The Devil's Garden Read Online Free PDF Page A

world exploded and white fire rained down around him, Johanna Roman whispered to him once more, this time from beyond the grave, and Michael realized that these things were one and the same.
    A BBY WAS PRONE on the bed, reading the Daily News. In the corner of the room was a five foot pile of presents. Sitting on the bed, Michael kissed her on the back of her neck. Michael Roman loved the back of his wife’s neck.
    “Man, look at all this loot,” he said. “Maybe we should have a party for them four or five times a year.”
    “You just want one of the iPods.”
    It was true. Michael was still using his battered Sony Walkman. And listening to the New York Dolls to boot. He had to get with the times. “You know me too well.”
    “It’s a living.”
    “Are they asleep?”
    Abby laughed. “They ate a pound of sugar. They’ll fall asleep sometime in August.”
    “I suppose I have to call and thank your parents.”
    Michael was kidding, and Abby knew it. Dr Charles and Marjorie Reed were in Austria, or Australia, or Anaheim – it was hard to keep track of them. But they had sent checks for Charlotte and Emily, $10,000 each, earmarked for their college funds. Abby’s parents had always been a bit cool toward Michael. They were never crazy about their blue-blood daughter marrying a lawyer, especially a civil servant lawyer. But if Michael had to choose between seeing them, or padding his daughters’ college fund, there was no contest.
    “I’ll let your conscience be your guide on that one,” Abby said.
    Michael flopped back onto the bed, turned on his side, facing his wife. “Do you think they had fun?”
    “Four year olds always have fun, Michael.” She stroked his hair. “They would’ve had fun with a cardboard box and a broken frisbee. Besides, the party wasn’t for them, you know.”
    “It wasn’t?”
    Abby rolled her eyes. “My love, you are so naive.”
    “Who was it for?”
    Abby turned to face him. His skin was clear and pale, with the lightest powdering of freckles, her eyes the color of semi-sweet chocolate. She had her ash-blond hair pinned up, but some of it had escaped, and now softly framed her face. She still looked at least five years younger than she really was, but her experience – the practice of holding life and death in her hands for almost a decade – had brought something to her eyes that spoke more of wisdom than age. She still gave him butterflies. “It was for all the other mothers on the street, of course. It’s a competition.”
    “What kind of competition?”
    Abby sat up, energized. “Okay,” she began, counting it off. She’d obviously given this some serious thought. “Number one. The catering. Did we have expensive catering – as in did we just go with the hot dogs, mini-burgers, and pizza – or did we spring for the chocolate fountain? Two. Do we have eucalyptus outdoor furniture or did we go for the teak? Three. Do we have an in-ground or above-ground pool? Four. Did we have a band or just the clown –?”
    “I have to tell you, that was one weird frickin’ clown,” Michael said. “Miss Chicken Noodle 1986.”
    “I think she was non-union.”
    “But we did have a pony. Don’t forget the pony.”
    “The pony was a big plus.”
    “Even though he crapped in the azaleas.”
    “Ponies will do that.”
    “Man,” Michael said. “I had no idea about any of this.”
    Abby touched his cheek. “My city boy.”
    Michael glared. “City boy? City boy? Didn’t you see me with the Weed Eater out there this morning? There is not a man in any one of the five boroughs who can handle a piece of lawn maintenance equipment like that.”
    Abby smiled the smile, the one that always started a shiver somewhere around Michael’s forehead and traveled to all regions nether. “Yeah, well,” she began, moving closer, looking at his lips, “I’ve always said you were a man who could handle his equipment.”
    Michael smiled, kissed his wife on the nose, got up, bolted