This Side of Heaven (9 page)

“He’s still young, Annie. The accident was a big setback.” Nate’s voice was calm, full of the confidence Annie only wished she had when it came to their son. “Tell you what.” He angled himself so he could see her better. “Let’s pray for him right now. While he’s so heavy on your heart.”

Nate started and Annie finished, and after ten minutes of talking to God about her son, Annie felt better. Enough that she went inside and found the flour and sugar and chocolate chips and made Josh a plate of cookies. As she took them out of the oven, she smiled thinking about how happy he would be when she gave him the gift at Ben’s game, and how good it would feel to hug him, to remind him he was loved, no matter what his circumstances. As she cleaned the kitchen that night she wanted to believe that hugging him, and praying for him, and baking him a plate of chocolate chip cookies could only mean one thing.

Tomorrow, the world would look brighter.

EIGHT

J
osh had only been online with Cara for ten minutes and already he felt himself rebounding from the ugliness of the deposition. He was still exhausted and a little dizzy, but his pain was tolerable, at least. He leaned against the desktop and waited for Cara’s next message. As he did, he remembered the strange way he’d felt in the car earlier. The trip home from Denver had been a little hairy, and Lindsay was right. He should’ve pulled over. But if he fell asleep in his car in some parking lot or on the side of the road, then what? The OxyContin could knock him out for eight hours or more and he would have been a target for anyone who happened by. Instead, he prayed constantly and took Lindsay up on her offer. Their conversation helped him stay focused and alert.

So . . . didn’t you have a court thing today?
Cara’s message flashed in the box at the bottom of his screen.

Cara didn’t know how much he stood to win in the settlement. Money had no place in their friendship, which was good. Especially after the mistakes he’d made with Savannah’s mother. He clicked open his iTunes library and pulled up his list with the MercyMe songs. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
Yes.It’s not worth talking about. . . . I came home, had dinner, and went back out to the grocery store.
He didn’t tell her the part about picking up a bag of groceries for Ethel, the old widow in the apartment above his. It wasn’t something he talked about, just a regular part of his week. Ethel was ninety-two and her hips hurt. No surgery would ever help at her age, so Josh saved her the trip to the market. It was the least he could do. He added to his last message,
Did I tell you my latest plan?

Cara’s answer was immediate.
Tell me
.

With all this healthy eating I’ve been doing, next summer I want to play football again.

Uh . . . on a real team, you mean?

No. LOL. At the park with my sister’s son. The boy loves to play catch and since the accident I haven’t touched a ball. All that’s gonna change. And you know what else?

What?

I’m gonna play with my shirt off. I’ll have my surgery and hit the gym the way I used to do, you know?

There was a slight pause before her next message.
If anyone can make that happen it’s you, J. I mean, come on . . . you’ve lost almost sixty pounds. What’s your secret, by the way? You never talk about it.

No secret.
Josh leaned back in his chair as a sudden searing pain shot through his lower spine. He winced and kept typing.
I cut out the junk, sugar and stuff. That’s it. No more three-a-day root beer Big Gulps.

LOL . . . good for you, J.

He yawned and wondered again whether Becky would ever want him back or if he should push things with Cara, talk to her about the future. The answers would come eventually, he had no doubt. He would call Becky and if she wasn’t interested, he could fly out to see Cara once his health was right. He could stay at a nearby hotel and they’d have a few days to find out if what they shared online could translate into real life.
I have other plans,
he typed.
But if I tell you it’ll spoil everything, so . . . they’ll have to wait till later
.

Now you’ve really got my interest.

Let’s just say I plan to keep it, you know? Your interest.

Ah . . . you’re my best friend, J.

And you’re mine.
The pain in his back was intensifying.
Oh, and pray for Savannah, okay? I feel like she’s not doing that great.

I will, I’ll pray. . . . Hey, listen to me! A month ago the word “pray” wouldn’t have been in my vocabulary. But you, J, you’ve changed me.

He had an answer as soon as he read her message.
God changed you. He changed me, too—isn’t it great?

Anyway . . . why do you feel funny about Savannah?

I don’t know.
He moved his mouse back to iTunes and double clicked the song that started him on the path back to God. The words filled the small spaces around him and he sang along. Cara must’ve been waiting for more of an explanation. He centered his hands on the keyboard and tried to get in touch with his feelings. Slowly, his fingers began to move.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen a photo of her in so long. . . . Sometimes I wonder if she’s still alive or if she knows about me at all.

Cara’s answer came slowly, one sentence at a time.
That’s

sad. And it’s wrong. You’ve got to get your lawyer to help you find her.

I will. And she’s out there, I know it. I just feel like I’m supposed to pray for her. Until I meet her, it’s the only thing I can actually do for her, you know?

The first time you meet that little girl, I want a front-row seat, J. It’s like a movie or something. That’s the kind of happy ending it’ll be.

Josh thought about his conversation with Carl Joseph and Daisy last week, how the best stories were the ones with happy endings. He began typing.
That’s what I’m asking God for . . . a happy ending for me and Savannah.
He moved forward in his chair and waited a few seconds, but the pain was gaining ground on him. At this rate he wouldn’t last another few minutes at the computer. The song was ending and he started it over again. One more time through and he’d turn in for the night.
I need to turn in soon
, he typed.
Sorry.

That’s okay. I’m tired, too.

I might sleep a little longer tonight. I want to feel good for Ben’s game tomorrow. We’re all going to church after, and then to Lindsay’s house for dinner.

Sounds wonderful. Wish I were there.

He smiled.
Me, too . . . you’d really like Lindsay.

They talked about their siblings for a few minutes, but the fire in Josh’s back was relentless.
Hey, gotta go. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?

I’ll be waiting. Sleep well, J.

Thanks.
He flinched at another shot of pain.
Don’t forget about Savannah.

Josh powered down his computer and opened the top desk drawer. Inside was a picture of him and Becky from their senior prom. Was it all just a dream, the idea of contacting her after so many years, maybe asking her out for coffee, and seeing if there were still feelings there for both of them? Sometimes Becky seemed more like a fantasy, the perfect girl waiting for him to become the perfect guy.

But on nights like this he could still smell the shampoo in her hair, still feel her in his arms as he waltzed her across the prom dance floor. He could hear her laugh and feel the way his heart connected with hers. He doubled his determination as he set the picture back in his desk drawer. He would make something of himself and he would call her. God could take care of the rest.

Until then, he was grateful for Cara.

He yawned, and even that small action hurt his back. He wanted to head straight for bed, but lately he’d added a brief side trip to his bedtime routine. He pushed back from the desk, struggled to his feet, and then walked to his fireplace. Every step hurt worse than the last, and by the time he reached the mantel with the photographs, sweat was dripping down his forehead.
Dear Lord . . . I can’t get through this without You. Please. . . .
He closed his eyes and held his breath, looking for even a small window of relief. Two pain pills a day, those were the doctor’s orders. But sometimes—when he’d been to Denver for another hearing, especially—he would take three. The increase wasn’t much, not compared with the stories he’d seen online of some out-of-control people. Three was more than he liked to take, but it wouldn’t kill him.

He exhaled and opened his eyes, opened them to the picture of Savannah.
I don’t know where she is, Lord, but

I know she’s mine. I know it with everything inside me.
He grabbed another excruciating breath and steadied himself against the mantel.
You can see her right this minute, so please . . . be with her and comfort her. Keep her safe, God, so that when I’m better I can have a chance to be her daddy. She’s all that keeps me going sometimes.

I am with her, My son . . . and I am with you . . . always.

The holy reminder seemed to come whenever he was at his lowest. Josh released his hold on the mantel, kissed his fingertips, and pressed them to Savannah’s picture.
Thank You, God. . . . Now, if You could please help me get some sleep.

He gave his daughter a final look, turned, and shuffled to his room. The pain had become a spasm ricocheting from his shoulders to his lower back. He’d have the rest of the weight off by the end of February and then he could finally have the surgery.

He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and fell into bed. The haze of pain was making him nauseous, so he moved quickly for the bottle of pills on his nightstand and took one in the palm of his hand. His water glass wasn’t even half full, but he didn’t have the energy to get out of bed again. He’d have to down it quickly, making the best use of the water he did have.

For a moment he let himself imagine a life like the one he used to lead. Heavy or not, he could flop into bed and find instant sleep without so much as a thought of pain medication. He put the pill in his mouth and swigged the rest of the water, but the liquid slid down his throat leaving the pill behind. On impulse, he chewed the pill and swallowed it.

Not until he set the glass back on his nightstand did a thought flash in his mind. The doctor had said something about chewing the pills, right? How he had to be careful because a chewed pill could release the medication too quickly into his system or his bloodstream, or something like that. Panic flooded his veins and made him sit straight up despite the pain. His heart pounded hard, faster than usual. What if chewing the pill would hurt him? Maybe he should call 911, or at least contact his mother to ask for her advice.

But even as he sat upright sorting through his options, sleep came over him. Thick and heavy and sweet, the pain in his back faded and he felt his body relax. Slowly, he slid down until his head was partially on his pillow. In the farthest corner of his mind a nearly silent alarm was still sounding. He was okay, right? He had to be okay because God had great plans for him.
Lord . . . help me.
The sensation of sleep intensified and for the first time since the accident, Josh’s pain all but subsided.

The relief felt wonderful, intoxicating.
Everything was going to be okay. You’re with me, right, God?

Until the end of the ages, My son . . .

Good.
Josh smiled and let himself be dragged under, pulled into a sleep deeper and sweeter than any he’d ever known, even before the accident. God had great plans for him and for Savannah, so there was no reason to be afraid. And as he let the darkness close in around him, he released every care, every pain. The sensation of relief was so strong he felt like he was sleeping in the palm of the Lord’s hand. The last thing Josh experienced was something he hadn’t known for a very long time. Maybe not forever.

Complete and utter peace.

Savannah didn’t know the big man talking to her mama, but his dark eyes made little chill bumps up and down her arms. They were in Central Park begging money, that’s what Mama called it—begging money—and a big man in nice clothes stopped and talked to them. Well, not to them, but to her mama. He had bushy dark hair and a little gold cross on a skinny chain and three big gold rings. At first her mama and the man laughed and talked loud about having a good time and what about plans for the night. But then Savannah saw the man show her mama some money. A lot of money, because there were zeroes on the dollar bills and Mama said zeroes were good.

That’s when Mama told Savannah to sit on the bench and wait and she and the man walked toward the pond and their talking changed to quiet indoor voices. Savannah felt a little scared sitting there by herself, but she swung her feet and kept her eyes looking at the ground. Mama said it was always better to keep her eyes pointed to the ground so people wouldn’t get the wrong idea. Savannah didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded serious so she looked at the ground. Also she talked to Jesus, whom her grandpa Ted taught her about when she was five and they met for the first time in his hospital room. Grandpa Ted was her mama’s daddy, but Mama said she didn’t get along with him. She told Savannah they had to go to the hospital because Grandpa Ted was dying. That’s the only reason.

“I don’t have long, Savannah,” he told her. Then he talked to her about Jesus—how He was God, but you couldn’t see Him, and how He made all things and even how He wanted to be in her very own heart. Grandpa Ted took her hand that day and smiled the nicest smile anyone had ever given her. “If you love Jesus, if you talk to Him and trust Him, then one day we’ll be together forever.”