This Side of Heaven

  One look at Savannah and she was pretty sure who the father was. The infant didn’t have Raul’s dark skin or the Australian’s light blond hair. And by then Josh was the only person she knew who could help her financially. Raul’s words came back to her.

  “Get yourself knocked up and be set for life . . . a regular paycheck every month.”

  She made the call to Josh when Savannah was two months old. “How are those plans coming along?” That’s how she started the conversation, and on her end she crossed her fingers. “You a millionaire, Josh Warren?”

  “You gotta be kidding me.” He sounded hurt, like he was still angry at her for walking out that day in his hotel room. “Listen, lady, if I were a millionaire you’re the last person on earth I’d tell.”

  “Unless maybe I have news that might interest you.” Lying on a blanket next to her, little Savannah began to cry. “You’re a father, Josh. I had a baby girl and she looks just like you.”

  On the other end, he said nothing for half a minute. “You’re serious? You had a baby?”

  “I did. I want to share custody with you, Josh.” She waited a deliberate amount of time. “But I’m out of money. I need monthly support.”

  Whatever emotion Josh had experienced with the news, he buried it quickly. “How do I know she’s mine? You’re married.”

  “Not anymore. The baby’s yours. I’m positive.” Josh’s voice softened a little. “How can I believe anything you say?”

  Savannah’s cry grew louder, loud enough that Maria was pretty sure Josh could hear her over the phone lines. “That’s your daughter, Josh. Send us some money and you can come see her for yourself.”

  “You’re still in New York City?”

  “Yes. I’m serious. Help me out and you can call her your own.”

  Josh paused. “What are you looking for?”

  “Three thousand, maybe four. Enough for me and Savannah to get by.”

  Josh breathed in so loudly she could hear it. “Three or four thousand?” He released an angry laugh. “I’m still a tow truck driver, Maria. My plans haven’t come together yet.” He pushed ahead. “What if I come out there and meet you. For a weekend or so, something like that. If I could see her for myself then I’d know if she—”

  “No.” Maria was furious. “What are you saying? You have no money?”

  “Not right now, but . . .” He sounded angry and shocked, not sure what to say or believe. “Let me book a ticket. I’ll come in a few weeks and we can talk in person.”

  “Forget it.” Maria raised her voice. She had a baby to feed and a life to figure out. The last thing she needed was a guy without money. “Call me when your plans come through. Otherwise, I’m not interested.” She hung up the phone and didn’t hear from him again for a year. He called with just one question. Did she still think he was the baby’s father?

  “Of course.” She wasn’t any kinder to him than she had been the last time they talked. “Did your money come through?”

  “It will. I need you to do a paternity test, okay?”

  “Not without money.” Again she hung up on him. Three summers passed, and he called again and this time he told her things were looking up. “My plans are working out. Tell me what you need.”

  Maria was still single, still trying to make things work out in the city. But she needed money more than ever. “Four thousand. Not a penny less.”

  “Okay.” He sounded nervous. “I can do that. But I want something first.”

  “What?”

  “A photo. I’ll give you an address and you send me a picture of her. I won’t write a check until then.”

  Maria agreed, and she kept her word. The next day she placed a picture of Savannah in the mail. She called Josh a week later. “I told you. She’s your daughter.”

  “She—she has my eyes.”

  “Right, so when’s the check coming?”

  “As soon as I can pull the money together.” Josh’s tone took on a desperate quality. “I’ll get you money, Maria, I will. Maybe not four thousand dollars, but something. I want to take responsibility. I want to meet her.”

  “Are you kidding?” Maria considered ripping the phone cord from the wall and throwing the receiver across the room. “You don’t have the money? You lied to me?”

  “Come on.” He was pleading with her. “I needed to know. Now I only need to—”

  Maria slammed the phone back on the base and cursed him for being a failure. A few weeks later she found a package from him in the mail. In it was a plastic-framed photograph of Josh, and a hundred-dollar bill. Tucked in the envelope was a note in which Josh promised to give more money, only if she would let him come for a visit. The hundred came in handy for a few days, but Maria tucked the package in a dresser drawer and when she moved a few months later she didn’t give Josh her forwarding information. Since then, she hadn’t talked to him, hadn’t taken his phone calls. Once she could have sworn she saw him in Central Park, but she left before she had time to find out.

  The subway ground to a stop and Maria opened her eyes. Savannah was still sitting beside her, still watching her with those big blue eyes. Josh’s eyes. “We’re almost home.”

  “I guess.” She yawned and sat up a little straighter. Savannah’s father never had any plans at all. He was like all the rest. The subway reached 145th Street and she took firm hold of Savannah’s hand. They were home, and with this much money maybe she could get a good night’s sleep in her own bed for a change and try to forget about the past and Savannah and a blue-eyed dreamer named Josh Warren. A guy who wasn’t so much a high roller as he was like every other guy.

  Just another loser.

  Savannah didn’t really have her own room, just a corner halfway under a desk in the place where her mama sometimes slept. She wasn’t allowed on the bed, in case her mama slept there. But even when Mama didn’t, Savannah’s place was on the floor. Her head beneath the desk, feet sticking out. She had a soft sleeping bag and a nice pillow, and anyway, she sort of liked sleeping beneath the desk because the little area was dark and private, like a tent or a fort.

  Under the desk she kept all her treasures. There was a book called Heidi that some lady gave her when she was six and they were in Central Park, and a little plastic cross she got from her grandpa Ted before he died. Her grandpa told her about Jesus, but no one else ever talked about Him. It made her feel safe to think that someone like Jesus would care enough to listen.

  But her favorite thing under the desk was the picture of her daddy. It wasn’t very big and the black frame was cracked in two places. Savannah found it one morning in a box of things under her mother’s bed. “Who’s this?” She had held the picture up close to her mama’s face.

  Her mother smelled like beer, and her eyes didn’t open very wide. “That?” She laughed, but the sound wasn’t very funny. “That’s your daddy. He’s a real Prince Charming.”

  Later that day when her mama caught her looking at the photo, she grabbed it and threw it in the trash. But that night when Mama was drinking again, Savannah snuck outside and saved it. Mama didn’t know she still had it, but she did. And it was her most favorite thing because someday she was going to find him and that would make everyone happy. Mama told her all the time that life would have been better if she didn’t have Savannah.

  “I’m not a very good mother,” she would say.

  Some nights—though Savannah wouldn’t have told anyone but Jesus—she had to agree with Mama. Because some nights Mama grabbed her and shoved her under the desk earlier than her usual bedtime, and sometimes there was no dinner because there was no money from the people in Central Park. But the daddy in the picture gave her a reason to believe that Grandpa was right. Jesus had good plans for her.

  After all, her daddy was a real Prince Charming, if only she could find him.

  And what could possibly be better than that?

  FIVE

  Lindsay Warren Farrell was sorting through old magazines in a corner of her kitc
hen when the phone rang. The kids were at school and Larry was at work, so she didn’t expect the call to be from one of them. She looked at the caller ID and smiled. Josh. She hadn’t talked to him in a week, and she needed to catch up.

  “Hello?”

  In the background of wherever Josh was calling from, a familiar song was playing so loud Lindsay could hear it clearly. “Josh?” She could hear the words now, and she sat on the nearest kitchen bar stool. What was going on? Before she could ask whether it was really him or not, he spoke up.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes.” She managed a confused laugh. “It’s loud.”

  “I know it is.” Josh sounded happier than he had in years. “You won’t believe what happened, Linds. Six weeks ago I found the greatest song. Wynonna Judd was performing something live on country videos, and—”

  “Wynonna Judd?”

  “Yes! She was singing this same song, ‘I Can Only Imagine.’ So, I thought it was her song and I’ve been looking for it when I stop by the market—you know, in the CD section at the back. But then I had this idea to look online and sure enough . . .”

  “You found it by MercyMe?” Her smile spread down into her heart and soul.

  “Just now!” He sounded amazed, almost breathless. “Today I can honestly say my back pain isn’t the first thing on my mind. You know why?”

  “You’re too busy singing?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I’ve been playing it all day.” He rested for a few seconds, and when he started up again his pace was more controlled. “When I watched the video, I made a decision. Right then and there I gave my life back to Jesus and told Him I was sorry for every wrong decision I’d made without Him. I’ve been praying since then and, well, you know, just sort of thinking about how different my life should be at this point.”

  Lindsay could already feel the tears in her eyes. Sometimes Larry would see Josh’s name on the caller ID and walk away from it. “He’s always asking for money or needing some sort of handout,” Larry told her once. “He’s your brother, you deal with him.”

  But now Josh was proving why people could never, ever give up on someone they love. She’d prayed for Josh all her life—especially in the decade since he graduated from high school. Neither Josh’s choices nor the circumstances that came with them had ever brought him closer to God, but now maybe he was finally ready to stop running his life on his own. “Josh . . . I’m so happy.”

  “Me, too. It’s like I finally get it about God, about Jesus going to the cross and how He opened the gates of heaven for people like you and me. If we let Him, He’ll give us life here and forever. So now this is my song, you know? ‘I Can Only Imagine.’ ”

  Lindsay’s heart was so full she couldn’t speak. “Anyway, I called for a reason. Can I go with you and Larry and the kids to church this coming Saturday? Don’t you go in the evening?”

  “Six o’clock.” Lindsay felt like one of the townspeople watching Ebenezer Scrooge run around handing out gifts on Christmas morning. “You’re serious, right? You wanna go with us?”

  “Definitely.” He laughed and it was the laugh of a big kid, not a troubled young man in chronic pain. “Truthfully? I’ve been attending a Christian church with a few of my neighbors for the past five Sundays. I love it. Makes me not think about the pain so much, you know?”

  “Yes.” She felt hot tears on her cheeks and she dabbed at them. A picture came to mind: herself, Larry, Ben, Bella, and Josh sharing a pew near the front of their church on Saturday evening. “I’ll save you a spot.”

  “Come on, Lindsay.” He sounded like his old self, the way he was before the accident. “I know you better than that.” Another laugh. “My sister, Lindsay, on time? I’ll save you one.”

  The song was still blaring in the background, and Lindsay struggled to find her voice. “You know what this is, right?” She couldn’t wait to tell her mom about this phone call. Her parents went to the more traditional Sunday morning service, but this was one Saturday evening they needed to attend.

  “It’s a miracle.” Josh didn’t hesitate. “I could feel God doing something in my heart, changing me. But finding this song today—it’s like the whole world looks different.”

  A sound came from Lindsay, but she wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a cry. She put her fingers to her lips. “I’ve prayed for this moment for so long.” She walked toward the kitchen window and stared out at Pikes Peak in the distance. “With all your pain and the accident and the struggles you’ve had, I knew only God could bring you relief. And now—now look at you.”

  “You’re right. A week of days like this one and maybe my back will heal itself.” He sounded beyond upbeat, like he actually believed such a thing was possible. “If not, then I’ll wait for the surgery, but at least I won’t be walking under a dark cloud. Not anymore. I remembered this afternoon what Mom and Dad always told us: God has great plans for His people.” He laughed one more time. “Isn’t that great, Lindsay, because guess what? I finally believe it.”

  Lindsay told him again how happy she was for him and how she’d prayed for him and how different he sounded now that his faith was back in place. “The kids have a lot going on the rest of this week—piano, dance, football practice. Then there’s parents night at the elementary school. Bella won’t let me miss it. But Friday’s open.” Lindsay walked to the family computer and pulled up her iCalendar. “Come for dinner?”

  “I’m in court that day.” He didn’t sound weary or defeated the way he usually did when he talked about the hearings and depositions associated with his car accident. “Dinner would be perfect.”

  “Then on Saturday you can come to Ben’s football game. Mom and Dad will be there and we can go to church after.”

  “You might even be on time.”

  “Yeah.” She laughed at that. “Now that would be a miracle.” She was about to hang up when a thought hit her. “Hey, I’m running out to do a few errands. I have to take a dish by Mom’s house. Care if I come by? I’m not sure I can wait until Friday to hug you.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Lindsay ran a brush through her hair and checked herself in the mirror. She and Larry worked out nearly every morning, sometimes running the hills around their home. Her hours at the Gazette were manageable, eight to four with Sundays and Tuesdays off. If she needed more time at home, the editors were flexible, as long as her stories were in by Saturday at five. Life was good and healthy and it ran like clockwork.

  Only Josh kept Lindsay awake at night, wondering how she could help her brother, and whether he would ever turn back to the faith they’d shared as kids. And now . . . She grabbed the baking dish from the kitchen, a bag of clothes for the cleaners, and a few packages for the mail and hurried to her Tahoe parked in the garage. Now Josh was finally having the turnaround they’d all wanted for him.

  She stopped at his place first. She couldn’t wait to see him. His eyes would tell her how deeply he was affected by this revelation that God was on his side, that He still had plans for Josh even if they’d been derailed for a season. Her brother’s eyes.

  The apartment complex where he lived wasn’t the finest, and the few times Lindsay had been here she’d always looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. She’d talked to one of the news reporters at the Gazette once about whether the Garden Terrace Apartments were involved in higher crime than usual, and she was surprised when his check came back negative. “It’s in a questionable area,” the guy told her. “But that complex houses some physically disadvantaged adults. Most of them have been there for years, and that kind of stability usually makes a place safer.”

  Lindsay walked quickly, anyway. Fresh graffiti was spray-painted on the garbage Dumpster at the center of the parking lot, and one apartment had a broken window. But whatever she thought of the complex, she would need to spend more time here. Usually Josh discouraged her from coming, complaining that he was too tired or not ready for company. He seemed to pref
er their visits take place at their parents’ house. But maybe that would be different now, too.

  She knocked on the door and he opened it more quickly than usual. Was it her imagination or was he standing taller, straighter? “Josh . . .”

  The song was still running from his stereo system, but it wasn’t as loud as earlier. His eyes met hers and he held out both arms. “Everything’s going to be okay, Linds.” His voice was soft, full of the emotion he rarely showed. “It really is.”

  Her brother had been taller than her since her second year in high school, and at six foot four he had nine inches on her, easily. He’d lost a lot of weight, but he still hadn’t found the svelte athletic build he’d had as a teenager. Lindsay didn’t mind. She put her arms around him and pressed her head to his chest. He was a mountain of a man, and his extra padding made her feel small and safe in his arms.

  When she pulled away, she let her eyes linger on his and she saw it, the sparkle that hadn’t been there for three years. “You’re really back, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Like I just woke up from a nightmare.” He stepped aside and motioned for her to follow him into the apartment.

  She had a little time. The two of them moved into his living room. She set her purse down on his cleaned and polished coffee table and as they sat on the couch facing his fireplace, he grinned. “See, Linds. Not a single dish or piece of mail.” He gestured to the clean room. “Proud of me?”

  “I’m trying not to pass out.” She giggled. Her brother had always kept a messy room, even when they were kids. “Life takes too much time,” he used to say. But since his accident, the rest of the family worried that his dirty apartment was a symptom of his pain and possible depression. She surveyed the room, the way the furniture was in order, the clean windowsills, and she patted his knee. “I might have to hire you for mine.”

  They fell into an easy conversation and Lindsay turned the topic back to his renewed faith. “So you actually feel better today? I mean, your back doesn’t hurt as much?”