This Side of Heaven (7 page)

“They’re a great group. Carl Joseph and his girlfriend, Daisy, live in separate apartments in my building, and then there’s Carl Joseph’s brother, Cody, and his wife, Elle, who is Daisy’s sister. The four of them go every week together, and ever since I told Carl Joseph about that Wynonna video and how I felt God calling me back to Him, they’ve included me in their group.” Josh’s eyes were full of light. “I really have a very rich life, Lindsay. The settlement has nothing to do with that.”

She made a point to remember how he looked in that moment, sunshine streaming in through his small kitchen window, standing there in his tiny apartment, his back no doubt killing him, and believing with all his heart that no amount of money could make him any richer. Happy tears made her eyes damp. “I can’t wait for Friday dinner. And Saturday, too.” She hugged him one more time and held on longer than usual. When she eased back, she looked straight into his heart, the part that would always belong to her. “I think maybe you’re just starting to live again.”

“I am.” He breathed in deep and stood straight again. “I can hardly wait to see what God has for me next.”

“Me, too. I mean—I have my brother back.” She took her purse from the coffee table and slipped it up onto her shoulder. Then she kissed her brother’s cheek and headed for the front door. “Friday night.”

“I’ll be there.” They were at the door and Josh leaned into the frame. “Oh, and that six hundred dollars you loaned me?” He pulled a check from his pocket and handed it to her. “You can cash it on Wednesday.”

Lindsay hadn’t thought about the loan since she gave him the money a few months ago when his doctor bills were too high for him to pay the rent. “Josh, you don’t have to do that.” She tried to hand the check back to him, but he wouldn’t take it. “Consider it a gift.”

“I can’t.” His tone was still light, but Lindsay knew he was serious about the money. “I told you I’d pay you back and I meant it. I have my bills figured out for next month.” He smiled. “Thanks for being there. I didn’t want to get behind, and because of you and Larry, I didn’t.”

“Well . . . you could’ve waited for your settlement.”

“I owe Mom and Dad almost a year’s wages.” He gave her a funny look, the way he used to on a Saturday when they had just one afternoon to clean the entire garage. “That will definitely have to wait for the settlement.” He touched her shoulder. “Yours I can repay now, so let me, okay?”

“Okay.” She held his eyes a few seconds longer before she folded the check and put it in the pocket of her jeans. “I love you, Josh. I’m so happy you found your way back.”

“Love you, too.” His eyes danced. “Tell Ben to look for me in the stands.”

With that Lindsay ran lightly to her car and as she pulled out of the complex she saw Josh standing on his porch watching her, his smile visible from across the parking lot. She waved one last time and then made a quick decision. She would do her other errands first, then go by her mother’s house last. That way she wouldn’t feel rushed. Today the two of them needed to talk about more than the schedule for the coming week, or who Ben’s team was playing in Saturday’s game.

She walked through her parents’ front door an hour later and found her mother on the phone out back in the garden. Lindsay was practically bursting with the news about Josh, but her mom motioned to her to wait a minute. She had a pile of pulled weeds at her feet and a small box of gardening tools nearby. Lindsay leaned against the back wall of the house and looked beyond her mother to the acreage that made up the backyard. She and Josh used to play games out here every afternoon, and in summer their parents would set up an aboveground pool for them and their friends. So many happy memories.

“Like Nate always says, the election isn’t a sure thing, so we have to be careful. We had the librarians here on Friday and this week it’s another group of representatives from the teachers union. I think we’re serving cheesecake again.” She made a face in Lindsay’s direction and drew small circles in the air with her free hand, as if to say she was trying to wrap up the call. “Right, well, maybe you should be here. You’re a friend of ours and a friend of theirs. That’s always good for Nate.”

Lindsay worried about her mom. Before her dad ran for the Board of Education, her parents were involved with a Bible study at church and bringing meals to the home-bound. Now it seemed like nearly every hour of the day was dedicated to helping her father get reelected. Maybe the talk about Josh would help get her mind off the dinner parties and political posturing that took up so much of their time.

Another two minutes and finally her mother’s call ended. She exhaled hard and made a mock show of exhaustion. “That woman is more connected than anyone in the Springs, but boy, can she talk.” Her mom looked at her watch. “The garden will have to wait. We have a dinner tonight with her and three other people.” She dusted her hands on her navy cotton pants and smiled at Lindsay. “You brought back the baking dish?”

“I did, but I was sort of hoping you might have a few minutes.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I need to get ready.” Her mother breezed past her. “Come into the kitchen for a minute. I have to wash up.”

Lindsay had no choice but to follow her. “I stopped by Josh’s apartment earlier. He was playing this song—”

Her mother flipped on the water, tapped a few squirts of soap into her hands, and began rubbing them together. She raised her eyebrows in Lindsay’s direction as if to say she was still listening. But over the sound of the water, Lindsay knew her mother couldn’t catch every word, so she waited.

After a minute, she turned off the water and reached for a paper towel. “So he was playing Christian music, is that what you’re saying?” She dried her hands and tossed the damp paper into the trash compactor. The sound of the container opening and shutting added to the noise, and Lindsay waited.

Her mother seemed to understand that this conversation needed more of her attention, so she stopped short, her eyes on Lindsay. “Sorry, honey, go ahead.”

“Anyway, yes. He was listening to ‘I Can Only Imagine.’ You know that song, right?”

“Hmmm.” Her mother shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“It’s a song about heaven, and when he called me this morning he was playing it so loud I could barely hear him over the phone, and he said it was like he finally—”

“He has to be careful of the neighbors. It’s not like he has many friends, Lindsay.” She looked at her watch again, and then folded her arms. “Loud music isn’t going to endear him to anyone.”

Lindsay stared at her mom. Why was she doing this, making it so hard for her to share the good news about Josh?
Be patient,
she told herself.
God, please give me patience. Mom doesn’t know what’s coming.

“Anyway, the point wasn’t the neighbors. It’s that Josh seems changed by the song, by the message in it. He was talking about God today, and how he’s going back to church, and . . . even his pain didn’t seem as bad as usual.”

Her mother took one of the oranges from the fruit bowl, grabbed another paper towel, spread it on the counter, and dug her fingernail into the fruit’s skin. “You don’t mind if I eat, do you? I completely forgot lunch, and breakfast was something small left over from yesterday.”

Lindsay wanted to scream at her. This was outrageous. “Did you hear what I said? About how he wants to go to church with us and how his pain seems more manageable?”

“I hate that pain medication he’s on.” She took a section of the orange, ripped it in half, and put one small piece into her mouth. With her free hand she dabbed at the corners of her lips and focused on her next bite. “That OxyContin can kill a person.” She chewed and swallowed another piece. “I was on the Internet looking it up the other day and it actually said if you chew the tablets instead of swallowing them, the release of the drug could be strong enough to kill you.” She waved another section of orange in the air. “The doctor has him on way too high a dose, and sure he might not feel any pain today, but what about when he’s addicted to the stuff? Then we’ll all wish he would’ve lived with a little more pain and not said yes every time the doctor increased his dose.”

When Lindsay’s frustration left her without a response, her mother continued. “And yes, dear, he talks about church and God once in a while. I’ll believe something’s changed when I see it. Otherwise it’s just a lot of talk, and you know Josh. Always dreaming about his plans for this or that—even before the accident.” She ate a few more sections of the orange, and then slipped what remained into a ziplock bag.

“Mom, are you even hearing me?” Lindsay wanted to cry. This was a big day for Josh, and their mother wasn’t connecting with anything she was saying.

“Of course I’m hearing you, dear.” She put the orange in the refrigerator. “It’s just that if we’re honest with ourselves we’ve heard these stories from Josh over and over again.” Her look was bathed in discouragement. “I really worry about your brother. Ever since high school he’s struggled to put his plans into action.” She closed the distance between them and kissed Lindsay on the forehead. “Thanks for being such a good sister to him. It’s important that all of us keep encouraging him. That’s especially true for you.” She began walking toward the stairs and her bedroom. “I have to get ready, but we’ll talk more about it later, okay?”

If Lindsay hadn’t been so mad at her mother, she would have yelled at her. She would have told her no, it wasn’t okay, and that no dinner party was more important than the changes she’d seen in Josh that day. But if her mom didn’t care to listen, then so be it. She wouldn’t ruin the good feelings in her heart by fighting with her mother.

By the time Lindsay was back in her car, her anger had faded and in its place was the pity she felt more often for her mother. Pity because her mother’s focus wasn’t on her faith the way it once had been, and because she wasn’t only worried about Josh, she was embarrassed by him. Their mom was frustrated that Josh hadn’t become an educator like his father or a writer like Lindsay. As she turned onto the main road toward home, she thought again about her brother and his renewed excitement for God and life and his determination to find his way despite the pain.

If she was honest with herself, honest about the ugliest places in her heart, there had been times when she, too, had been embarrassed by Josh’s career decisions. He’d been capable of so much more than driving a tow truck. But at least her embarrassment hadn’t lasted long. If towing cars was what her brother loved to do, then she would be glad for him—no matter what else he might have done with his life.

She still didn’t know the story behind the photograph of the two teenage girls, but the next time they were together she would press him about it. Clearly, he kept the picture on the mantel for a reason—one that brought tears to her eyes as she pulled into her garage.

When no one in his family was proud of his work at the garage, when he couldn’t find affirmation anywhere else, the photo probably gave him something that meant the world to her brother.

A reason to believe in himself.

SIX

J
osh was about to pass out from the pain. He was on the witness stand, answering questions in a calm, deliberate tone, but on the inside his body was screaming for relief.
Where are You, God? I need You here. . . . Please. . . .

The attorney for the insurance company was taking a minute with his associates, regrouping for the next round of biting questions. Josh closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to adjust his position, tried to find even the slightest relief from the pain. The joy and hope and faith that had marked his world three days ago was still there, but it was harder to feel. That’s all.
Please, God. Are You there?

My child, I am with you always . . . even until the end. . . .
The answer wasn’t loud, but it resonated in his soul and brought with it a peace that reminded him of the truth. This deposition wasn’t the end of the story—no matter what it netted. His life was changed now, and no amount of pain could undo that. He heard the attorney clear his voice as he stepped back up to the microphone.

Josh opened his eyes and tried to look relaxed and professional. Thomas Flynn, his attorney, had told him a number of times how important this day in court would be to his final settlement. The judge could still decide on an amount anywhere between a hundred thousand dollars and a million dollars.

The lead attorney for the insurance company was William R. Worthington, of Worthington and Associates in Denver. He was in his early fifties with a head of gray-flecked hair. Everything from his dark designer suit to the way he carried himself told those in the courtroom he was a force to be reckoned with. The insurance company was hoping Worthington would save them hundreds of thousands of dollars when the battle was over.

Worthington held a half-inch-thick document, and he flipped slowly through the first three pages. His actions gave the impression that he was carefully sorting through something important—a pile of damaging evidence, perhaps—and that he was putting great thought into his next question.

Josh knew differently. “Everything an attorney does is part of the act,” Flynn told him. “The confidence, the appearance that they’ve already won the case, the pauses—all of it.”

Now the attorney leaned close to the microphone. “Mr. Warren, you’ve had trouble with your weight, is that true?”

“Objection.” Flynn was on his feet. “Question is vague, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.” The judge was a wiry man who seemed bored with the proceedings. “Counsel will rephrase the question.”

“Very well.” Worthington nodded his head slightly. “Mr. Warren, you’re overweight. Is that true?”

“Actually, over the past couple years, I—”

“Yes or no answers, Mr. Warren. Are you overweight?” Josh pictured the doctor telling him he only needed to lose another forty pounds. “Yes.” He pulled a tissue from a box at the corner of the witness stand and dabbed it on his forehead. “Yes, I am.”

Worthington flipped through another few pages. “More than one medical doctor has told you that your weight is a health risk, is that true?”

More than one doctor? Josh’s mind raced through the possibilities, and then he remembered. The emergency room doctor who treated him in the hours after the accident told him he needed to deal with his weight. “However bad your injuries are, they’ll be worse if you don’t take care of your weight.” Josh winced as a wall of pain slammed into his lower back. “Yes. Two doctors. That’s true.”

“Mr. Warren, do you need a break?” The judge’s voice held more compassion than Josh had heard from him since the deposition began. “We can take a ten-minute break.”

“No, thanks. My back hurts either way, and I’d like to get home. I have dinner plans with my sister tonight.”

“Very well.” The judge motioned to the attorney. “Carry on.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” He looked at Josh. “I’m going to read a statement written by your current doctor, and you tell me if it’s something you’re familiar with. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Josh hated how they talked to him, like he was a third-grader caught cheating on a math test. Did the guy really think Josh was making up the pain? That if he wanted to, he could drive down to the garage and start towing cars again tomorrow? He gripped the edge of the wooden desk in front of him and waited.

“Here’s the statement: ‘It is my opinion that my client, Josh Warren, age twenty-eight, could experience dramatic improvement in the condition of his back injury if he would lose weight.’ ” Worthington paused for effect. “ ‘It is nearly impossible to determine how much of his current pain and disability is caused by his excess weight, and how much is caused from being hit by the car.’ ”

Josh remained calm. Flynn had warned him the insurance company attorneys might take this angle, accusing him of destroying his own health and thereby calling into question whether the accident had really been that damaging. “Don’t worry about it,” Flynn had said to him that morning. “Even if you’d walked away without an injury, if the only reason you couldn’t go back to work was an emotional one—like you’re too afraid to drive a tow truck now—a settlement would still be in the works. The insurance company’s client was drunk out of his mind. He drove off the road and hit you, nearly killing you. Your weight isn’t going to factor into the judge’s decision whatsoever.”

Josh blinked. “Yes, I’m familiar with that statement.” Why didn’t the guy ask him about the weight he’d already lost? He was down sixty pounds from the time of the accident. He was exhausted and ready for his next pain pill.
God . . . please get me through this.

“And is it true that you’ve been told by your doctor that surgery on your back isn’t advisable until you lose another forty pounds?”

“Yes. I’ve been told that.”

Worthington ran his thumb across a section of text at the middle of the page. “What was your weight when you graduated from high school, Mr. Warren?”

“One ninety.”

“One hundred and ninety pounds, is that right?” He cast a knowing look at the judge.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And your weight at the time of the accident?”

“Two ninety-five.” Josh could hardly believe himself as he said the number. How had he let that much weight pile up over the years? More than a hundred pounds? No question the doctor was concerned about his weight. The fact that he’d already lost sixty made him determined to stay the course and get back under two hundred again.

Worthington raised his brow. “Two hundred and ninety-five pounds? That was your weight at the time of the accident?”

“Yes, sir.” Josh felt the demons behind him again, poking a hundred pointy knives into his spine.
I need You, God. Make them go away.

My strength is sufficient for you, My son. Trust in Me. . . .

I’m trying, God. . . . I’m really trying.

Worthington turned the page and hesitated. “I have here”—he held the document up for the judge’s sake—“a study done last year determining that people with morbid obesity—more than a hundred pounds over their ideal weight—are more prone to injuries on the job. I’d like to admit this document into evidence, Your Honor.”

“Objection.” Flynn was on his feet, his eyes blazing with indignation. “Unless that study involves my client personally, it’s only hearsay and has nothing to do with my client’s specific situation.”

“Sustained. Relevance.” He peered down at Worthington. “You should be familiar with the rules of evidence in a case like this.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The attorney didn’t look too upset. He probably expected the admonition, but either way, the information was out there. Heavy people were more prone to injuries.

Josh looked at his attorney, and he could almost read Flynn’s eyes. The report about overweight people wasn’t something he needed to worry about. Again, he didn’t fall off a ladder or slip at the coffee counter. His weight had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been hit by the drunk driver. He took a few short breaths through his nose, expecting the pain to prevent him from inhaling fully. But the pain seemed slightly less intense than a few minutes ago.
Thank You, God. . . . You’re holding me up. I can’t do this without You.

I am with you. . . .

“You have no children, is that right? No dependents at all?”

Josh paused, but only briefly. “I have a daughter.”

His answer seemed to catch Worthington off guard. Like Flynn had said, the insurance company preferred Josh to be single with no children. But Worthington covered his surprise well, barely hesitating to regroup.

He leveled his stare at Josh. “Were you considering a medical disability before the accident, Mr. Warren?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. “I’m not sure what . . .” He glanced at Thomas Flynn. “Could you restate the question?”

“At the time of the accident, were you planning to take medical disability?” His words were fast, rapid-fire, and aimed straight at his motives for filing suit.

“No, sir. I had no such plans.”

“But your weight was making it difficult to keep working, right?”

“No, sir.” He kept his voice in check, but his anger was rising. Flynn had warned him about this, too, and at previous depositions the insurance company’s attorney had tried similar lines of questioning. Planting doubts, that’s all the guy was doing. Josh steadied himself, forced himself to keep his answers free of emotion. “I had no plans for a medical disability.”

“And because of your weight, you were struggling to keep up your production with the other tow truck drivers at the garage, isn’t that right, Mr. Warren?”

“No, sir.” He adjusted his feet, but the move brought no relief to his back. He was pretty sure if someone walked behind him they would see flames where his spine was supposed to be.

“And after the accident you were almost glad to have a reason to go out on medical disability, isn’t that right?”

Josh hesitated, his eyes locked onto the attorney’s. Before he could answer, Flynn was on his feet again. “Objection. Counsel is harassing the witness, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.” Again the judge gave Worthington a look that told him he was in danger of crossing a line. “Change your line of questioning, Counsel.”

“Yes, Your Honor. I apologize.”

“Carry on.”

Worthington kept the questions coming for another ninety minutes. He asked Josh about his days at home and whether he was able to sit for an hour at a time, and if so was he aware that a majority of desk jobs didn’t require more than an hour of sitting at a time, and had Josh considered looking for a job, or was he content to sit back and let an insurance company take care of his needs. Thomas Flynn objected a handful of times, but at the end of the questioning the damage was done. If Josh had been a prize-fighter, at the final bell he would’ve been bloodied and battered on the ground in the middle of the ring—victim of a knockout by decision.

One thing was sure. Whatever settlement this case netted, Josh would have earned every dollar several times over.

Flynn called a brief recess and he talked to Josh in the hallway. “You look tired.”

“I am.” Josh’s body was screaming for another pain pill, something that would give him relief from the fire in his back. But the pills could make him loopy, and he needed to stay sharp just a little longer. “My sister’s counting on me for dinner.”

Flynn was a family man, an attorney dedicated to seeing justice done. He liked to gamble, but he also believed in miracles. Both made him the perfect attorney as far as Josh was concerned. Flynn looked at Josh with compassion. “I’m sorry about your pain.” He put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “But I need a few minutes in cross. Something to bring a little balance back.”

“I thought you said the judge wouldn’t consider that stuff—my weight and whether I wanted a disability or not. Which I didn’t, by the way.”

“I know, and I told you the truth. None of that should matter.” He folded his arms and released a frustrated sigh. “But at the end of the day, the judge is as human as the next guy. Deciding these cases isn’t based on an exact formula.”

“Okay.” Josh could no longer draw a full breath. He would exist on short gasps and forced exhalations, the way he had learned to do when the pain was this bad. “I can last another few minutes.” He still had the hour-long drive back to the Springs, and it was almost five o’clock.

The break ended and Josh took the stand again. Flynn was deeply competitive when it came to law. Josh knew that from the private conversations they held in his attorney’s office. Flynn had taught him every way to win the case from the witness stand, training him with more care and detail than any of Josh’s baseball coaches ever had. Now he donned a look of kindness and empathy. “You doing okay, Mr. Warren?”

Josh almost smiled. The tone of the question, the wording, was intended to make one very clear point: that Worthington had all but whipped and beaten Josh in the earlier session. “Yes, sir. I’m okay.”

“Is your back hurting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On a scale of one to ten, on the pain scale used by doctors, where’s your back pain right now, Mr. Warren?”

Josh didn’t hesitate. “A nine, sir.” A ten happened when he could barely breathe at all. He was close, but for now he was still at a nine. Flynn let that detail sink in for a few seconds.

“Okay”—he looked at his notes—“you said your weight was two hundred and ninety-five pounds at the time of the accident. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.” Josh didn’t worry about where Flynn was headed. His track record left no room for doubt, no matter what the line of questioning.

“Can you tell this court how many days of work you missed in the month leading up to your accident?”

They’d been over this a number of times, analyzing the actual employment records from the garage. “None, sir.”

“Very well.” He glanced down at the notepad in his hand. “How many days of work did you miss in the six months leading up to your accident?”

“None, sir.”

Flynn looked impressed. “Okay, Mr. Warren, how many days of work did you miss in the year leading up to your accident?”