by Leslie Gould
“But he’s the doctor. If you couldn’t talk with him, where will we get our answers?” His voice was quiet but firm.
“You weren’t listening to me,” she said.
“You weren’t talking.”
“Maybe not, but I was communicating.”
He gave her an exasperated look.
“With my eyes. With my expression. And by not saying anything.”
He pushed open the front door, still holding her purse. “I’m supposed to understand what you don’t say?”
“Jah,” she answered, stepping into the wintery day. She was glad she’d taken a pill before she left the house. The pain was bad enough as it was.
“If getting married sooner rather than later would help us have a Bobbli, we should do that. Or if you decide to have eggs harvested, you should do that right away.”
“Zane.” She kept her eyes on the parking lot pavement. “Have you ever heard of an Amish woman who has done that?”
“Well, no,” he said. “But someone has to be the first.”
She shook her head. “Not me. Besides, who would pay for it? We have enough to worry about as it is.”
They reached the car and the driver hopped out, but Zane had already opened Lila’s door. “We’ll talk about your bills more when we get home.”
She looked up at him. “Did you hear from the lawyer?”
Zane nodded. “We have an appointment to talk with him this afternoon. That’s another reason I took the day off. We’ll finally figure this out.”
16
After Zane helped Lila up the front steps and into the Lehmans’ house, she collapsed into her Dat’s chair. He kneeled by her side, wishing he could make everything easier for her.
“Do you want to talk more?” he asked.
“No.” Her answer was short and abrupt.
“Did you take a pain pill today?”
Her eyes flashed, in anger it seemed. “Jah,” she answered. “And lucky for you I did. Otherwise I’d be yelling.”
Zane felt his own emotions rise.
“You keep going on and on about things,” she hissed. “First talking to a lawyer. Then quizzing the doctor. Now talking to the lawyer again. You’re trying to do all of this your way. The Englisch-Zane way. Not Lila’s way. Or the Amish way.”
He raised his head. “But it’s wrong for this guy to lie about what happened to get out of having his insurance cover your bills. It’s unfair to you—and it’s just not right. If we don’t do anything, he’ll get away with it.”
“What if I did pull out in front of him?”
“But you said you didn’t. And you wouldn’t have. From the beginning you said you pulled to the side and that Billie didn’t shift to the left.”
She shrugged. “I really think that’s what happened, but how can I be sure? The buggy was all in pieces, right?”
“Yep,” Zane answered. In so many pieces he could see it would have been hard for the deputy to figure out exactly what happened. But that was no excuse to blindly believe the driver.
“Please don’t make me anxious with this talk about lawyers and suing and insurance companies and who’s responsible. And I don’t want to go talk to the attorney today either.”
Zane swallowed hard, not sure what to say. He’d never been so frustrated with her—and befuddled, all at the same time. She couldn’t keep denying what was going on. “I get that it’s upsetting for you,” he answered, “but it’s the way things are. It’s the way the world works.”
“Not our world,” she said, her eyes narrow.
Zane exhaled. They’d had an argument now and then, but never a fight like this—thanks to Lila. She was the peacemaker between the two of them. Regardless of how angry they both were, he didn’t want to have a fight now either. Not when she was so fragile. And not when he was so frustrated.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m tired.” She pulled the afghan from the back of the chair and spread it over her lap. “I’m going to rest for a while. Would you tell Rose we’re back?”
He nodded and stood, tucking the afghan around her, taking a breath and exhaling slowly as he did. “Do you care if I speak with the lawyer anyway? Just to get his advice.”
She yawned. “I’m not going to tell you not to, but I won’t necessarily do what he recommends.”
Zane nodded. She could be so stubborn—but so could he.
If the church fund didn’t cover all the expenses, the debt would impact them as a young couple just starting out. They might never be able to buy their own farm or start a business. He kissed Lila’s forehead and then left in search of Rose.
When he reached the kitchen, she was coming up the stairs, a full laundry basket on her hip. Her face was red and blotchy and for a minute he wondered if she’d had some sort of allergic reaction, but then he realized she’d been crying.
“Are you doing all right?” he asked.
She nodded but didn’t answer.
Puzzled, he said, “Lila is back.”
“Jah, I gathered that.” She went on outside.
It was eleven thirty, time for Tim to come in for dinner and there didn’t appear to be anything cooking, but Zane wasn’t going to remind Rose of that. Instead Zane went back in the living room and sat on the sofa, watching Lila sleep. Her face was relaxed. It had been a long time since he’d seen her at peace—since before the accident. He was afraid, in his determination to fix everything, that he sometimes overlooked how much pain she was in. He could see that healing was taking all of her energy and that to have to deal with the turmoil surrounding the accident was too much for her. He thought of what his healing process was like after he was wounded in Afghanistan. He was out of sorts much of the time. Irritable. Uncertain of what he needed to do next.
The back door opened. Zane stood and stepped into the kitchen. “Hello,” Zane said. “Lila and I just got back. She’s asleep in your chair.”
“How’s she doing?” Tim asked.
“All right.” Zane certainly didn’t want to elaborate. He doubted Lila would say more than that to him.
“Is Rose around?”
“She’s hanging the wash.”
Tim glanced at the stove, and then went to the refrigerator and took out a plastic container full of roast beef and a jar of mustard.
“Want a sandwich?” Tim asked.
“Sure,” Zane answered.
“Gut,” Tim said. “I can have some company while I eat mine.” When he finished making his, he motioned to Zane while he pulled a gallon of milk from the refrigerator and poured two glasses.
As they sat down at the table, Rose came in, carrying the empty basket and a stack of mail. “Sorry, Dat,” she said, putting the envelopes on the table. “I got behind on my chores. I would have made your sandwich.”
Tim shrugged. “Make one for yourself,” he said. “And perhaps for Lila.”
Zane shook his head, eyeing the mail. “She’ll probably sleep for a while.” The return address on the top envelope was from Lila’s surgeon. More bills.
“And I’m not hungry,” Rose said, heading for the basement.
Tim shook his head. “I can’t figure out these girls, not for the life of me. I’m hoping maybe Beth can.” He smiled and then led the two of them in a silent prayer.
Zane bowed his head and prayed for Lila and for wisdom and that God would provide a way to pay her medical bills. And that he’d be able to contain his frustration.
After finishing his sandwich, Zane headed back through the field. First, he stopped by his parents’ and left a message for the lawyer, saying he’d be coming without Lila.
Next he went to the little house. It seemed so empty. He’d moved the single bed up to the Bobbli’s room and pushed the recliner back to the far corner. Mom had returned Lila’s wheelchair the day after the fixator had been removed. He’d need to look for a sofa soon, probably at a secondhand store. Buying the buggy had wiped out his savings.
He’d slept upstairs in their bedroom the night befo
re, but he’d tossed and turned all night. He’d rather stay at his parents’ house, but he understood Gideon’s concern about relying too much on Englisch ways. And it made more sense for him to stay in the little house than go back to Gideon and Monika’s Dawdi Haus.
He headed to the bathroom and picked up the tape measure off the toilet seat. The downstairs bathroom had been functional for almost two months now, but he needed more molding to finish the trim work. He hoped Trevor would take him to the lumberyard on their way home from Lancaster. He quickly measured the spaces along the floorboards, committing the numbers to memory.
Then he returned to the living room and wandered up the stairs, running his hand up the smooth railing that he’d worked so hard to fashion, taking each step slowly. The sun must have been trying to poke through the storm clouds gathering on the horizon because a shaft of light streamed through the landing window. He started toward his room—his and Lila’s—but then stopped and turned toward the closed door.
He opened it slowly. He’d found the pale yellow curtains at a secondhand store. And the crib and bureau. The single bed had come from his parents’ house, but he’d bought the platform rocking chair new. The quilt hanging over the back was one that the women at Lila’s grandmother’s quilt shop had sent for him to give away in Afghanistan. This one had ended up in his trunk and was sent back home after he was injured. He liked the fact that his and Lila’s Bobbli would have it someday.
He closed the door. At least Lila hadn’t seen the room and didn’t know he’d furnished it. He’d box up everything except the twin bed. Maybe after they were married, Trudy would want to spend the night sometimes. Or maybe Simon when he came home from Iraq.
He stopped on the landing, looking over to his parents’ house as Trevor drove up Juneberry Lane. Zane headed back down the stairs, out the door, and around the barn. Trevor sat in his car, texting on his phone. As Zane approached he looked up, waved, and rolled down the window. “Ready?”
Zane nodded and climbed in on the passenger side. “How was work?”
“Short.” Trevor smiled and slipped his phone into his jacket, backed his car around, and headed back up Juneberry Lane to the highway.
A half hour later Trevor pulled into the parking lot of the Veterans Center. Zane had been visiting the facility since he was a boy, after his dad started working there as a technology support specialist not long after he was discharged from the Army. When Zane was a soldier, he visited the place a few times, including when he was home on furlough from Afghanistan, but he hadn’t stopped by since. Every once in a while Dad would tell him about a group that was being held that he thought might interest Zane. His only remaining connection to the Army was his dad and his relationship with Charlie—and Trevor, of course, but Zane expected he would be leaving soon. He didn’t keep in touch with any of his fellow soldiers—except Casey, and that was through Simon. It had been a fluke that Trevor had written him and then shown up. They hadn’t been in touch since Zane gave up his phone.
“Want to come in?” Zane asked. “You can wait in Dad’s office after I head across the street to the attorney’s.”
Trevor shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”
Zane stepped into the building, said hello to the receptionist, and then headed back to his dad’s office. Dad was on the phone but when he hung up he said, “Brad is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” Zane said. He’d met Brad Garrett one time before.
“What did Tim say about you talking with a lawyer?”
Zane’s face grew warm.
Dad caught on pretty quickly. “You didn’t say anything to him?”
“Not yet.” Zane should have earlier that day, but it didn’t seem to be the right time. “I will, depending on what Brad says.”
Zane told his dad good-bye and made his way across the street and up the steps to the brick building, pushing open the heavy door. Then he headed up the staircase, stopped at the first door, and knocked.
Finally, someone called out, “Come in.”
Zane opened the door to the small office. Behind a desk stacked with files sat the lawyer, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He took them off and stood as Zane entered.
“Ah,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” He nodded toward Zane and then stared for a moment. “Your father told me you’d converted.” The man’s gray eyes twinkled. “For a girl, I heard.”
Zane smiled. “Is that what Dad said?”
The man cocked his head. “Well, maybe not in so many words.”
“It’s a little more complex than that,” Zane said, although chances were he never would have joined if he didn’t love Lila. He wasn’t entirely sure though.
Zane continued, “But she’s the girl I came to talk with you about. She was in a bad accident, almost two months ago.”
Brad nodded. Dad had probably explained what had happened. Zane went ahead and told him the story from the beginning, just so he’d have all the details straight. The man took notes as Zane spoke. When Zane finished, Brad asked, “How much are the medical bills?”
“I don’t have the exact number. They keep trickling in. But at last count they were over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“And how about lasting damage? What’s the long-term prognosis?”
He explained that Lila had just started doing PT. “We’ll have a better idea as far as her mobility in time,” he said. “Right now she’s walking with crutches.” Then he took a deep breath and said, “She saw a gynecologist today. Both ovaries have been compromised by scar tissue, one worse than the other. If she can get pregnant, she’ll probably have to be on bed rest and then have a C-section.”
“No children so far?”
Zane nodded. “We were planning to marry—” he exhaled—“last month. But we had to postpone it because of the accident.”
“It sounds like a clear-cut case. Why is the insurance company denying payment?”
“Because the driver of the SUV says Lila swerved in front of him—and he said that in the 9-1-1 call.”
“Did she?”
Zane shook his head. “At first she said she didn’t. Now, I think because of the conflict around all of this, she’s questioning what she remembers. She’s afraid that she might not remember the last seconds before the accident correctly, but I think the insurance agent planted that idea.” Zane leaned forward. “She’s a good buggy driver. Cautious. Firm with the horse. Lots of experience. By the time she was twelve she was driving her younger siblings to school every day. But she expects the best of people, and I don’t think she can fathom that someone would lie about this sort of thing.”
Brad pushed back in his chair. “Why do you think this person would lie?”
Zane shrugged. “Because he doesn’t want his insurance rates to go up? Because he doesn’t think an Amish person would sue him?”
The man nodded as he spoke. “Or maybe he’s about ready to lose his insurance. Have you Googled him? To see if he’s been in other accidents.”
Zane shook his head.
“What’s his name?”
“Donald Addison,” Zane said. “I’d say he was in his thirties.”
“You’ve met him?”
“No, but I saw him at the accident site. The agent called him Mr. Addison, but I remember him being called Donald when I saw him. It’s one of those things that stuck in my head.” Actually, every detail of that day was stuck in his head.
Brad turned to his keyboard and began typing. “We’ll see what we can do.” He read the screen for a moment and then said, “Here’s a Donald Addison. His address is listed as in Ephrata. He’s thirty-seven . . . and he was in an accident last January where a child was injured.” He looked up. “What was the date of Lila’s accident?”
“September seventeenth.”
“All right,” the man said. “So that would be two bad accidents pretty close together.” Brad kept his eyes on the screen. “Here’s another one, just over three years ago.” H
e turned toward Zane. “As far as his saying she’d pulled out in front of him in the 9-1-1 call, well, that just indicates he thinks on his feet. And the stakes were certainly high enough for him to come up with a quick lie.” Brad steepled his fingers. “So why would Lila want to sue? When the Amish don’t.”
“They usually don’t,” Zane clarified. “Sometimes they do.”
The man smiled, just a little. “Really?”
“I heard of a case in Indiana.” Zane’s face grew warm. It was actually the only case he’d ever heard of where an Amish person sued after a traffic accident. “I don’t know that she would sue. In fact, she very well might not. But I don’t think she understands how much the bills are going to add up to. Or that the driver could be lying about what happened to avoid responsibility.”
“But it will be up to her to make a decision on this,” Brad said. “Right?”
Zane nodded. He knew that.
“And you’re Amish too.”
Zane nodded again. “That’s right.”
“But you think suing would be the right thing to do?”
“Maybe,” Zane said. “At this point I just want to explore our options.” He cleared his throat. “I mean her options.”
On the way home, once they were out of Lancaster, Zane asked Trevor if he would take him by the lumberyard. “I need some more molding to finish the bathroom.”
“It won’t fit in my car,” Trevor responded.
Zane kept his eyes on a farmer harvesting silage. “I’ll get Reuben to cut it.”
Trevor nodded but didn’t say any more. When they reached the lumberyard, he parked in the middle of the lot, even though there wasn’t another car, truck, or buggy in sight. When he didn’t turn off the motor, Zane climbed out and walked by himself toward the building.
Reuben stood at the counter doing paper work. It took him a long moment to look up and acknowledge Zane.
Finally he said, “Oh, hello there.”
Zane teased. “Absorbed in your work?”
“Jah.” Reuben smiled. “A bit, I guess. What can I do for you?”
“I need some molding cut.”
