Kevin Hart, who had made it back to the lectern to introduce the skit.

  The kids all sat and Heather made sure she sat next to Marjo. That way she could whisper “amen” as a reminder in the event a case of stage fright overcame her.

  Heather nodded at Kevin and he gave her a little wink.

  “And as we like to do once a month,” Kevin said, gripping the sides of the podium, “we are fortunate to have our Sunday school classes perform a skit. Today they will be doing one called ‘The Truth Shall Set You Free.’ ”

  “Go ahead,” Heather whispered to eleven-year-old Dennis James to start the skit. Dennis had a nice shiner, compliments of a line drive he had caught in the eye as he was trying to steal home last week in a Little League game between second-place Dino’s Pizza and first-place Benning Rotary.

  Dennis stood and glanced out at the congregation. Heather watched as he adjusted his clip-on tie and could see him take a deep breath before he started.

  “All of the children were before the king and—”

  “Kevin! Kevin Frances!” The voice sounded like it belonged to a concerned parent, one who was calling a child in from the backyard to discuss a broken vase that had been found. The voice practically sounded like it came from out of the ceiling. But it hadn’t.

  Heather knew it was Andy, or what sounded like a more mature version of Andy. She turned and could see him, the only person standing. He was in the last pew, right next to Rip, who was looking at his nephew like he had just stepped off a spaceship. The iPod was hanging out of Andy’s left hand, dangling by the earbud cord and teetering back and forth almost hypnotically. Andy’s chin was tilted toward the ceiling and his eyes were fluttering but closed. He had a peculiar smile on his face and he looked like someone peeking while counting for hide-and-seek.

  Heather glanced back at Kevin, who bit his bottom lip. He stood back up and walked to the podium, and before he could say anything, Andy’s words were filling the church.

  “People who conceal their sins will not prosper, but if they confess and turn from them, they will receive mercy.”

  Heather wasn’t sure, but she wagered those words came from the Bible. Maybe Andy had been reading the one Rip had bought for him, and perhaps he’d inherited some of that judgmental personality from the guy he was sitting next to. Whatever was happening, Kevin wasn’t likely to take another round of this sitting down. Rip took Andy by the arm and moved to rush him out. Heather looked back at Hart, who lowered his mouth next to the microphone.

  But before he could say anything, little Marjo Cochran stood up next to her. She faced the congregation and pulled her little shoulders back before she yelled her one line at the top of her tiny lungs. “Amen!”

  “Look at your hair,” Judi said, passing another open photo album across the couch to Heather.

  “Nice,” Heather said, studying the photo. “This has to be like ninth grade. Definitely the early nineties.”

  Rip leaned over the back of the couch and laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? You had that haircut until you were in your twenties. And when you finally decided to put away all your heavy metal albums to become a cop, I think half the hair spray companies in the country went broke.”

  “Yeah, right,” Heather said. “Wasn’t that about the same time you traded your mullet in for Rogaine?”

  “Whatever you say, Adoohana,” Rip said.

  “Adoohana?”

  Rip nodded. “It’s the language of my ancient people. It’s what they would have called you.”

  Heather shook her head. “Thrill me. What’s it mean?”

  Rip paused and had a straight look on his face. “She who sits on much ground.”

  Heather bit her lip and felt her eyebrows hunch together. “Second fat joke within the last week. You really think I’ve put on weight, don’t you?”

  “You’re just perfect,” Rip said, plopping down on the couch next to her and Judi. “It’s interesting, though. I didn’t start losing my hair until you dumped me for Kevin.”

  “Good thing I didn’t lose my hair when he dumped me for the bimbo.”

  “True,” Rip said. “But you came away from it a bigger person.”

  “Not funny,” Heather said, elbowing him in the shoulder. Rip laughed and grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the plastic bowl on her lap. He toss
ed some on the floor for Milo who, despite three different tomato soup baths, still smelled slightly of skunk. Rip then pointed out the living room window.

  Andy was coming up the road on his motorcycle and Heather thought about what he had said to Kevin. “Did you get that new iPod for Andy after church today?”

  “You kidding?” Rip said and shrugged. “I offered but he wants to stick with the broken one.”

  “I think he likes it better broken,” Judi said. “And he still doesn’t remember anything he’s heard from it or the things he’s been saying, assuming they are related.”

  “Any ideas why he would say what he did to Kevin this time?” Heather asked.

  “Nope,” Judi said distantly. “Rip and I both tried talking to him about it today, but he just got upset. Like I said, he has no recollection whatsoever.”

  “He’s probably no more upset than Kevin,” Heather said. “The fact that Kevin didn’t say anything after church leads me to believe his feathers were a bit ruffled, but I could be wrong. He sure is being a good sport about it.”

  “Yeah,” Rip said. “But I guarantee you he pulls me into his office tomorrow.”

  “What are you gonna tell him?”

  “The truth,” Rip said. “It’s from the Bible, and Andy doesn’t remember reading or saying it at church.”

  “C’mon,” she said. “He has to be reading it.”

  “I hear you,” Rip said. “But he said he didn’t and I don’t ever remember that kid telling a lie.”

  “So if he didn’t, and he’s not lying, what’s going on?” Judi asked. “Do you think I need to get him to a psychologist or something?”

  “No,” Rip said slowly. “It seems whacked on the surface, but deep down, don’t you feel like it’s something important, what’s happening to him? Something’s shifting in the kid . . . and it’s a good thing. Kinda like the flowers. Inexplicable, but good.”

  Judi and Heather nodded, in complete agreement.