This Side of Heaven Page 4

  She let her eyes drift to other photos: Lindsay and Josh in an oversize raft catching white water on the Truckee River, Josh at age three dancing in six-year-old Lindsay’s arms, the four of them at SeaWorld the summer before Lindsay started high school, Josh and Becky at their senior prom, a month before they broke up. The memories were like a balm to her soul, taking her back to a time when the questions were few and the answers easy.

  A yawn caught her off guard and she checked her watch. It was after eleven, time to turn in. But she couldn’t pull herself from the pictures. Her eyes fell on a photo of Josh standing beside his tow truck the week after he’d been hired in Denver. Heartbroken over the loss of Becky Wheaton, he took a trip to Las Vegas and came back with a confession. He’d met a young woman, inadvertently promised her a life of luxury, and been intimate with her. Eleven months later he drove to the Springs, sat both her and Nate down, and admitted something else.

  The woman was married—though Josh hadn’t known that at the time—and now she’d given birth to a baby girl.

  “She tells me the baby is mine. She wants child support.” Josh looked devastated. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Annie had been too stunned to speak, but Nate had calmly helped him sort through his options. “You need a paternity test.” He worked to hide the pain in his voice, but it weighed heavy on his tone, anyway. “After that you can talk about the next step.”

  The paternity test never came. The woman found out Josh didn’t have a hundred dollars in savings let alone money for child support. After that she wasn’t willing to subject her daughter to the test, and Josh couldn’t afford a lawyer. Over the years, though, Josh talked about the girl as if she were a very real part of his life. His daughter. He charted her birthdays and sent gifts to the woman without knowing whether they ever reached the child. And he talked about bringing her home one day, where she would become fast friends with Lindsay’s kids—her cousins.

  Only Lindsay listened. She would let him talk about the girl and always agreed that once Josh had his settlement money he should hire an attorney and force a paternity test. “What if she’s really his?” Lindsay only asked the question a handful of times in the years since the family had learned about the child.

  “Impossible.” Annie always dismissed the possibility. “The dates don’t line up—the woman didn’t even tell Josh about the baby until almost a year after the Las Vegas trip.” She hated even talking about the situation. The fact that one of her children would be in such a quandary broke her heart. The woman was married, after all. The child almost certainly belonged to her husband.

  “She wanted quick cash,” Annie once told Josh when the subject came up. “Let the matter go. Besides, what about Becky?”

  “Becky moved on.” A deep pain filled Josh’s eyes. “I wasn’t enough for her.”

  “I heard she broke up with that last guy.” Annie always thought Becky and Josh would get back together. “At least give her a call.”

  “This isn’t about Becky. It’s about a little girl who belongs to me. I’m a father now, Mom. I need help figuring out how to connect with her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Josh. You have no way of knowing whether that child is yours or not.”

  The conversation came up again several times, but always Annie dismissed the idea and eventually Josh mentioned her less often. The child would be seven now, and he sometimes voiced what he called his greatest fear—that if his settlement didn’t come soon he would miss her childhood entirely.

  Another sigh filled the quiet room and Annie left the room, turning the lights off as she went. Josh had compromised his faith, walked away from regular church attendance, and managed to ruin his credit rating with one bad loan after another. He drove a beater pickup truck and could barely afford rent each month. He didn’t drink anymore, but he had no real friends and no girlfriend in the picture. As if his entire life was wrapped up in his back pain, on hold for the day his settlement would arrive in the mail.

  And then what? An expensive paternity fight? The sorrow of finally having to admit the truth—that the girl wasn’t his in the first place? So what if he could finally buy a modest house somewhere in the Springs? The money wouldn’t take away his back pain or make it easier for him to find a job.

  She slowed her pace as she neared her room and all at once a reality dawned on her. She had no right getting angry at Nate for what he’d said earlier. Whatever she wanted to tell herself, Nate was right, and an image came to mind. A month ago she’d been caught in traffic on I-25 only to come across a disabled semitruck. The truck’s trailer was extraordinarily high and hadn’t cleared an overpass. There the truck sat, the overpass collapsed across the top of it.

  That’s how Annie felt now, like an entire overpass had given way and fallen around her shoulders. Because no matter how badly she wanted to believe otherwise, the truth wouldn’t let her move out from beneath it. Yes, she was worried about Josh and frustrated for him and sad about his place in life. But there was no denying the other obvious truth.

  She was disappointed in him.

  THREE

  Saturdays were tough because lawyers—for all the money they made—didn’t work weekends. Josh understood. His attorney, Thomas Flynn, was one of the good guys. If the courts were open on the weekend, Flynn would be there fighting for him—Josh had no doubt.

  But since he was still days away from his next deposition and moving his case one small step closer to settlement, Josh’s plans for Saturday involved other jobs that needed tackling. He slept in and took the usual ten minutes to lie in bed, savoring that half-awake phase when the pain was still a spectator. His back hurt whether he was awake or sleeping, standing or lying down. But in the bliss of sleep, at least he wasn’t aware of the pain. Not until ten minutes after he woke up.

  Josh opened his eyes and, in as much time as it took him to look out the window and note the blue skies of another beautiful September day, the first deep ache tugged at his middle back. He shifted and winced and a crisscross of sharp, searing pains sliced one way and then another from his shoulder blades and hip bones across his spine.

  You can do this, he told himself. Please, God. . . . Help me get out of bed. The getting out was the worst part— sometimes worse than any other pain he’d face all day. Something about moving around always made the pain lessen. He held his breath and swung his feet out over the edge of the mattress. The pain doubled and he cried out, panting, trying to find enough air to fill his lungs.

  Please, God. . . .

  He remembered the pain pills at his bedside. Strange that it usually took trying to move before he remembered the OxyContin, maybe because in his mind he was still the same Josh Warren he’d been for the first twenty-five years of his life, limber and mobile and athletic, able to move without giving his body a second thought. But the limitations he lived with were a quick reminder each morning that he didn’t dare try a single hour of life without the help of his medication. Not until something could be done for his back.

  Using all his effort, he swung his legs back onto the bed and slid himself up toward the headboard. The bottle was open, and he tried to remember. Had he taken another pill sometime in the middle of the night? Eighty milligrams every twelve hours—those were his doctor’s orders. But sometimes he had to count the pills before breakfast to make sure he wasn’t taking too many. And if he did, well, then sometimes he had to admit to himself that he was doing the best he could. Too many pills or not.

  He took hold of the plastic bottle and his fingers felt stiff as he tapped a single pill into the palm of his other hand. The glass of water he kept by his bedside looked stale. Josh didn’t care. He downed the pill and set the glass back on his nightstand. Work, he ordered the little round pill. Start working.

  Ever since his music video encounter with Wynonna Judd more than a month ago, he’d used this time to pray. Talking to God took the edge off the way his whole body screamed for relief, and he couldn’t do anything else, any
way. He let his head drop back on the pillow and he closed his eyes.

  Dear God, be with my parents. I know they’re disappointed in me. He exhaled and tried to sink back into the mattress. He grabbed a quick breath and held it. The thing is, they don’t understand the pain. I can’t look for a job until I feel better, so help them not to worry about me. Not to be disappointed. He grabbed at a handful of his comforter and clenched his fist. “Work . . . start working already.” He remembered his prayer. Also, God, I pray for Cara and Carl Joseph and Daisy and Cody . . . for Ethel next door and Keith in Ohio. For Becky, that she’s finding the happiness she wanted. And that maybe she might be ready to love me again when I’m the person I want to be. Also for all my friends, God. Be with them and draw them close the way— he cried out again and rolled partially onto his side—the way You drew me close with that music video.

  For Lindsay and Larry, and Ben and Bella—my sister’s husband and kids; Lord, keep them safe. He felt the first wave of relief pass over him and he wiped the perspiration on his forehead. And please, God, be with Savannah. One day I want to be healthy and whole and bring her home here where she belongs. Please, God, let her come home. I want her to know her grandparents and her aunt Lindsay and her cousins. I want her to know me. He felt himself relax. That’s all, God. Thanks.

  He opened his eyes and swung his feet out over the edge of the bed once more. This time the pain was bearable and it didn’t cause him to cry out. The pill was working. He clenched his teeth as he drew himself to a sitting position and put his feet on the floor. His head spun a little, the dizziness a regular part of his mornings—at least for the first few minutes after he sat up. A side effect from the medication, his doctor had told him.

  He stared at the amber bottle of pills. One day soon he would have surgery and the doctor would fix his back, and then, with a lot of rehab and sweat, he would be his old self again. He’d seen the surgeon again last Wednesday and the report looked good.

  “Another forty pounds,” the doctor had told him. “You get that weight down and we’ll do the operation.”

  He looked down at his gut, the way it hung over his sweatpants. Weight had never been a problem before, but sometime after high school the pounds piled up. He was seventy pounds overweight when the accident happened. After the accident, he ate out of frustration and boredom and added another thirty. Now he’d lost all but the last forty, but still the doctor wanted to wait.

  “Some of your injury is still trying to heal itself,” he explained more than once. “As you lose weight, your back is bound to work better and feel better. We can probably schedule the surgery sometime next month.”

  Josh rubbed the back of his neck. He grabbed a white T-shirt from his second dresser drawer and slid it over his head. At least he could fit into his old shirts now, and Cara had complimented him on a recent picture he’d sent her. “You’re looking hot,” she’d told him. “Now just get yourself well.”

  He used the bedpost to pull himself up onto his feet. That was the goal. Get himself well again. He walked slowly into the kitchen, careful to keep his knees slightly bent so he wouldn’t trigger a spasm. A single spasm in his back could lay him flat in bed for a couple hours or more, pain medication or not.

  Josh was making himself a bowl of instant oatmeal—maple and brown sugar, his favorite—when there was a knock at the door. A quick survey told him the apartment wasn’t as neat as it could be. Magazines were strewn on the couch and coffee table, and the blanket he kept along the back of the sofa had fallen onto the floor. Two half-full glasses of water sat on one of the end tables, on either side of a stack of unopened mail. When he got his settlement, after he started his own business and placed that first call to Becky Wheaton, he would have to make a habit of keeping things neat. Becky liked life to have an order about it, and Josh did, too. He only had to make time for that order. For now, this was usually how the place looked. Whoever was at the door, they weren’t paying him a visit because of his clean apartment.

  He moved as quickly as he could and opened the door. Bright sunshine met him on the other side, and standing on the front porch were his neighbors—Carl Joseph Gunner and Daisy Dalton. “Howdy, neighbor!” Carl Joseph grinned and pushed his thick dark glasses a little higher up the bridge of his nose.

  “Howdy.” Josh used the doorknob to steady himself. “Looks like a nice day out there.”

  “Another beautiful day in the Springs.” Daisy looped her arm through Carl Joseph’s. “Today’s a bus trip to the movies. Saturday date day, right, CJ?”

  “Right.” Carl Joseph puffed out his chest. “Me and Daisy have a date day after a late breakfast.”

  Josh absently wondered if the two had come for a reason or just to say hello. They stopped by often—nearly every day—for one reason or another. “A late breakfast, huh?” He smiled, and the pain in his back dimmed in light of the distraction. “What’s on the menu?”

  Carl Joseph exchanged a frown with Daisy. “That’s the problem.” He shrugged big and shot a forlorn look at Josh. “The market trip was yesterday and we forgot.”

  “We forgot eggs.” Daisy nodded. She pointed past Josh. “Can we borrow six eggs, Josh? Six eggs should be enough.”

  He chuckled quietly and the sensation felt wonderful. He stepped aside and motioned for them to come inside. “You bet. I can round up six eggs.”

  “Because, well” —Carl Joseph furrowed his brow, as if he was thinking very hard on the matter—“we could get by with five, but then maybe we’d be hungry at the movie.”

  “And hungry at the movie means too much popcorn.” Daisy gave Carl Joseph a knowing look. “Not a very healthy choice.”

  “No.” Josh patted his middle. “I know all about that.”

  Carl Joseph hesitated, but then he laughed out loud, as if Josh had just told the funniest joke ever. Again, Josh kept his own laughter quiet. The two were as guileless and transparent as any friends he had. He led them into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. “Let’s see. We need something so you can carry them home.”

  “Not a basket.” Daisy waved her finger, her concern genuine. “Mom says never to put all your eggs in one basket.”

  Carl Joseph’s eyes lit up. “But maybe two baskets.”

  “Here.” Josh pulled a square Tupperware container down from one of his cupboards. His back was loosening up, allowing him the ability to look almost normal as he moved about his kitchen. “This should hold all six eggs.”

  “I like that.” Carl Joseph pushed his glasses up again and smiled at Daisy. “Plastic is good for eggs.”

  Josh placed six eggs carefully into the container and handed it to Carl Joseph. “What movie are you seeing?”

  “It’s an older one.” A silly grin played across his face. “But Cody says what do you expect for three dollars on a Saturday.”

  “You expect a good time.” Daisy cast a proud look at Carl Joseph. “Because that’s a good use of money, CJ. It’s a very good use.”

  The theater was an old one downtown, in a building that would have closed except for its decision to show old movies on the weekend at discount rates. Lindsay had written a piece on the theater for the Gazette. Low prices were filling the place and popcorn and candy sales were keeping it in business. Carl Joseph and Daisy were regulars.

  “We’re seeing Flicka. It’s a movie about a horseback rider.” Daisy must have realized that neither of them had answered Josh’s question.

  “A horse rider like my brother.” Carl Joseph couldn’t keep the pride from his tone. He thought the world of Cody, and Josh understood why. The guy came around all the time and Josh liked him. Back when they first met, Cody had shared with Josh his own story of heartache and pain. Somehow Cody’s story gave Josh hope that maybe he’d come out happy in the end. The way Cody had.

  “You can go with us if you want.” Daisy took the container of eggs and held it to herself. She raised her eyebrows at Carl Joseph and her shoulders lifted a few times. “That’s okay, right,
CJ?”

  “Sure.” He tossed his hands. “Three people can take a movie date. Three or two, it doesn’t matter.”

  For a few seconds Josh actually considered taking them up on the idea. He’d gone two or three times before, saving them a bus trip and spending the afternoon with them. But he needed to clean his apartment. “Not today, guys. I have plans.”

  Carl Joseph nodded. “Plans are good. Brother says a day with plans can’t be half bad.”

  “Well . . .” Josh smiled. He thought about Cara and the plans they’d talked about just last night. “I’d say your brother’s right. Planning is always good.”

  Josh was walking his neighbors to the door when Carl Joseph stopped and took a detour to the fireplace mantel. He squinted at the photos lined across it and pointed to the picture of the two girls. “Tell us the story again, okay?”

  “Yeah, tell us.” Daisy clapped her hands. “That’s a very good story.”

  Josh didn’t mind telling the story. Other than his neighbors, no one knew what really happened with the accident. The story hadn’t been even a mention in the Springs paper. Josh gripped the mantel and leaned into it, buying a little added relief for his back. “Where should I start?”

  “At the beginning.” Carl Joseph took the photo down and held it close so he and Daisy could see it better. “I always like the beginning.”

  “Okay.” Josh knew how to tell the story in a couple minutes. “It happened on New Year’s Eve nearly three years ago.”

  “In Denver, right?” Daisy’s eyes were wide with anticipation.

  “Right. I was towing cars away from a no-parking area along one side of a busy street.”

  “Which is dangerous.” Carl Joseph nodded his concern.

  “Definitely dangerous.” Josh hesitated, thinking back. “I was hooking up my sixth car of the night when those two girls came up and asked me a question.”