No Mountain Too High

Six weeks after the accident, my phone rang. It was Rick. “I have completed my investigation of Stacey’s accident and met with the insurance adjuster,” he told me. “Ned, there is no doubt that the driver was not at fault.” I paused to let this news sink in. “I was expecting that, Rick. In a way, this takes an enormous burden off of me. I can’t imagine how I would deal with the anger I would feel if he had done something wrong.” Rick went on in a tone mixed with professionalism and empathy. “As I think you know, even if the driver were at fault, the damages in the case of a child’s death are very small.” “Yeah, I remember that from my law school days.” Rick continued. “However, the insurance adjuster has become very caught up in Stacey’s story. As she interviewed people, she kept hearing about what an amazing person Stacey was. In fact, she kept working on the case from an interest point of view.” In a strange way, this gave me some satisfaction. “In any event, she is willing to recommend to the insurance company that they make a significant payment to Stacey’s fund.” By then, many friends and family had been generous with their donations and, along with Stacey’s savings, payment from the firm’s group life insurance policy, and a contribution from our family, her fund had grown to a significant amount. A payment from the accident would take the fund to a level that would allow us to salvage something positive from our tragedy. “Thank you, Rick, for all your help. I’m glad I don’t have to focus on the cause of the accident anymore. It was very consuming.” “Ned.” “Yes, Rick?” “There is one more thing. The driver desperately wants to meet with you and the family.” “Yeah, Rick, I heard the same thing from one of the lawyers here at Borden, Elliot.” “What do you want to do, Ned?” “Let me think about it.” For the remainder of the day and deep into that night, that is almost all I thought about. I wondered was he old or young; was he a good person or bad; what could we possibly say to each other? Even if he was innocent of any wrongdoing, he was still the person who drove the car into Stacey and killed her. In some ways, the driver was the last person I wanted to meet. At the same time, I felt drawn to him. After all, he was there, his life and what remained of Stacey’s crossed at that moment in time in a way that would forever change my life. I canvassed Cheryl and the girls. Cheryl left little to doubt. “Ned, you do what you want. I want nothing to do with him.” Marni was more ambivalent, but finally decided she just could not handle the emotion of such a meeting. When I asked Jacqueline, she just looked at me as if I had grown antlers. I didn’t want this encounter, either, but it felt like something that needed to be done. The next day, I phoned Rick and asked him to set the meeting up. Rick made the appointment for first thing Wednesday morning, October 18, at his office, which was not far from mine. “Ned, I have written a complete report on the accident. Why don’t you and I have breakfast before the meeting? I can give you the report then.” We arranged to meet at 8:00 at a restaurant across from his building. I hung up the phone and felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. I had no idea what this meeting would be like or what it would accomplish. There was nothing in my experience on which I could draw to help me envisage what would transpire. By then, all I knew was the meeting was going to take place and I could not resist the force that was moving me towards it. I arrived at the restaurant before Rick and took a table that allowed me to watch the front door. The restaurant was starting to fill up with the Bay Street crowd, but I remained oblivious to them. When Rick arrived, I was already full of apprehension. Quick pleasantries were exchanged, and I reached for the envelope he had removed from his briefcase and put on the table beside him. “We better order some food, Ned.” Rick approached everything in life with passion, including, and maybe especially, food. I answered in the affirmative, but I was not hungry. All I could do was stare at the envelope. Rick ordered a breakfast a lumberjack would be proud of, and I ordered a bagel and tea. I turned the envelope around several times in my hands, not rushing to open it. I knew that Rick’s work would be thorough, that he had done what I had asked him to do — that the truth about how Stacey died would be in that envelope. He had not sealed it, so all I had to do was lift the flap and slide the contents out. There was a covering letter from Rick, a memorandum to his file, a police accident report, the driver’s statement to the police, and the statements to the police given by several eyewitnesses. I read in the letter the words: “…the accident was unavoidable. There was nothing that the third-party driver could have done to avoid hitting Stacey.” I read on. “For whatever reason, Stacey simply left the curb. The third-party vehicle was traveling at approximately the speed limit. Evidently, Stacey was standing between two poles when she left the curb. A combination of the poles, Stacey’s own inattentiveness, or the setting sun in the west might explain why she did not see the car approaching. It was also apparent that she had her Sony Walkman headset on, which, presumably, would have impeded her ability to hear the oncoming traffic.” I felt my throat tightening up. “Immediately upon impact, Stacey was thrown some substantial distance in the air. Apparently she did a number of somersaults before landing squarely on her head. She was unconscious at the scene and never regained consciousness.” As I began reading this last sentence, my legs started to shake uncontrollably and tremors spread throughout my body until I was twitching like someone having a seizure. Then I struggled to make out the words because I could not clear the tears from my eyes. Rick asked, gently, “Maybe we should put off the meeting to another time?” I slowly regained my composure. “No, Rick, I still want to go ahead with it.” I continued to read the letter. “From a medical point of view, there is nothing that could have been done differently. Stacey was fatally injured at the scene and died without hope of recovery…” When I had finished the letter, Rick and I sat without talking. Finally, I said, “So that’s it. There is no one to blame.” “That’s right, Ned.” I could put out of my mind any thoughts of suing the driver, as well as any doubts about the medical care Stacey had received. Rick knew what he had to do and had done it well. I was ready to meet the driver. Rick escorted me into a small meeting room. The insurance adjuster, a woman, having been caught up in Stacey and her story through her investigation of the accident, had wanted to be at the meeting. She was in her mid to late forties and was wearing a bright summer dress, reflecting the continuation of the summerlike weather throughout that fall. She remained in her seat as I entered the room. She had a warm smile for me, but when our eyes met, I saw a flicker of apprehension. The only other person in the room was the driver. He stood as I entered the room and I looked at his face. He had a dark complexion, with features that subtly revealed his Southeast Asian roots. We were about the same height, five feet eight inches, so our eyes met directly. I saw no fear, no uncertainty, no nervousness, just pain and need. I felt numb. I already knew he was an engineer, drove a dark green BMW, and had a responsible position with a large corporation. Frankly, the details of his life were unimportant to me. I stood frozen in place until Rick pointed to one of the empty chairs across from the door. The meeting table was round and of modest size, so there were no chairs that implied any stature or predominance. Intimacy was assured. There was no agenda. I had no idea what I would say, and apparently neither did he. We all just sat in silence for a few