This Side of Heaven

by Karen Kingsbury

  He’d told Josh the truth—they were close to a settlement. A month, maybe two. Three at the absolute most. The judge was tired of the defense’s attorneys, a trio of three overpaid suits who apparently made billing the insurance company something of a sport.

  There were requests for delays due to scheduling conflicts and corporate meetings and the attorneys’ inability to gather proper evidence. More delay requests came with the revelation of even the slightest new detail in the case—usually provided by Josh during a deposition. The idea that his doctor had asked him to lose weight before he could have back surgery, for instance. Something like that single detail could send the defense into a tailspin after which it would take four weeks to right itself.

  The judge knew how the game was played. Deny a motion and the case could get thrown out on appeal. So he’d been patient, narrowing the window of extension as much as possible. If the defense asked for six weeks to examine and prepare for a response to some new detail, the judge would generally grant them three.

  But the game was winding to a close—all parties could feel it, and Thomas had been through enough of these to know the signs. Already the defense had agreed that there was liability on the part of its client, the insurance company. The admission meant the judge would decide the settlement amount, which was far better for the defense than the alternative. No culpable deep-pocket client wanted a jury trial. Not when its insured was a drunk driver who hit a guy in the act of being a hero.

  The determination that there would be no jury was, in theory, intended to make the process simpler. For that reason, the defense could only push the process so far without making a mockery of it and angering the judge. And the defense definitely didn’t want an angry judge when it came time to determine the settlement amount.

  Even so, on this Monday morning Thomas had expected to find a copy of yet another motion on his desk. After all, Josh had revealed something fairly dramatic in Friday’s deposition.

  Josh had an heir, a daughter.

  He raised his right arm over his head and leaned it against the cool glass window. Annie Warren didn’t know how her son had died, just that he’d gone to sleep Friday night and never woken up. Some of his colleagues could hear this sort of news about one of their clients and be laughing over coffee and doughnuts in the break room ten minutes later.

  Not Thomas.

  Josh mattered to him, same as every client he ever represented. He handled personal injury cases because he enjoyed breaking stereotypes. Not all attorneys who looked for victim settlements were ambulance chasers. Some, like him, took on clients who really had been hurt by the misdeeds of someone else. Thomas liked to think of himself as a modern-day Robin Hood of sorts, taking money from the rich and guilty and putting it in the hands of the poor and damaged.

  But now that would never happen for Josh, and Thomas asked his secretary to hold all calls. He would need a day to regroup, to figure out what to do next in Josh’s case. Thomas squinted against the glare of the late September morning. If he’d known something was this wrong with Josh, he would have driven home with him or taken him to a hospital.

  What happened to him, God? Josh’s weight was down, and mentally he seemed more able to handle the deposition than on past trips to Denver. So how did he die in his sleep? Thomas turned and leaned against the windowsill. As he did, his eyes fell on a small plaque that stood on his desk. His wife had given it to him because it contained one of his favorite Bible verses.

  In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28.

  He read the words three times over, but still he wasn’t sure. All things? He had loved God all his life, and Josh had come into a stronger faith in the last month or so. But how could his death now work to the good for anyone? Especially Josh’s parents. Thomas sighed and the action slumped his shoulders some.

  He returned to his desk and stared at the documents spread out before him. Josh’s deposition from Friday’s hearing. The page that troubled him in light of the news was toward the end, the place where Josh was asked whether he had an heir. The question wasn’t a surprise to Thomas, of course. He had prepped his client that the topic was bound to come up the way it always did in a settlement case.

  “You don’t know the girl, and you can’t be sure she’s your daughter,” Thomas had advised Josh every time the subject arose. “If they ask you about having an heir, I’m suggesting you tell them the truth—that as far as you know, you have none.”

  “But that isn’t the truth.” Josh had always seemed genuinely baffled by the recommendation. “I have a daughter, and most likely she lives somewhere in New York City.”

  “Just because you sleep with a woman and she has a baby doesn’t make the baby yours.” Thomas never wanted to sound cruel, only factual. “The woman wasn’t trustworthy. She was married and she was looking for an affair. Now, because there’s a child involved, it’s become an emotional issue for you. Take your feelings out of it and see the situation for what it is.”

  The reason Thomas was concerned, and he’d explained this to Josh, was because of his parents. Josh owed them just over twenty-five thousand dollars, and since the accident they had taken responsibility for him, sometimes driving him to appointments when he was in too much pain to move, following up with Thomas after a hearing or decision by the judge on one or another motion by the defense, and being his sole emotional support system.

  If by some terrible series of events Josh were to die before the settlement came through, his parents deserved the money. Thomas even spelled that out for Josh, but he was still adamant. “If one of their attorneys asks me on the witness stand if I have a daughter, I’ll tell them what Maria Cameron told me. Savannah is mine. That’s what I believe, and so that’s the only truth I can give.”

  Thomas read over that part of Josh’s deposition again and the beginning of a headache started near his temples. He had no choice but to find the woman, to let her know about Josh’s death and the pending settlement. If the search panned out, and if Savannah really did belong to Josh, then his parents would be repaid everything he owed them but not a penny more. The rest of what could be a two-million-dollar settlement would go to Savannah, by way of her mother.

  Thomas pictured his client, the sincerity in his eyes. Kind, loyal Josh. For him, giving an answer in favor of Savannah was never about losing his settlement money to the girl’s mother. Rather his testimony was a public validation of his love for the child, his determination to find her one day and share custody of her. In Josh’s mind, he was Savannah’s father. Period. He would do anything for her.

  But what about Annie and Nate Warren?

  The scenario raised the temperature in the room and made Thomas anxious to find out the truth. He stared at the deposition and shook his head slowly. The odds of Josh being the girl’s father had to be slim. A woman like Maria Cameron could have slept with ten men that week and her husband, too. She wanted money, nothing more. That’s why she’d called Josh looking for child support when the baby was a few months old. But she’d given up too easily, in Thomas’s opinion. If Josh were really the girl’s father, Maria would have checked in at least once a year to see if Josh had come into a better financial picture.

  Thomas turned his chair so he was facing his computer. Josh’s parents didn’t know about this twist in the case yet, but eventually Thomas would have to tell them. Especially if somehow Josh’s suspicions turned out to be true. Thomas remembered something Josh had told him about his parents and their opinion of Maria Cameron. “They don’t believe I’m Savannah’s father.” Josh’s disappointment had sounded with every word. “They’d like to forget I ever went to Las Vegas.”

  Thomas felt the same way. He signed in to an online service his law firm subscribed to, one that allowed access to information that could help locate a person of interest. In the search line he typed Maria Cameron, and for city and state he entered New York, NY. In almost no time the searc
h turned up six women by that name. But the one that interested him was several years older than Josh, with a criminal record.

  He double clicked that entry and a host of information appeared. Thomas scrolled through it slowly. The photo was taken during a booking for prostitution, and it showed a woman who might have been attractive at one time. Strawberry-blond overprocessed hair, pronounced cheekbones, and sunken eyes.

  According to the file, she’d been arrested six times over the last several years for charges ranging from drugs to bad-check writing and sex for sale. He pulled up the most recent report, from over a year ago. At the bottom it showed the details of the woman’s arrest.

  Suspect is female Caucasian, age 38. She was booked for suspicion of offering sex for sale, and at the time of arrest it was discovered that she had a minor child with her, a six-year-old daughter. Suspect was brought to the precinct, booked and fingerprinted, and held overnight pending formal charges. Minor female child was turned over to suspect’s roommate, Freddy B. Johnson.

  Below that the document listed Johnson’s address and phone number—the only phone number the suspect gave, according to another paragraph written by the arresting officer. Thomas jotted down the number and did a quick check on the other five women named Maria Cameron. Each of them was married and without any sort of police record. Thomas had a strong hunch he’d found the right Maria Cameron with his first guess.

  With everything in him he wanted to rip up the piece of paper with Freddy Johnson’s phone number and explain that he’d tried to find the so-called heir of Josh Warren, with no luck. But all his life God had dictated his decisions, and that was especially true in his law practice. Josh claimed to have an heir, and it was the responsibility of Thomas and his staff to see that the claim was checked out, one way or another. Even if the news would be crushing to Josh’s parents.

  He picked up the receiver, dialed the number, and leaned on his elbows. After four rings an answering machine picked up. “Leave a message at the beep,” was all the gruff voice said. The beep came quickly and Thomas hesitated. “Uh . . . This is Thomas Flynn, attorney for Josh Warren. I’m looking for a Maria Cameron and need her to call me back. Her daughter may be the sole heir and recipient of a settlement from a pending lawsuit.” He rattled off his office and cell numbers twice, and then hung up. He’d done what he needed to do.

  Now he could only pray that what happened next would fall in line with the Scripture on his desk, and that all things really would work out to the good of those who loved God.

  Especially for the grieving parents of Josh Warren.

  TWELVE

  It was a perfect day for a wedding, a beautiful fall Saturday bathed in cool blue sunshine and framed in green leaves with a hint of orange and yellow. That was the only thing Annie could think as she slipped into her dress and applied a second coat of mascara. Thoughts like that helped her stay sane, made it possible for her to get through the day without breaking down and never getting up again.

  She repositioned a few loose strands of hair and lifted her gaze to the bathroom window and the blue skies far beyond. Back when Josh and Becky were serious, they had sometimes talked about wanting an early fall wedding. Annie could hear her son now, the timbre of his voice, the sparkle in his eyes when Becky was near.

  “October,” they used to say. “That’s the perfect time for a wedding.”

  Annie had to agree. The dry heat was behind them and snow was still a month or more away. Resorts and cruises gave great deals in October and beaches were warm and empty, with schoolkids back in class. Annie spritzed hair spray on her long bangs. Becky Wheaton had arrived yesterday, still single and lovely, and she was staying in their downstairs guest room. Family had flown in from Maine and San Diego and Atlanta, and everyone was meeting at the church in an hour. Only this wasn’t the wedding Josh had looked forward to.

  It was his funeral.

  Annie had survived the last week on God’s strength alone, she had no doubt. But she did her part by keeping busy. Josh was her baby, her only son. She wasn’t going to tell him good-bye without creating a movie of his life and a printed program that people could take home to remember him by. The program was first, and Annie got it off to the printer on Tuesday. The movie took longer.

  Annie used the iMovie program on her Mac and mixed short video clips of Josh’s life with still photos and occasional titles or bits of text until she had a seamless production nearly an hour long. Then she dubbed in music where it applied, using songs that spoke of a life gone too soon and the sadness of saying good-bye.

  Late last night, Annie and Nate had previewed the movie through teary eyes and Annie found herself thinking of Babette and the others who had the nerve to look down on Josh. Whatever his situation at the time of his death, the movie had enough highlights to leave a stunning, poignant picture of Josh’s life. His blue medal in the fifth-grade all-area track meet, the trophy for his Pinewood Derby car the year he was a Boy Scout, the time he emceed the talent show for the eighth-grade graduation party.

  One memory after another combined to tell a story other people might’ve forgotten: that Josh had been a success at one time. Never mind the fact that there were only a few photos and no video after he began working as a tow truck driver. This was how Annie wanted to remember him, and it was how she hoped everyone at the funeral today remembered him. The way he was before he lost sight of his dreams.

  Nate found her in the bathroom still messing with her hair. “You ready?”

  She took a last look at herself in the mirror. Wasn’t this how it felt when Lindsay got married, everyone in town for the occasion and the rush of getting ready for a meeting at the church? She swallowed back her tears. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Me, either.” He put his arms around her. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  It was the sort of thing they’d been saying all week, even as they met with the funeral director and purchased a casket and made plans to bury Josh in a cemetery at the base of his favorite mountain. How could he be gone? What was this crazy chain of events they were caught up in, and why did it still feel like they could pick up the phone and call him or hear a knock at the door and find him standing there, looking for time with his family?

  The walk to the car, the trip to the church—all of it passed in a blur. The service was set to start at eleven o’clock, and in the minutes before, Annie looked around and felt pierced with disappointment. The church was barely a quarter full, forty-five, maybe fifty people in attendance. Mostly family and a few of Josh’s friends—Becky, Keith and his wife, and a handful of people Annie vaguely recognized from the horrific minutes spent in Josh’s parking lot a week ago. Two more were signing the guest book at the back of the church.

  Keith was a pallbearer as were Nate and Annie’s two nephews, Josh’s cousins from Maine. Again there was that uncanny similarity. The flowers marking the front of the church, the candles, the guest book. The dark suits for the pallbearers and the boutonnieres for the lapels of the men’s jackets. It was the party Josh always hoped to have one day, with everything but the bride and groom.

  Annie glanced over her shoulder again. There should have been more people than this, more lives touched by her only son. Where were the people they entertained? The ones whose kids had gone to school with Josh? Were they too busy to come, or had time created that much of a chasm between their lives and Josh’s?

  Tears stung Annie’s eyes and she leaned closer to Nate. I loved you, son. Your father and I loved you. Lindsay, too. That’s all that matters. And God, You loved him, too, right? You loved Josh? Annie suppressed a wave of panic, because what if Josh didn’t love the Lord? He’d loved Him as a child and even as a high schooler. But lately? Annie wasn’t so sure.

  She dismissed the picture of Josh missing church and seeming distant from God in recent years. That wasn’t the Josh she remembered, and now she had to believe with every breath that he wasn’t the Josh God remembered, either. Please, God. . . . Reme
mber him the way he was. No one can snatch Your people from Your hand, right? Let that be true for Josh, please. . . .

  Her eyes fell on the casket at the front of the church. It was covered with a spray of red carnations and next to it, propped up on an easel, was a framed photo of Josh in hiking shorts and a white T-shirt, a picture taken by Lind-say when the two of them climbed lower Pikes Peak a year before the accident.

  The sound of quiet sobbing came from Lindsay, who was sitting on Annie’s other side. Lindsay had her head on her husband’s shoulder, and next to him, Ben and Bella sat quietly, with their eyes downcast. Lindsay tried to talk to her a few times this past week, something about a music video and Wynonna Judd, but the distraction of phone calls and the movie Annie had been making and the details of the service always stopped them from finishing the conversation.

  Annie made a point to get the details later. For now she could only stare at her daughter. Her brother had been her best friend all her life. She would never be the same without him.

  Music started, the haunting refrains of a pipe organ playing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” and Annie tried to believe it. With everything inside her, she tried. But all she could think was if God was faithful, if there was no shadow of turning with Him, then how come Josh was in the wooden box and not in the pew with the rest of the family?

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine new mercies every morning, when every day for the rest of her life she would wake up and experience the same realization. Her only son was dead. God . . . I can’t do this. I can’t live without him. Please, take me home so I can hug him one more time.

  The service was over quickly. A pastor from the college ministry shared a brief message because he was the last person Josh ever connected with at the church, back when it looked like he might finish college and become an educator and go the path of his parents.