The Sinners' Garden

And then he stopped.

  “Judith Ann.”

  Judi stood and went to sit next to him. Andy didn’t move and his eyes remained closed. His chin tilted toward the ceiling. Judi wasn’t ready for the song to be over. She reached up and uncoiled Andy’s fingers from around the earbud and held it to her ear.

  She heard nothing.

  Andy’s eyes opened and he looked right at her. He waited for a few long seconds and said, “I will forgive their wickedness and remember their sins no more.”

  Now she remembered. It was the exact same thing he had said to her the first night she had heard him call her by her first and middle name. It’s what she needed to know that day standing out at McLouth, staring at the garden . . . her part of the garden. She needed to hear it from God that day, but now it was God, talking through her son.

  But this time the words hung in the air between them, and Judi felt them start to surround her. And then they somehow filled her.

  “I know who that was,” Andy whispered.

  Judi knew as well. She couldn’t say anything. All she could hear was ticking coming from the grandfather clock behind them.

  “Do you know who that was?” Andy asked.

  She nodded. “God was talking to me.”

  “I liked that song,” Andy said.

  “Me too, baby,” she said, leaning over to hug him. As they held each other, first her heart, and then her entire body felt as if it were slowly being filled with warm water, gently bringing a smile to her face.

  “Forgive, Mom,” Andy whispered. “As you’ve been forgiven. It’s your time to show others God’s strength in you . . . and His ability to heal.”

  “I know, baby,” she said, trembling in his arms. She wiped a tear from her cheek and then squeezed harder, holding him tighter than she had in a long time. These were the types of hugs they owed each other. The ones they’d been holding back for so long. They deserved so much better than what they had been giving.

  “Forgive,” he repeated.

  “I just did,” she said. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. Andy was talking about Todd, and it made her think of what Rip once told her. He said if she ever forgave Todd, she would really be letting herself off the hook.

  He was right. She could already feel it.

  “And forgive yourself too,” Andy said. “You shouldn’t have carried the blame.”

  She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked at him. “I’m sorry I waited so long, Andy. On all of it. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. He ran his hand along the side of his face and then dropped his hands to her shoulders. “I forgive you. Will you forgive me, Mom, for treating you so bad?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding and hugging him again. “Thank you so much, baby.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And thank You, Lord,” she said, tilting her head up toward the ceiling.

  Nothing mattered more than forgiveness.

  Her prayer had been answered.

  OH WHERE, OH WHERE HAS THE SUMMER SANTA GONE?

  Brianna Bruley—TBW Reporter

  Benning—Perhaps he has simply become too good at his craft.

  Too silent.

  Too swift.

  Too elusive.

  Or perhaps recent B&E arrests in Carlson, Huckabone, and New Boston have clipped the wings of Benning’s Summer Santa, bringing an end to a most bizarre run of daring and kindness.

  Or perhaps his recipients are simply clamming up, not in fear, but out of respect and concern that they may be jeopardizing the one who has had such a positive impact on so many members of their community.

  Benning Police are still asking for the public’s help in locating this criminal, who has been described as a six-foot-tall male who wears all black clothing, including gloves and a ski mask. According to authorities, this individual might be dangerous and has an extensive history of generosity as well as what appears to be a genuine interest in the well-being of his fellow man.

  Anyone with any information regarding the flight of the Summer Santa is asked to contact the Benning Police Department or the Benning Weekly’s anonymous tip line.

  Better yet. Don’t.

  Rip laughed and folded the newspaper back up. He’d been sitting in an examination room chair for fifteen minutes, waiting for Doc Strater to come in and give him the lowdown on his test results. He glanced up to the wall at a medical poster of a fleshless man with big blue eyes. Arrows and lines ran from points all over his body that identified bones, muscles, and organs. Rip leaned forward, studying the man’s midsection, and tried to identify the parts of his own body that seemed to be getting progressively problematic.

  There were three little knocks on the door, it opened, and the doctor came in. He wasn’t wearing his white coat or his stethoscope around his neck and carried no chart. He looked like he was dressed to go out and play nine holes rather than deliver test results, and when he took his glasses off, something about the look on his face made Rip catch his breath.

  Strater sat on the edge of the examination table, sending the long sheet of white paper beneath him into a fit. He placed his palms flat at his sides and then stared at Rip. The lines on the doctor’s forehead looked deeper than Rip remembered, almost painted on.

  “It’s not good, is it, Doc?” Rip asked.

  Strater took a few seconds to answer. “Why do I think you already know the answer to that question?”

  “This cough hasn’t even thought about going away,” Rip said.

  “It’s gonna go away, Rip. It may take about six months, maybe a little less. But it’s gonna go away.”

  Rip bit lightly on his lip and let Strater’s words sink in a little further. He knew exactly what the doctor meant and was surprised at his sense of peace. “That long, eh?”

  The doctor sighed. “I wish you’d come to see me when you first started noticing it.”

  “I know,” Rip said. “You sure? Six months?”

  “Tops,” the doctor said. “I want to send you up to U of M to verify things, but I’m surprised you’re functioning as well as you are.”

  “Really?” Rip said.

  “Yeah,” Strater whispered. “The cancer . . . it’s everywhere, Rip.”

  Rip was glad that Judi and Andy weren’t at the house when he got back from Doc Strater’s. Milo wasn’t even home, so he decided to jump on the bike and do a little post-rain mud riding out to the canal for a little prayer. A prayer that would hopefully lead him to yet another path.

  Acceptance.

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the handlebars as he sat on the old motorcycle near the edge of The Frank and Poet Canal. He took a deep breath with what was left of his lungs and studied the wildflowers, thinking about what he was going to say to Judi, Andy, Heather, and Pastor Welsh. It wasn’t every day that you rehearsed how to tell the people you loved that you were pretty much history.

  Rip got off the bike and walked over to the spot where he and Heather sat when they came to pray about her father. It was too wet to sit, so he crouched into a catcher’s position and laughed quietly at the mud that now caked his jeans from the ride out.

  He laughed again, a little louder this time, wondering why he wasn’t questioning God. Wasn’t he supposed to be clenching his fists at the sky and shouting, Why?

  Rip was also surprised he wasn’t angry. Him, the guy with the short fuse, now all calm and accepting? Rip stood and glanced up at the gray sky and thought about what he felt.

  Regret.

  Mostly about Heather.

  He’d blown it with her. Missed the big love of his life.

  If he hadn’t been so dang focused on making his own way, making a quick buck, he wouldn’t have dropped out of college to pursue a career as a weed dealer. Sure, he’d made more his first year in the business as a twenty-year-old than just about everyone he knew who had a college degree, but in time, money became his god.

  And wh
en money became his god, he could only serve it. And it wasn’t a big fan of competition, so Rip pretty much ignored the real God and took for granted one of the greatest gifts the real God had ever given him. Heather.

  Rip touched the grass where he and Heather had sat. He thought about her chewed-up fingernails again and then the question she had asked him not that long ago.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me you loved me?”

  He’d told her the truth. She really was too good for him. That little voice inside of him had always told him to stop what he was doing . . . stop selling drugs and do what he knew was right. But Rip knew it was just a matter of time before it all ended, before he was caught, and he couldn’t risk Heather being involved when it happened. So he finally pushed her away for one reason and one reason only: he loved her.

  He loved her when he dated her.

  He loved her the day she broke up with him.

  He loved her the day she arrested him. The day he got out of prison. Just as he loved her right now.

  He wanted nothing more than to spend the second half of his life loving her and telling her he loved her, because he was so close to becoming the man he wanted to be, a man who was good enough for her. Rip crossed his arms and choked on the disappointment, realizing he’d already spent the second half of his life.

  His cell phone chirped and he reached into his pocket and took it out.

  It was a text from Judi. She and Andy were home.

  “I’ll be down in a second!” Judi yelled cheerfully. Rip noticed energy in his sister’s voice he hadn’t heard since she was about ten.

  “Okay!” Rip shouted back from the laundry room, sliding into a clean T-shirt and jeans and out of his muddy grubs.

  “There are some Cokes in the fridge,” Judi shouted. “They may be a little warm. I just put them in there.”

  Lemon-water Judi has Cokes in her fridge?

  Rip walked into the family room. Andy was over on the La-Z-Boy, holding and petting Milo like he was the Golden Goose. He noticed Milo had a little blue handkerchief attached to his collar and looked cleaner than he had been in a year.

  “Did you guys take Milo to the vet?” Rip asked.

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “The groomer was in and they cleaned his ears and gave him a bath.”

  Rip cocked his head back. “And your mom didn’t want to give ole Tripod the forty-dollar night-night shot?” Rip had used that line frequently since Milo had lost his leg. But this time it occurred to him that the phrase night-night wasn’t all that funny.

  “He’s just a puppy!” Judi said, coming down the stairs. She walked quickly past him to fiddle with the drapes and her hair had a shine to it and was also out of its semi-permanent ponytail.

  “What’s going on around here?” Rip asked. “You hit the lottery or something? What’s up?”

  “I finally woke up,” she said, turning around with a smile. “We also made an appointment to get Milo fixed.”

  “Sorry to hear about that, Milo,” Rip said, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off his sister. She looked great. It wasn’t the fact that it was the first time she had makeup on since gas went over a buck a gallon. It was something about the look in her eyes. She seemed alive again.

  “You got a date or something?” Rip asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she repeated, pointing at the couch. She smiled and it was a real smile, not the forced ones he was used to. “I have a date with my son and the best brother anyone could ever have. But first sit down and tell me what the doctor had to say.”

  “He said I’ve got about six months to live,” Rip said.

  “Oh, shut up,” Judi said, passing by him.

  Rip did not know how to respond to Judi’s newfound brashness. But at the same time, shutting up, at least in terms of his doctor’s visit, was his best play.

  He looked at Andy and then hiked his thumb at Judi.

  “Can you believe the change in your mom, bro?”

  Andy shrugged. He was still rubbing the dog’s stomach, and even old Milo seemed to be wondering what was going on. Milo jumped down, went to the window, and started barking his little brains out. Judi smiled, went to the door, and let him out. Rip could see him jetting across the puddles in the front yard toward a semi that was humming up the mud-soaked road. So much for Milo being clean.

  Judi came back and sat next to Rip. He held up his hands in surrender. Something big had happened beyond Judi showing Andy her burn scar.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “God’s been helping me peel away the layers—the things that have kept me from life and from joy all these years.”

  “Nice,” Rip said.

  “Hell is other people,” Judi added. She looked into his eyes and Rip could tell she was searching for the right words. “You remember how Uncle Ray used to say that all the time?”

  “Yeah,” Rip said.

  “I’m thinking he was partially right,” Judi said. “But mostly it’s in our response to what other people do, or have done, and what we allow it to do to us. That was the misery I was trapped in. For so long.” She lifted her brows and smiled. “But now I’m free.”

  “That’s awesome,” Rip said. “Let’s celebrate with a couple of those Cokes.” He went to stand and she touched his arm.

  “I realize this isn’t instant oatmeal,” she said. “Change doesn’t usually take place this fast. But, Rip, I prayed before I went to bed. And when I woke up, my prayer was answered.”

  “It sure seems that way,” Rip said. “And you’re right, change isn’t always quick.”

  “If we don’t keep making progress—moving toward God—there is only one other direction to go. And that’s where I was headed.”

  Rip found it refreshing that she was actually encouraging him. He could listen to her all day.

  He covered her hand with his own. “Sometimes it’s just easier to be a victim, isn’t it?”

  Judi nodded. “I used to thank God every day for bringing me and Todd together. I waited and waited for Todd to come back.” She glanced over at Andy and then whispered, “Guess what I thanked God for today?”

  “What?” he whispered back.

  “Today I thanked Him for taking us apart.”

  “She’ll be home any minute,” Kevin Hart said, holding his cell phone up to his ear while sipping at a scotch on the balcony outside of his bedroom. He glanced at his watch and then at the waxing moon that hovered over Lake Erie.

  “I thought you would be here by now,” Brianna said. “I’ve got a life too, you know.”

  “Just relax,” Hart said. “I’ve had a couple days you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Wanna tell me about them?” she asked.

  “On or off the record?” He laughed, wincing at the pain in his sternum. It felt worse today than it did yesterday. Ripley had a pretty nasty elbow.

  “Whatever you choose,” she said.

  Hart heard a door close downstairs. “Gotta run. I’ll catch up with you later tonight.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He powered off his cell phone and walked back in the bedroom. He had another big night planned and needed to come up with a good excuse to get out of the house. The whole Ripley thing had thrown him a bit off kilter, and his planning for that night’s jaunt wasn’t quite up to snuff. Still, he was confident he could pull it off.

  Carrie was on her way up the stairs. She never stayed out this late and had to be exhausted. With a little luck, she’d be asleep before long.

  “I’m surprised you’re home,” she said.

  Surprised sounded more than a little slurred, and it was a bonus for him. Her band of lonely wives had obviously been hitting the cough medicine over at the club together. She’d be out like a light within a half hour, and his free pass would be in her open hand.

  “How was work?” she asked, tossing one of her Louis Vuittons haplessly to the floor of her walk-in closet. The thought of
locking her in there crossed his mind.

  “It wasn’t all that—”

  “I want to get a kitten!” she yelled, interrupting him.

  She was about as interested in how his day went as he was in telling anybody else what happened with Ripley. But if someone ever decided to ask why Ripley wasn’t at the plant anymore, he had his answer down pat.

  With Rip’s history, it’s probably best I don’t discuss why he’s no longer with us. I’m sure you can appreciate that . . .

  It was quick, painless, and laid suspicion at Ripley’s feet rather than his. After all, Ripley certainly wouldn’t tell anybody what really happened, or he’d be back in the hoosegow quicker than someone could say his favorite two-word rhyme: probation violation.

  “Maybe you should get a kitten!” he yelled back. Come morning, she would forget about both the need for a cat and the fact that he ditched her for a couple hours.

  “What are you talking about?” she mumbled, almost tripping over the handbag she dropped. She walked right past him and plopped down on the bed.

  Wow, he thought. She is hammered.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She exhaled loudly through her mouth and put her palms on top of her head.

  “I’m just gonna lay here for a few minutes,” she said.

  “Okay, honey,” he said. “You do that.”

  She’d be snoring in seconds.

  And in those same seconds, he’d be gone. Out for another big night of fun.

  What a night. What a week, for that matter.

  It was the first time he had made two stops in one night and was proud of himself. He actually was starting to feel a little like Santa Claus. It just happened to be that both houses were on the same street and both were gifts of cash, so it seemed most efficient.

  He laughed under his breath, thinking about the article in the paper.

  Oh where, oh where has the Summer Santa gone? Really?

  He walked quietly down the sidewalk. A car was coming up the road, so he hid behind a tree until it drove by.

  It was a police car, and he already knew who was driving.