This Side of Heaven (15 page)

For now, that would have to be enough.

FOURTEEN

L
indsay was on her way to Josh’s apartment and she couldn’t shake the sick feeling surrounding her. She’d been in a fog since getting the news about her brother. Every hour of each day since his death, she’d walked through life like she was in some sort of trance, doing the next thing, breathing in and out and in again, but not sure whether she could make it through another day.

Her husband was being wonderful, taking care of the kids and giving her time to plan Josh’s funeral with her parents. Now, this week, it was time to go through her brother’s apartment and box up his things. Even the idea of such an action felt ludicrous. Her brother’s life reduced to a few boxes of personal items?

Lindsay pulled into the apartment parking lot and took the spot closest to his front door. Her mother had given her one of the keys, and the apartment manager had told them to take the rest of the month to go through Josh’s things. He’d already paid rent through the end of October. Lindsay wore jeans and a sweatshirt, and from the back of her Highlander she took out a stack of boxes and a dozen black Hefty bags.

She had no idea what she was about to encounter, but she had a feeling that over the next few weeks, they would learn more about Josh than they’d known before. The walk up to his front door felt strange, as though she were violating his privacy. Yes, she’d been here before—even recently—but to come here this way without him here . . . the whole trip made her uncomfortable.

Once she was inside, she was overcome by a rush of emotion. His cologne still filled the room, and there by the front door were his dress shoes, the ones he’d probably worn to Denver for his deposition. She had the saddest urge to call out to him, just in case everyone was wrong and he was still here, still sleeping off the effects of the pain medication.

Her mom was meeting her here, and Lindsay hoped she’d be here soon. This wasn’t a job Lindsay wanted to do by herself. She picked up her brother’s shoes and brushed off a light layer of dust before setting them back down. His kitchen was neat, the way he’d left it, and his mantel still held the three photos—the family shot, the one of the little girl who might or might not have been his daughter, and the other of the two teenagers. A heavy coat of pain fell across her shoulders as she stepped closer to that third photograph. She had asked Josh about it last time she was here, but he hadn’t gone into detail. Something about how the photo gave him a reason to believe that good could come from driving a tow truck.

Lindsay had told herself she’d get more details about the story later, when she wasn’t in such a hurry. Only now that conversation would never take place. She gripped the mantel and hung her head.
Lord . . . I want to know why these girls mattered to my brother. Please help me find the reason.

I am with you, My daughter.

The response whispered to the hurting places inside her, and Lindsay took them as a promise. Somehow she would know the story of the girls. She moved across the room to Josh’s computer desk. Two oversize file drawers made up the right side of the place where the chair sat. Lindsay took the chair and opened the top drawer.

At first, the files showed little promise of being anything more than old utility bills and auto loan statements. One file showed Josh’s bank records, and Lindsay pulled them out and studied them, feeling guilty. She still hadn’t deposited the six-hundred-dollar check from him. Even then, what the statements showed stunned her—Josh was living on barely any money at all, averaging a balance sometimes less than a couple hundred dollars through an entire month. All this time she thought he’d been bringing home his same salary through workmen’s comp, but apparently not. The amount going into his account every month was less than a thousand dollars. He had a balance of just over seven hundred now—barely enough to cover the check he’d written her.

No wonder he’d borrowed money from their parents once in a while.

She returned the bank records to the file, and there at the back of the drawer was a thick envelope marked with a single word: Accident. Lindsay picked it up and pulled it onto her lap. The details inside this envelope told about the event that changed everything for Josh. The event that killed him. Her eyes blurred with tears as she opened the envelope.

Inside was a set of letters paper-clipped together that looked like his initial correspondence with Thomas Flynn, his attorney. Beyond that were notices of hearings and details of his lawsuit against the drunk driver’s insurance company. At the back of the envelope was a clipped-together file of letters and a newspaper article.

She carefully slid the bundle free from the envelope and studied the last page of a three-page letter. It was handwritten to Josh by a woman named Karla Fields. Before stopping to read the letter, Lindsay thumbed through the next letter and saw that it was from a man named Bill Sedwick. The newspaper article was at the back of the stack. Lindsay carefully pulled it free from the others and set it on top.

It was printed from an online newspaper, and Lindsay felt her pulse quicken as she stared at the photos that anchored the article. One was of her brother, a head shot, probably the one on his work badge. But what caught her attention was the other photo. It was a staff photo taken at what appeared to be the scene of Josh’s accident.

The faces in the picture were the same as those in the photograph on Josh’s mantel.

Lindsay knit her brow and read the headline above the story.
Tow Truck Driver Hailed as Local Hero.
Her hands began to tremble. Local hero? What was this, and why hadn’t she and their parents ever seen the article? She began reading.

A local tow truck driver pulled two teenage girls out of the path of a drunk driver Saturday night, flinging himself in harm’s way and taking the hit instead, according to police.

Josh Warren, 25, was giving the girls directions when he saw the drunk driver careen out of control and head straight for them.

The article named the drunk driver, and the fact that he’d been convicted three previous times for driving under the influence.

“No question that the quick-thinking brave actions of Mr. Warren saved the lives of those two girls,” one officer at the scene reported. “Josh Warren is a hero by every definition of the word.”

The girls, Sarah Fields and Susie Sedwick, both seventeen, were unharmed in the incident, but Warren was unable to get completely out of the path of the vehicle. The blow knocked him to the ground and caused severe damage to his back and neck. He remains in the hospital in serious condition.

Lindsay stared at the words and tried to imagine again why her brother hadn’t told them these details. They knew he’d been hit by a drunk driver, but not that he’d saved the lives of two girls in the process. Why in the world would he keep a thing like that from them? The story hadn’t made the Springs newspaper, and so without hearing about it from Josh, there had been no way any of them might have found out.

She found her place and kept reading.

Witnesses at the scene said that the driver was slumped completely over the wheel when his car veered off course and hit Warren. Police at the scene determined that the driver’s blood alcohol level was nearly three times the legal limit. Charges are pending against the driver, who could stand to serve up to five years in prison because of his previous convictions.

Lindsay blinked and studied the photos once more. So that explained the picture on his fireplace mantel. He’d lost his health, his mobility, his career, and his ability to earn a living, but two girls were alive and well because of his actions. The drunk driver had been sentenced to four years, but Thomas Flynn thought he could be out anytime. No wonder the picture of the girls was a reminder. Lindsay could imagine that even on the most painful days, the photo gave Josh a reason to feel good about himself, about his actions.

Tears fell down the bridge of her nose onto the article and she set it on Josh’s computer desk so it wouldn’t get any wetter. The clipping was the first thing she was going to show her mother. She picked up the letter from Karla Fields. It was long and drawn out, but Lindsay read every word.

She wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for you,
the woman wrote.
I pray God blesses you mightily for your sacrifice. I will continue to thank Him for your act of service all the days of my life.

The letter from the other girl’s father was very similar. One paragraph read,
In our culture of self-serving, self-seeking young people, you give me reason to hope for our future. I’ve enclosed a photograph of the girls so you’ll always remember what your act of heroism meant to all of us. Thank you will never be enough.

Lindsay cried through the reading of both letters, touched to the core and yet not surprised that her brother would do such a thing. Hadn’t he looked out for her through high school and the years afterward, even though she was older? He was always putting more care into the lives of the people around him than worrying about himself.

Of course he kept the girls’ photo on his mantel.

She sat back in his computer chair and remembered a few conversations she’d had with her brother—especially the year after he started working as a tow truck driver.

“Mom and Dad aren’t happy about it,” he’d told her once when they met in Denver for dinner. “They want me to finish college and teach somewhere.”

Lindsay had wanted to stick up for him, help him so he didn’t walk away from the conversation feeling lesser because of his job. “They think you’re going through a phase. You’ll get back to school eventually.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then they’ll live with it.” Lindsay covered his hand with hers. “Besides, you look great in a tow truck.”

But the conversation came up a number of times, and always Josh couldn’t be convinced that his parents were proud of his work towing cars, even for one of Denver’s official police garages. His concern for what they thought only grew after the accident. Not only had the job failed to become something lucrative or successful, it had cost him his health.

Something else he’d said came back to her. It was after the accident, maybe six months or so. “After the settlement comes through I’ll open my own business, something Mom and Dad can get behind.”

Lindsay always felt sorry for him when the topic of his job came up, so she agreed with him, even tried to get excited for him. But it hurt her that Josh lived in the shadow of his parents’ silent disapproval. Now the reason he hadn’t shared about rescuing the girls seemed obvious. The act of pulling the girls from the path of the drunk driver wouldn’t be enough to gain their respect for his job. That would have to wait until he found another line of work—at least by Josh’s estimation.

The possibility that Josh was too embarrassed to tell his family about his rescue brought with it a fresh wave of tears. Her poor brother, suffering every day with his back pain and not feeling good enough about his heroism to share the details. Before she could look at the bottom file drawer, her mom walked in. She held on to the door frame and looked like she was being hit by a wave of the same emotions that had hit Lindsay half an hour ago.

“It’s wrong, being here without him.” Lindsay stacked the article and the two letters together and held them on her lap.

“I had the strangest thought that if I walked into his apartment he’d still be here.” Her mother came in and took the seat closest to the computer. “Like it wasn’t possible to be here without him.”

“Exactly.” Lindsay was about to hand her the information about Josh’s rescue when there was a strong knock at the door. Lindsay set the stack of documents on the desk and answered it. Standing on the front step were Josh’s neighbors, the couple with Down syndrome.

“Hi.” The young man pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He had a plastic bowl of eggs and he held them out to Lindsay. “I saw your car.” He leaned in and looked at Lindsay’s mother. “Yours, too.” He did a half bow. “I’m Carl Joseph. This is Daisy.”

“Hello.” Lindsay took a step back and welcomed the pair into the apartment. “You knew Josh?”

“He was our very best neighbor.” Carl Joseph’s eyes teared up.

Lindsay could see that her mother wasn’t sure what to say, so she took the lead. “Carl Joseph . . . Daisy . . . I’m Lindsay, Josh’s sister.”

“Yes.” Daisy had a bright orange beach bag over one arm. She looped the other through Carl Joseph’s. “Josh said you were his best friend.”

The ache in Lindsay’s heart doubled. “He was my best friend, too.” She pointed to the plastic container. “You brought some eggs?”

“Josh loaned them to us before”—he looked at Daisy, his chin quivering—“before he died.”

“We wanted to be good neighbors, and good neighbors return what they borrow.” Daisy took the eggs from Carl Joseph and handed them over. “You’re Josh’s family, so you can have them.”

“Okay.” Lindsay wanted to keep from crying, but she was losing the struggle. She set the eggs on the kitchen counter. “Thank you.”

Daisy rocked back and forth on her feet a few times, and she looked at Carl Joseph, then at Lindsay. “You know the story about the little girl?”

“The little girl?”

“On the fireplace.” Carl Joseph pointed past them to Josh’s living room. “That little girl.”

“When we came over here”—Daisy thought for a second—“because good neighbors visit each other”—she nodded at Carl Joseph—“every time, Josh would tell us a story about the two older girls.”