The Sinners' Garden

by William Sirls

He heard water running and then the light went on near the staircase. He walked quickly toward the corner that led to the garage.

  Footsteps. Heavy ones.

  Someone was coming down the stairs.

  He crouched and waited, hand on the doorknob that led to the garage. He’d be able to run if he had to.

  The footsteps were closer and he gripped the doorknob a little tighter.

  Mrs. Kelly came around the corner. All three hundred pounds of her, wearing only the T-shirt that was made for someone half her size.

  She didn’t turn the kitchen light on and walked over to the refrigerator. When she opened it, the light spilled out and he could see the paper bag on the counter.

  She just stared in the refrigerator, but apparently nothing caught her fancy. She then closed the refrigerator door and walked back in front of him and toward the stairs, but then paused, spotting the paper bag on the counter. “What is this?” she asked.

  He smiled.

  It’s enough for those back taxes. You don’t have to move now.

  He watched as she opened the bag. The look on her face was worth the trip all by itself.

  And then he made the sign of the cross and left.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Rip and Andy were in the back pew, waiting to collect the week’s offering. Kevin Hart was up at the lectern, covering the announcements. Hart had tried to explain to Rip that the little cutie from the newspaper was over at the plant just for an interview. Rip was pretty sure that Hart knew he wasn’t buying it, but even with foul play going on, Hart didn’t seem overly concerned about it, because that Brianna girl was parked right next to Hart’s wife up in the front pew.

  Rip leaned over and poked Andy on the shoulder. “Quit starin’ at Chelsea.”

  “Pfff,” Andy said. “Just make sure I’m the best man when you and Heather get married.”

  “Anybody have anything they are thankful for this week?” Hart asked. He must have been riding a pretty serious guilt trip. He had managed to do both readings, the week’s announcements, and had now created “thankfulness announcements.” Still, Rip liked the idea and there was a lot to be thankful for, so he raised his hand.

  “Mr. Ripley,” Hart said, pointing at him.

  “I’m thankful for my sister and my nephew,” Rip said.

  Heather went next. “I’m thankful for resolutions to old problems . . . and for my friend Gerald Ripley.”

  Judi turned around with a look that said, What’s going on with you and Heather?

  Hart went next. “I’m thankful for my lovely bride and for Ms. Brianna Bruley for the kind piece she will be doing on Hart Industries for this week’s paper.”

  Nice, Rip thought. A little preemptive strike in case anybody else saw you sucking face last night.

  Mrs. Kelly got up and thanked the Lord for saving their house with an unexpected windfall.

  Mrs. Cochran stood up and gave thanks to Kevin Hart and the whole church for their support and prayers. Then she mentioned the price of little Marjo’s experimental surgery.

  One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.

  Rip shook his head. It seemed impossible. But again, if each Benning resident showed up at the country club for the fund-raiser and ate around 4.8 of those twenty-five-dollar dinners, little Marjo would be golden.

  There were a lot of people who were still giving God thanks and Rip was thankful for that too.

  After service, Rip and Andy were putting a pretty significant dent in the peanut butter cookies that the poor girl, Becky, had brought in. She seemed to be getting quite a charge out of people eating her cookies instead of her and her kids eating everyone else’s. They’d been bringing the goodies for three weeks straight.

  “That was a nice service,” Heather said.

  Rip smiled at her. “I want you to know that I’m thankful that you’re thankful for me.”

  “I am thankful for you, Rip.”

  “Thanks, Heather,” he said. “I really think that we—”

  “Kevin Frances.”

  Rip froze and then slowly turned around. Pastor Welsh approached Andy. The hundred other people who were in the fellowship hall had all gone quiet, listening for what was next.

  Andy opened his eyes and lowered the earbud from his ear. He looked around and then quickly spotted the man.

  Rip was pretty sure that Hart was already on edge; he seemed to brace himself, expressionless, as Andy walked toward him.

  “Why do you call Me Lord, Lord, and not do what I say?”

  “Oh boy,” Rip whispered. This was not going to end well.

  Pastor Welsh sidled over and took Rip by the arm. “Remember that little talk you wanted to have with Kevin? Why don’t you go talk to him, like, tomorrow?”

  “Before he tosses my butt to the curb?” Rip whispered.

  “Yeah. Before then,” the pastor whispered back.

  They both waited for Hart to say something to Andy.

  Hart didn’t. He just walked over to Rip and took him by the arm.

  “Busy tomorrow, Rip?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Rip answered.

  “Good,” Hart said with an insincere smile. “I think you should stop by my office the minute you get in.”

  “No problem, Kevin,” he said. “I was actually going to stop by anyway.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kevin Hart guessed that Ripley thought things were going a little better than expected. After all, the stoner had made it twenty-five seconds into their meeting and was still employed.

  After a restless night, Hart was perfectly calm as he sat behind his desk. He didn’t like the idea of being unusually friendly with Ripley, but he had come up with just the right plan to butter him up in exchange for some sort of vow of silence about the whole Brianna thing.

  “You said that you were going to stop by anyway,” Hart said. “Let’s get that out of the way before we talk about your possible promotion.”

  “Promotion?” Ripley said slowly.

  Hart nodded, taking care to school his expression into something hopeful, encouraging. “I’m assuming you want to talk to me about why I was being interviewed so late the other night.”

  “Interviewed?”

  “Yeah,” Hart said. “That’s pretty much what I was thanking Brianna for at church. I thought it was going to be in this week’s paper, but it won’t run until next week. She is quite thorough and I think it’s going to make all of us at Hart Industries look pretty good. We are very fortunate.”

  “You are very fortunate, Kevin,” Ripley said. “I mean Mr. Hart.”

  Hart smiled. “We’ve known each other a long time, Rip. Call me Kevin whenever you want.”

  Ripley sat up in his chair and it looked like he was in pain before he rubbed at his lower back. “It’s good to hear you call me Rip, instead of Ripley.”

  “I apologize for that,” Hart said. “I call just about everybody around the plant by their last name. That way, when I call somebody by their first name, ten people named John don’t turn around at the same time.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Ripley said.

  “So on to what you wanted to talk to me about,” Hart said, thinking, This ought to be good.

  “Kevin, I guess I want you to know that this isn’t an employee to boss conversation, or even man to man.”

  “What else could it be?” Hart asked. What a complete moron.

  Ripley looked at him and hesitated for a few seconds. “I guess I kind of wanted it to be like brother to brother—you know—as Christians?”

  Hart smiled and it appeared to make Ripley comfortable. That was a good thing.

  “Lay it on me,” Hart said.

  “You have been blessed,” Ripley said. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Thank you, Rip,” Hart said. He nodded and a little smile etched the corners of his mouth. Of course he’d been blessed. Blessed to the point where he could wave his hand and Ripley would be cutting lawns and cashing unemploymen
t checks.

  “But . . . ,” Ripley said, hesitating.

  “It’s okay,” Hart said, doing his best to sound like he meant it. “Tell me.”

  Ripley pointed at the ceiling and then lowered his hand. “The Bible sort of says I’m supposed to talk to you about some things I’ve seen. That I’m supposed to come to you and—”

  “Like what?” Hart said.

  “Those blessings,” Ripley said. “I guess that maybe . . . maybe you aren’t really using them for Him . . .”

  “For God, you mean?”

  Ripley’s confidence seemed to pick up and he held up his hands as if to encompass the whole factory. “All of this means nothing, Kev.” Then Rip pointed at his own chest. “Unless this is in the right place.”

  “You think my heart is in the wrong place?”

  Ripley looked away and seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Ripley said. “I still have a hard time with my temper. I’m judgmental. I sometimes preach a little . . .” He sighed. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life,” he added. “And I’m still paying for a lot of them, but I’m better than I’ve ever been because God is in my heart, and my life is running on all cylinders for Him. And if just one of those cylinders is not filled with the truth, things don’t work. Things can’t work. It all gets clogged up.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  “I’m saying that everything in our lives has to go toward God. And when something doesn’t, when we screw up, we should ask for His forgiveness and let His love straighten us out.”

  Hart didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod, blink, or twitch. He was perfectly still. This idiot actually believes this bunk.

  “And if we don’t see our problems,” Ripley said, “hopefully we can trust that someone who cares about us will.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?”

  Ripley was clearly hesitant to answer. But he did. “Yeah. Your threats against my nephew . . . I think they’re born out of a knowledge inside you. You know you’re doing something wrong, and it hurts to be called out on it. I’m sorry if Andy’s embarrassed you. It’s not how it’s supposed to go.” Ripley gestured in the air between them. “But this is how it’s supposed to go. Between brothers, in private, so a guy has a chance to get it straight first.”

  Hart shifted in his chair and blinked slowly. Brothers.

  “There’s nothing going on with me and that reporter, Rip.”

  “But, Kevin, I’m not sure we are on the same page here. I think most people would think that what I saw—”

  “I would never risk what I have for something like that.”

  It was clear that Ripley didn’t have the guts to tell him what he saw, but he kept yapping anyhow. “You understand the Twenty-Third Psalm, Kev?”

  Hart frowned. “The Lord is my Shepherd? You’ve lost me.”

  Ripley leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “David was basically saying that he was okay with God managing his life. He admitted that God’s management was all he needed. Period.”

  “I’m okay with that too,” Hart said.

  Ripley held up his hands again. “Possessions mean nothing, Kevin. You’ve already heard that you can’t take them with you.”

  “We all have.” But you can have a lot of fun with them while you’re here.

  Ripley continued, “Do you know that David’s equivalent modern-day net worth was around $700 billion? He could have taken out Bill Gates and Warren Buffett with his pocket change. Still, he knew his most valuable possession was his relationship with God. Fortunately, that is something that applies to both of us as well.”

  “Amen,” Hart said. It felt like the right thing to say.

  “Amen?” Ripley asked. “God loves you, Kevin. He loves us all. But one of these days He is gonna cut His losses, clean out His closet, clean out our closets. And I’m here because I want you to be on the right side of the table when that happens.”

  It was time to know the truth. “What have you seen, Rip?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I’ve seen.”

  “I do a lot of good for this town. Even some things others don’t know about.”

  “I believe that, Kevin.”

  “I’ll ask again,” Hart said, his boss volume rising. “What have you seen?”

  “And I’ll answer again,” Ripley said. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  Ripley pointed to the ceiling again. “Because He has seen it all.”

  An awkward silence hung in the air. Hart stood and went to the window. He looked at the floor and tried to act ashamed. And then he finally spoke. “You’re right. I should do better.”

  “That’s the only reason I wanted to chat,” Ripley said. “I’ve been on the cover of Sinner Magazine, like, a hundred times. And I’m hoping that you’ll straighten me out whenever you see me straying.”

  “I want to be comfortable with God managing my life,” Hart said in an appropriately somber tone. “Just like David.”

  “Me too,” Ripley said.

  “I appreciate you coming to me, Rip. For being someone I can trust.” He picked up a pen, as if mulling something over, and then peered back at Ripley. “In fact, I need a guy I can trust with confidence to manage the new facility down in Tecumseh when we change the name on the building from Phillips to Hart. Pay would be around three times where you are at now.”

  Ripley stared at him for a long moment, then shifted as if he couldn’t get comfortable in his seat. “I have to say, Kevin, that I thought there was a good chance you were going to fire me today.”

  Kevin nodded. “I imagine. But I think this marks a new chapter of our relationship. Brother to brother.”

  “I’m not qualified for it,” Ripley said. “But I have to admit, I’d like a shot at it.”

  “We’ll get you trained for it,” Hart said, smiling. “You’ll be fine.”

  Ripley coughed into the V of his arm. Probably coughed up a nice wad of tar from his smoky-smoky days.

  “It’d be an honor,” Ripley said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “And I appreciate you coming to me, as a man, and as a fellow Christian.”

  “That’s a bigger honor, Kev. The best honor.”

  “I tell you what,” Hart said. “Think Andy may want to make a few bucks?”

  “Why?”

  “Just thinking,” Hart said. “I’ve been kind of slave driving you on those cans down in the warehouse. Maybe the three of us could finish the job together one night.”

  “I think Andy would be open to that.”

  “And maybe I could get him to quit calling me out with that iPod of his.”

  “God has chosen to give him messages,” Ripley said with a shrug. “Messages that we’re supposed to be listening to. But maybe if you and I are chatting in private, God will see that you’re making an effort and leave you alone.” He gave Hart a smile.

  “I’m game for anything if it gets the kid to quit hammering at me.”

  “When do you want me to have Andy at the warehouse?” Ripley asked.

  “Whatever time or day works for you guys.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Ripley said.

  “One other thing,” Hart said. “I like to keep spiritual matters private. What we’ve discussed . . . it will stay between us?”

  “It stays between you and me, Kevin. I promise you.”

  Hart took his turn pointing at the ceiling, fully playing the part now that he understood what drove Ripley. “And Him.”

  “Now you’re talking, bro,” Ripley said.

  Hart smiled. “Did you just call me bro?”

  “I did,” Ripley said, dropping his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Because you are.”

  Hart nodded and smiled, but not for the reason Ripley thought.

  Mission accomplished.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  You don’t have to apologize,” Heather said, sitting across from
Brianna at the station’s media room table. “We all make mistakes.”

  “I appreciate it,” Brianna said. “You were probably wondering why you hadn’t heard much from me.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Heather said. She really had forgiven Brianna about the article, but the odds of her commenting on anything she didn’t want to be in the paper were next to zero.

  “So about the arrest last night up in Carlson,” Brianna said. “You think it’s the Summer Santa?”

  “You may want to talk to the Carlson Police Department about that,” Heather said.

  “I did,” Brianna said. “They said they nabbed him at a house and he had the black gloves, shirt, mask—seems like the whole getup.”

  “Like I said. You may want to talk to them.”

  Heather knew it wasn’t the Summer Santa. For starters, the Summer Santa was either Kevin Hart or Brianna herself. Secondly, a friend of hers at the Carlson Police Department had said the guy had a gun and was also apprehended with around $3,000 worth of jewelry on him. He did, however, claim to be the Summer Santa, most likely trying to gain some sympathy.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Brianna asked. “Off the record?”

  “Your record of keeping things off the record isn’t exactly exemplary,” Heather said, crossing her arms.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with the Summer Santa,” Brianna said, holding up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Since I’m a former Girl Scout,” Heather said, “looks like I have no choice but to trust you.”

  Brianna didn’t hesitate. “That thing that Andy kid said to Kevin after church a couple days ago. It’s almost like somebody told him to say that. Do you think he knows about something Kevin did?”

  Kevin? Heather thought. Pretty personal for the new girl in town to refer to the most important man around by his first name.

  “Like what?” Heather asked. “What could Kevin have done?”

  “Not sure,” Brianna said, her eyes darting away. “I was just wondering what you thought.”

  Heather thought about what Rip had told her that day she was crying out on Judi’s porch before she answered Brianna. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. But I’m not sure how much Andy is privy to about Kevin Hart.”