“Perfect,” Judy said to herself, reaching for her phone, flicking on the flashlight function, and aiming it at the far wall, walking over to look for the box. A cone of intense brightness traveled over a green heavy-duty hose, a bag of Miracle-Gro potting soil, yellow jugs of Preen and white of Roundup, a stinky spray bottle of rabbit and deer repellent, and a red jug of something called Sevin, with a label that showed creepy pictures of ticks, worms, and God knows what.
“Gross.” Judy pointed the flashlight along the floor to the right and spotted a large purple plastic chest next to the same type of chest in blue, but still didn’t see the damn box. She went over to the wall and started rummaging around, juggling the flashlight to search through a dirty assortment of trowels, hand spades, and a weird tool that looked like it could dislodge an eyeball. But still no box. The flashlight’s beam fell on the plastic chests, which were large, and she considered that maybe the cardboard box was inside one of them. She couldn’t remember whether her aunt’s chest was the purple one or the blue, but no matter. She went over to the blue one, opened the lid, and aimed the flashlight inside, but all it contained was a pair of messy knee pads, a red Phillies cap, a kneeling pad, and a bunch of mismatched gardening gloves in wacky patterns like kittens, puppies, and daisies. The chest was such a happy clutter that it had to belong to her aunt.
She closed the lid, and just to be thorough, went over and opened the lid to what had to be Iris’s chest. She aimed the flashlight inside, but no cardboard box was there either, only a pair of oversized white cotton gloves, sitting neatly folded atop a clean trowel and spade, and underneath that was a book entitled Roses for the Beginner, with a greeting card sticking out from the cover, on top of some old newspapers. She reached for the book, opened the cover, and inside was a birthday card. Judy opened it to find her aunt’s handwriting:
Iris, You are already a better gardener than this guy! Happy Birthday, from B!
Touched, Judy replaced the card, closed the book, and was about to put it back when she noticed a large white envelope sticking out from underneath the old newspapers. She picked up the envelope, which was heavy and bulky but unsealed. She lifted up the flap, looked inside, and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It must’ve been the flashlight, playing tricks on her eyes.
She knelt on the garage floor, set her flashlight on the edge of the chest so that it cast light on the envelope, and slid out its contents.
In her hand was a thick stack of cash, bound with a rubber band.
Chapter Twelve
Judy entered her aunt’s house with a cardboard box of the rose cutting and an old needlepoint bag she’d found in the garage, which contained the cash from Iris’s gardening chest. The living room was empty, for which she was grateful, because she needed a moment to compose herself. She estimated the cash to be about $10,000, though she hadn’t taken the time to count it.
She set the box, bag, and her purse down, her thoughts racing. She didn’t know if the cash belonged to Iris, or if her aunt knew about it, or why it was in the garage. She reasoned that it probably belonged to Iris because it had been in her gardening chest, and also that her aunt didn’t know about it, because Aunt Barb wouldn’t have kept cash in the garage. Judy remembered what her aunt had said, about Iris wanting to keep the garage locked. Evidently, she wasn’t worried about somebody’s stealing the new lawnmower.
“Judy?” her mother asked, coming downstairs in Aunt Barb’s pink chenille bathrobe, covered with whimsical flowers. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry.” Judy moved the needlepoint bag behind the couch, with her foot. Nobody needed more drama before the mastectomy Monday morning. “The light went off in the garage and I couldn’t find the box Aunt Barb wanted me to bring in. It was on the other side of the car.”
“No, I mean tonight. What took you so long tonight? You two were out for hours.” Her mother reached the bottom of the stairs, with a frown. She’d washed off her makeup but her hair was still up in its topknot, though it was slipping. “Your aunt said you went for a drive, but she didn’t say where and she just fell asleep in her clothes, exhausted. You couldn’t have gone for an ice cream because nothing around here is open late.”
Judy decided to tell the truth because the only lies she told her mother was that she was eating healthy, getting enough sleep, and not working too hard. “We made two stops, one to Iris’s job to find out if she’d gone in today, which she hadn’t, and the other to her apartment, to talk to her roommates and get some clothes to bury her in.”
Her mother’s frown took up permanent residence. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“We texted,” Judy said, but even she knew it sounded weak.
“You couldn’t pick up the phone and talk to me? Why did you leave me hanging?”
“Sorry, we should have called. Hold on, let me get something to eat.” Judy felt starved all of a sudden, so she walked into the darkened kitchen and flicked on the light. It had been too long a day, capped off with the discovery of the hidden money. It got her thinking that Iris might not be the saint that she’d seemed to be. “Is there any leftover chicken?”
“Please don’t make a mess in the kitchen.” Her mother followed her inside, leaning on the archway, her arms still folded. “It’s eleven o’clock. The kitchen’s closed for the night.”
“I’m not going to make a mess.” Judy had forgotten her mother had a kitchen-closed rule, a necessity with four kids, but less so tonight. Even so, to keep the peace, she bypassed the refrigerator, went into the cabinet, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Mom, we should have, and I apologized.” Judy sipped the water, but it did nothing to satisfy her hunger, which only made her cranky.
“I’ll tell you why you didn’t call. You didn’t call because you knew I would tell you not to do it. Your aunt needs to rest and take care of herself. She isn’t a well woman, don’t you know that?”
“Yes, but she wanted to get it done before her operation on Monday.”
“You shouldn’t have listened.”
“Mom, what was I supposed to do? She’s a big girl, and Iris was her best friend.”
Her mother scoffed. “Iris wasn’t her best friend. She was a paid companion. They didn’t know each other that well.”
Judy realized her mother might be right, if the secret money meant anything. “Still, Aunt Barb says she was her best friend. She told me in the car, at the scene.”
“That’s ridiculous! I would have known if she was her best friend!”
“She didn’t want to tell us because we might not approve.” Judy didn’t need to add, And she was right.
“How can they be best friends? They don’t even speak the same language.”
“They find a way to talk to each other, it’s not impossible.” Judy couldn’t resist adding, “You’re the linguist, right? People can learn a new language.”
“Oh please. The woman is illiterate.” Her mother gave a quick shake of the head. “In any event, I’m very disappointed in you.”
“What? Why?” Judy moved to put the glass in the dishwasher, but it was already running. She reached for the Palmolive, twisted on the faucet, and began to wash the glass in the sink.
“I think you encouraged your aunt, going to the scene with her. She has things to do, people like Myra who called here for her. She must’ve turned off her cell, so they called here. What were you thinking?”
Judy recoiled, surprised. “I didn’t have any choice. I wasn’t going to let her go alone.”
“Why not? You should’ve said you wouldn’t go, like I did.”
“Why?” Judy twisted off the faucet, slipped a dishrag off the hook, and dried off the stupid glass. “What purpose would that have served?”
“She might not have gone. She could’ve identified Iris from the picture on the email. Even I could see
it was Iris, and I only met the woman once. I said I wouldn’t go, but you undermined me, and the two of you went traipsing off.” Her mother gestured vaguely to the door.
“Mom, please don’t blow it out of proportion. I was just trying to be nice to her. She’s lost her best friend right before her mastectomy. Does it get any worse? I was just thinking of her.”
“And I’m not?” Her mother’s blue eyes flared, her anger growing.
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Judy felt nonplussed. She didn’t want to fight, but she didn’t see a way to head it off. “I think we’re both trying to help her, you and me, each of us in our own way—”
“Honey, take your cues from me right now. Follow my lead. Your aunt is at sixes and sevens, more upset about the procedure than you know.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, but she doesn’t know what she wants right now. We have to call the shots for her.”
“No we don’t, Mom.”
“Yes we do.” Her mother folded her arms in the thick bathrobe, and Judy’s chest tightened.
“She’s not a child.”
“The chemo makes her thinking foggy. It clouds the brain. I read that in the books. You heard what she said this afternoon.”
“She’s not on the chemo now.”
“It’s still in her system.”
Judy suppressed an eye-roll. “Why don’t we not go there? Neither of us are doctors.”
“The correct verb is is, and you don’t have to be a doctor. It’s common sense. Open your eyes. You saw her tonight, she’s very emotional. She’s all over the place. She doesn’t know her own mind right now.”
“Mom, she’s having a mastectomy, not a lobotomy. She has cancer, not schizophrenia.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s not crazy, she knows her own mind. Tomorrow she wants to go to church and plant a rosebush for Iris. Am I supposed to go with her or not?”
“Church?” Her mother frowned in confusion. “When was the last time she went to church?”
“It’s not for her. She’s going to Iris’s church and she wants to talk to the priest about funeral plans.”
“She’s burying her now?” her mother asked, incredulous. “Where’s she going to get the money?”
“I don’t know,” Judy answered, thinking of the ten grand in the needlepoint bag.
“And I suppose you think you’re going with her to this church?”
“I was going to. You should, too.”
“Where is it?”
“Who cares? Mom, it’s church. What could your possible objection be?”
“Have you been listening to me at all?” Veins popped out in her mother’s lovely forehead. “I don’t think she should go, or you either, driving around. She should stay home and rest. Pack a go-bag, like it says in the books. We need to make sure she has her front-closure shirts, slip-on shoes, ice packs, and alcohol pads for her drains. Also the compression bras, we didn’t get to talk about that yet.”
“Can’t I get those things for her, Monday afternoon? She says she has one day of freedom left. If she wants to go to church, she should go to church.”
“Why do you have to talk to me this way?”
“What way?”
“Is this a lawyer thing? You turn everything into an argument.”
“I’m not, you are!” Judy couldn’t help but raise her voice.
“What are you talking about?” Her mother shook her head. “You’re the one who ran off, sending funny texts instead of calling. What is it with you two? Did you have your fun?”
“Fun?” Judy felt her own anger give way. “Do you think it was fun to go identify Iris tonight? Do you think we were having a good time, trying to understand how she died? You know, Mom, I don’t understand you. It’s like you’re jealous.”
Her mother’s lips parted, and she stepped backwards. “Jealous of what?”
“You’re jealous of me and Aunt Barb. You’re even jealous of Iris and Aunt Barb.” Judy regretted that the words had slipped out of her mouth, but it was too late to stop now. “Why aren’t you happy that Aunt Barb has a best friend in Iris? Why aren’t you happy that Aunt Barb is close to me? You should be happy for her! She’s your sister!”
“How dare you speak to me that way!” Her mother’s eyes widened in outrage, but Judy could see a flicker of pain cross her forehead and realized that she had just answered her own question. It was because Aunt Barb was her sister that her mother wanted to be the one who was closer to her. But Judy had no way to take the words back or to change their truth. Still her mother didn’t need it thrown in her face, and Judy felt a wave of shame.
“Mom, I’m sorry—” she said, her cheeks aflame, but her mother had already turned away, hurrying from the kitchen.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday morning, Judy and her Aunt Barb found themselves completely out of place in the crowd heading from the parking lot to the church. Judy was the only blonde, and they were taller than everyone by a foot, so they stood out like walking lighthouses. Besides that, everyone seemed to know each other, greeting each other with hugs and kisses, and there were kids of all ages holding hands, jumping up and down, laughing and talking, filling the air with Spanish and English, making a collectively happy bubble of families flowing toward the tall, arched doors of the church.
“It’s such a pretty church, isn’t it?” Aunt Barb said pleasantly, as they approached.
“It sure is.” Judy tucked her aunt’s arm under hers, a spontaneous burst of affection. Her aunt had come downstairs this morning determined to go, even though Judy could see that her eyes were puffy, undoubtedly from crying. It had been a tense breakfast, with Judy’s mother characteristically reserved toward her, just short of the silent treatment. If Aunt Barb had noticed, she kept it to herself, and her mother had surprised no one by deciding that she wouldn’t go to church with them, but instead would pack the go-bag.
“The church is relatively new and looks it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Judy said, as they reached the sidewalk that led to the doors. The church was a lovely structure, and its tan stucco exterior, arched windows, and rounded bell tower topped with red tiles, suggested its Spanish design.
“Have you ever been to a Catholic church?”
“No.” Judy wished Mary were here, her guide to all things Catholic. “Will the service be in Spanish?”
“Yes, and this is the one we always went to,” her aunt answered, as they filed in behind the line. “Father Keegan performs it, and your mother would be happy to know he’s Irish, complete with freckles. He always jokes that they keep him here as a token, but he’s not white, he’s pink.”
Judy smiled, but flashed on the $10,000 cash. Her aunt would have mentioned it if she had known about its existence, and Judy didn’t want to tell her about it yet, because she didn’t want to upset her before her operation. “By the way, remember when you were talking about how you used to give Iris clothes and things?”
“Sure, yes.”
“Do you think she ever sold them?”
“No, of course not.”
“Why not?” Judy inched up as the line toward the entrance shifted forward. “Do you know what her financial situation was like?”
“Not really. I paid her well, and she never complained about money. I knew she could live well enough to take care of herself, and she was careful about her money.”
“How so?”
“Whenever we ran an errand, like to the garden center, she never bought anything for herself. Same thing when we went for chemo. I would treat her in the coffee shop. She never spent money.”
Judy doubted that Iris could’ve saved as much money as had been in the garage. “Did she have a bank account, or anything?”
“No,” her aunt answered, lowering her voice as they entered the church. “Generally, you need a passport or a Social Security number for a bank account. I don’t think she had either.”
> “So she kept it in cash?” Judy passed through an anteroom with buttery yellow walls and a warm, orange-tiled floor, containing a carved wooden angel, and a blue-cloaked Virgin Mary standing next to the American flag.
“I really don’t know.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but did you ever give Iris money?”
“Sure, as gifts, when I could get her to take it. Why do you ask?”
Judy thought fast, lying even as she walked past a marble stand that held a bowl of holy water. “I’m thinking about her estate, now that she’s gone. I’m wondering if I should try to follow up with that.”
“I doubt that there’s much money in it, but that’s a good idea. Perhaps next week you could try to locate it. Iris’s friend Daniella might be able to help. Thanks so much for thinking of it.”
“You’re welcome,” Judy told her, feeling guilty for keeping the discovery of the money from her aunt, a material omission in front of a painted plaster bust of a smiling Pope Francis, resting on a windowsill. A bank of candles flickered in red glasses below a primitive wooden crucifix, and a bronze plaque on the wall read Madre de Dios Church, with the names of benefactors and supporters.
They walked through a large, tiled lobby where everyone milled about greeting each other, and nuns with blue aprons over their gray habits threaded their way through the crowd, with rosary beads hanging from their waists. One of the young nuns emerged from the crowd, took Judy’s hand, and shook it. “Welcome, ladies,” the nun said in accented English, her brown eyes friendly.
“Thank you,” Judy said, and the nun greeted her aunt, then they passed through modern glass doors into one of the loveliest churches Judy had ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was a full two stories tall, and the walls were of buttery yellow lined with stained-glass windows, but the altar caught her eye. It was white and large, spanning all the way to the ceiling, and its curved shape echoed the exterior of the church itself. A crucifix hung at its apex, and along its right and left sides were painted pictures of men and women farmers, which would have been equally at home in America or Mexico.