This Side of Heaven

by Karen Kingsbury

  Worthington flipped through another few pages. “More than one medical doctor has told you that your weight is a health risk, is that true?”

  More than one doctor? Josh’s mind raced through the possibilities, and then he remembered. The emergency room doctor who treated him in the hours after the accident told him he needed to deal with his weight. “However bad your injuries are, they’ll be worse if you don’t take care of your weight.” Josh winced as a wall of pain slammed into his lower back. “Yes. Two doctors. That’s true.”

  “Mr. Warren, do you need a break?” The judge’s voice held more compassion than Josh had heard from him since the deposition began. “We can take a ten-minute break.”

  “No, thanks. My back hurts either way, and I’d like to get home. I have dinner plans with my sister tonight.”

  “Very well.” The judge motioned to the attorney. “Carry on.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” He looked at Josh. “I’m going to read a statement written by your current doctor, and you tell me if it’s something you’re familiar with. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Josh hated how they talked to him, like he was a third-grader caught cheating on a math test. Did the guy really think Josh was making up the pain? That if he wanted to, he could drive down to the garage and start towing cars again tomorrow? He gripped the edge of the wooden desk in front of him and waited.

  “Here’s the statement: ‘It is my opinion that my client, Josh Warren, age twenty-eight, could experience dramatic improvement in the condition of his back injury if he would lose weight.’ ” Worthington paused for effect. “ ‘It is nearly impossible to determine how much of his current pain and disability is caused by his excess weight, and how much is caused from being hit by the car.’ ”

  Josh remained calm. Flynn had warned him the insurance company attorneys might take this angle, accusing him of destroying his own health and thereby calling into question whether the accident had really been that damaging. “Don’t worry about it,” Flynn had said to him that morning. “Even if you’d walked away without an injury, if the only reason you couldn’t go back to work was an emotional one—like you’re too afraid to drive a tow truck now—a settlement would still be in the works. The insurance company’s client was drunk out of his mind. He drove off the road and hit you, nearly killing you. Your weight isn’t going to factor into the judge’s decision whatsoever.”

  Josh blinked. “Yes, I’m familiar with that statement.” Why didn’t the guy ask him about the weight he’d already lost? He was down sixty pounds from the time of the accident. He was exhausted and ready for his next pain pill. God . . . please get me through this.

  “And is it true that you’ve been told by your doctor that surgery on your back isn’t advisable until you lose another forty pounds?”

  “Yes. I’ve been told that.”

  Worthington ran his thumb across a section of text at the middle of the page. “What was your weight when you graduated from high school, Mr. Warren?”

  “One ninety.”

  “One hundred and ninety pounds, is that right?” He cast a knowing look at the judge.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And your weight at the time of the accident?”

  “Two ninety-five.” Josh could hardly believe himself as he said the number. How had he let that much weight pile up over the years? More than a hundred pounds? No question the doctor was concerned about his weight. The fact that he’d already lost sixty made him determined to stay the course and get back under two hundred again.

  Worthington raised his brow. “Two hundred and ninety-five pounds? That was your weight at the time of the accident?”

  “Yes, sir.” Josh felt the demons behind him again, poking a hundred pointy knives into his spine. I need You, God. Make them go away.

  My strength is sufficient for you, My son. Trust in Me. . . .

  I’m trying, God. . . . I’m really trying.

  Worthington turned the page and hesitated. “I have here”—he held the document up for the judge’s sake—“a study done last year determining that people with morbid obesity—more than a hundred pounds over their ideal weight—are more prone to injuries on the job. I’d like to admit this document into evidence, Your Honor.”

  “Objection.” Flynn was on his feet, his eyes blazing with indignation. “Unless that study involves my client personally, it’s only hearsay and has nothing to do with my client’s specific situation.”

  “Sustained. Relevance.” He peered down at Worthington. “You should be familiar with the rules of evidence in a case like this.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” The attorney didn’t look too upset. He probably expected the admonition, but either way, the information was out there. Heavy people were more prone to injuries.

  Josh looked at his attorney, and he could almost read Flynn’s eyes. The report about overweight people wasn’t something he needed to worry about. Again, he didn’t fall off a ladder or slip at the coffee counter. His weight had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been hit by the drunk driver. He took a few short breaths through his nose, expecting the pain to prevent him from inhaling fully. But the pain seemed slightly less intense than a few minutes ago. Thank You, God. . . . You’re holding me up. I can’t do this without You.

  I am with you. . . .

  “You have no children, is that right? No dependents at all?”

  Josh paused, but only briefly. “I have a daughter.”

  His answer seemed to catch Worthington off guard. Like Flynn had said, the insurance company preferred Josh to be single with no children. But Worthington covered his surprise well, barely hesitating to regroup.

  He leveled his stare at Josh. “Were you considering a medical disability before the accident, Mr. Warren?”

  The question seemed to come out of nowhere. “I’m not sure what . . .” He glanced at Thomas Flynn. “Could you restate the question?”

  “At the time of the accident, were you planning to take medical disability?” His words were fast, rapid-fire, and aimed straight at his motives for filing suit.

  “No, sir. I had no such plans.”

  “But your weight was making it difficult to keep working, right?”

  “No, sir.” He kept his voice in check, but his anger was rising. Flynn had warned him about this, too, and at previous depositions the insurance company’s attorney had tried similar lines of questioning. Planting doubts, that’s all the guy was doing. Josh steadied himself, forced himself to keep his answers free of emotion. “I had no plans for a medical disability.”

  “And because of your weight, you were struggling to keep up your production with the other tow truck drivers at the garage, isn’t that right, Mr. Warren?”

  “No, sir.” He adjusted his feet, but the move brought no relief to his back. He was pretty sure if someone walked behind him they would see flames where his spine was supposed to be.

  “And after the accident you were almost glad to have a reason to go out on medical disability, isn’t that right?”

  Josh hesitated, his eyes locked onto the attorney’s. Before he could answer, Flynn was on his feet again. “Objection. Counsel is harassing the witness, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.” Again the judge gave Worthington a look that told him he was in danger of crossing a line. “Change your line of questioning, Counsel.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I apologize.”

  “Carry on.”

  Worthington kept the questions coming for another ninety minutes. He asked Josh about his days at home and whether he was able to sit for an hour at a time, and if so was he aware that a majority of desk jobs didn’t require more than an hour of sitting at a time, and had Josh considered looking for a job, or was he content to sit back and let an insurance company take care of his needs. Thomas Flynn objected a handful of times, but at the end of the questioning the damage was done. If Josh had been a prize-fighter, at the final bell he would’ve been bloodied and battered on t
he ground in the middle of the ring—victim of a knockout by decision.

  One thing was sure. Whatever settlement this case netted, Josh would have earned every dollar several times over.

  Flynn called a brief recess and he talked to Josh in the hallway. “You look tired.”

  “I am.” Josh’s body was screaming for another pain pill, something that would give him relief from the fire in his back. But the pills could make him loopy, and he needed to stay sharp just a little longer. “My sister’s counting on me for dinner.”

  Flynn was a family man, an attorney dedicated to seeing justice done. He liked to gamble, but he also believed in miracles. Both made him the perfect attorney as far as Josh was concerned. Flynn looked at Josh with compassion. “I’m sorry about your pain.” He put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “But I need a few minutes in cross. Something to bring a little balance back.”

  “I thought you said the judge wouldn’t consider that stuff—my weight and whether I wanted a disability or not. Which I didn’t, by the way.”

  “I know, and I told you the truth. None of that should matter.” He folded his arms and released a frustrated sigh. “But at the end of the day, the judge is as human as the next guy. Deciding these cases isn’t based on an exact formula.”

  “Okay.” Josh could no longer draw a full breath. He would exist on short gasps and forced exhalations, the way he had learned to do when the pain was this bad. “I can last another few minutes.” He still had the hour-long drive back to the Springs, and it was almost five o’clock.

  The break ended and Josh took the stand again. Flynn was deeply competitive when it came to law. Josh knew that from the private conversations they held in his attorney’s office. Flynn had taught him every way to win the case from the witness stand, training him with more care and detail than any of Josh’s baseball coaches ever had. Now he donned a look of kindness and empathy. “You doing okay, Mr. Warren?”

  Josh almost smiled. The tone of the question, the wording, was intended to make one very clear point: that Worthington had all but whipped and beaten Josh in the earlier session. “Yes, sir. I’m okay.”

  “Is your back hurting?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On a scale of one to ten, on the pain scale used by doctors, where’s your back pain right now, Mr. Warren?”

  Josh didn’t hesitate. “A nine, sir.” A ten happened when he could barely breathe at all. He was close, but for now he was still at a nine. Flynn let that detail sink in for a few seconds.

  “Okay”—he looked at his notes—“you said your weight was two hundred and ninety-five pounds at the time of the accident. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Josh didn’t worry about where Flynn was headed. His track record left no room for doubt, no matter what the line of questioning.

  “Can you tell this court how many days of work you missed in the month leading up to your accident?”

  They’d been over this a number of times, analyzing the actual employment records from the garage. “None, sir.”

  “Very well.” He glanced down at the notepad in his hand. “How many days of work did you miss in the six months leading up to your accident?”

  “None, sir.”

  Flynn looked impressed. “Okay, Mr. Warren, how many days of work did you miss in the year leading up to your accident?”

  “Not one, sir.”

  “You were hired by the North County Police Garage four years and three months before your car accident, is that right?”

  Flynn knew it was. Josh had worked at a smaller garage for a few months leading up to that move. Working for a police garage meant he had the chance to go out on police calls and tow cars from crime scenes and accident locations. The work was much harder than what he’d done before—towing stalled cars and parking violators from private strip-mall spaces—but it was more pay and more prestige. It hit him again, how much he’d lost because of the accident. “Yes, sir. I worked for North County for more than four years.”

  “And during that entire time were you morbidly obese— at least a hundred pounds overweight?”

  The question no longer shamed him. He could do nothing to change the past. “Yes, sir, I was.”

  “And how many days did you miss work the entire time you were employed by North County Police Garage?”

  “No days, sir.”

  “No days!” This time Flynn stepped just far enough out of his quiet, compassionate role that he could have won an Oscar for his show of surprise. Anyone in the courtroom would’ve guessed that this was new and shocking information to the veteran attorney. “Very well.” He looked down at his notes.

  Josh was ready to go. He felt his feet tense up from his effort to try to remain upright. Help me survive this, God. . . . I need You. He shifted again and this time he found a small pocket of reserve stamina. Enough to survive. Thank You, Lord. This is temporary, I can feel it. I’ll get through this deposition, and the next, and one day soon I’ll have that surgery. You’ll see me through it, I know You will.

  I am with you always, My precious son.

  Josh felt a peace push back the demon of pain.

  “Now, about your weight.” Flynn lowered his notes. “You were two hundred and ninety-five pounds at the time of the accident, though you missed no days because of health issues in the more than four years you worked for the North County Police Garage. Is that correct?”

  “Objection.” Worthington stood sedately, adjusting his cufflinks. “We’ve been over this, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.” The judge gestured for Flynn to move forward. “Counsel is correct. You’ve established the information about the plaintiff’s work history.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.” Flynn looked contrite. He paused to gather his thoughts. “What is your weight now, Mr. Warren?”

  “Around two-forty.”

  “Two hundred and forty pounds?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you’ve lost a great deal of weight since your injury, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir, nearly sixty pounds.”

  “Are you on a diet to lose weight?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Would you please tell this court why you’re on a diet to lose weight?”

  “Because”—Josh pressed his hand into his lower back— “I need surgery on my back and the doctor thinks it’ll be more successful if I’m at a normal weight.”

  Flynn hesitated. He lowered his notes and shot a piercing look at Josh. “Did you enjoy your job as a tow truck driver, Mr. Warren?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Tell us in your words what being a tow truck driver meant to you.”

  Josh hadn’t been expecting this question, and he was surprised at the emotion that welled up in his throat. “I think—I think my family wanted me to be a teacher or a writer, maybe a doctor. They wanted me to go to college after high school. But I’ve always liked the idea of driving a truck.” He shrugged, and the movement sent a different pain down the length of his back. “As a tow truck driver I could help people. They might’ve been in an accident or the victim of a crime, and, I don’t know, I liked being there for them.” He worked to keep his composure. “I loved being a tow truck driver, sir.”

  “But you’ll never be able to drive a tow truck again, is that right?”

  The detail wasn’t something he liked to think about. “Yes, sir. My back—even after surgery—will be too unsteady for that sort of work.”

  Flynn nodded, his eyes deep with compassion. “I have one last question for you, Mr. Warren, and remember you are under oath.” He looked at his notes again, letting the drama build. “You stand to win a large sum of money in this case. Right now, if you had to decide between going back to the day before your accident and being a tow truck driver for life or winning two million dollars in this lawsuit, which would you pick, Mr. Warren?”

  Josh’s throat felt scratchy and his eyes stung. “I would go back . . . to the day before the accident.
I would have my health and my job, which is all I ever wanted, anyway.”

  Flynn nodded slowly. Then he turned a grief-stricken face to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  The deposition was finally over. Josh didn’t know a lot about the field of law, but he had a feeling that if this were a football game, Thomas Flynn had just scored the game-winning touchdown. Out in the hallway he shook his attorney’s hand. “You’re good.”

  “You’re better. Sitting up there and taking that garbage from the other side.”

  He needed to understand one thing before he could leave. “Two million? I thought we were asking for one.”

  “I filed an amendment. With all they’ve put you through, and with the new information from the doctor about the impossibility of you returning to your preferred line of work, I changed the amount.” They started walking down the hall. “And you know what?” He stopped and gave Josh a sad smile. “I think we’ll get it.”

  Josh was in the car five minutes later, sorting through the center console of his old Mustang for a bottle of Oxy-Contin. It was six o’clock and he wasn’t due for another pill until he turned in for bed. But if he wanted to breathe on the drive home from Denver, he would have to take the medication sooner than later.

  He found what he was looking for and dug around the floor of his car through a stack of legal documents and an old McDonald’s bag until he found a warm bottle of water. He opened it and downed the pill before he could give the move a second thought. One day he’d have to figure out a way off the pain meds, maybe with some of that two million dollars Flynn was going to get him. He held his breath and prayed the OxyContin would work quickly. He had a court case to win, a surgery to schedule, an old girlfriend to find, and his God to fully reconnect with. Most of all he had a little girl out there who needed her daddy.

  For now, an addiction to OxyContin was hardly on his list of concerns.

  SEVEN