Chapter One
Mike stood in the stillness of his early morning bedroom, uncertain what to do. The window was open, and the hum of a salt-mine ventilator came through the dark air, still cooling from the day’s heat. Mike had packed the evening before and was too excited to move.
His father, Rodger, had finally saved enough leave from the mine for their trip. Mike was uncertain how long they would be gone. He had not seen his mother, Veronica, for two and a half years. He still remembered her, but she must have changed by now, he worried. He was much different at eight than he had been at five and a half; maybe she was the same way.
Rodger and Veronica had married in a Catholic ceremony in 1960, the year before Mike’s birth. They married young, but Hutchinson was a prosperous place, and Rodger was sure of employment in the Carey mine. They bought an old clapboard house, ignored air conditioning, and lived frugally. Rodger expected the house would fill with children, Veronica would care for them, and that he would support her and the children.
In 1963, however, Rodger began to wonder. He and his wife were healthy, and she had weaned Mike. But her period stayed regular, and she started talking about a career. Maybe she could take some classes at the junior college, she said. Her mom could look after Mike while she was busy.
Halfway through 1964, Rodger decided something had changed. Veronica gave no indication she planned or even hoped for more children. The extra bedroom remained unfinished, and she spoke of commuting to Wichita for classes after junior college. “What’s going on?” he finally asked.
Rodger was of ordinary intelligence and not very articulate. Especially when an issue seemed too big, he felt adrift and unable to express himself. He also loved Veronica, which made it worse.
Veronica straightened, looked down, and smoothed the lower folds of her blouse. She said, after a time, “I spoke to Dr. Arnold.”
Rodger was astonished. Although he had wondered at the lack of a second pregnancy, he had also expected Veronica not to understand his meaning. That she so quickly addressed a concern of his without repeated questioning was unknown.
“What’s wrong?” was all he could say. There was nothing obviously wrong with Veronica, Rodger knew. If anything was wrong, it was deep inside.
Veronica, however, did not seemed alarmed. This confused Rodger further. Looking up with both confidence and defiance, she spoke of a pill which let her to go to school. “A pill?” Rodger asked, “why do you need a pill? Are you sick?” “No, not at all,” Veronica answered.
Rodger gradually understood. He connected her infertility and prolonged education with this revelation about a pill. He felt nausea as the adrenaline hit. His wife had betrayed him, despising his body as much as she despised her own.
Rodger was raised to walk away from conflict. Unusually strong and usually lacking words, he had learned not to fight. So he left, confused less by Veronica’s duplicity than by the fact she now began to cry.
They did not speak about it again. Rodger consulted his parish priest, who suggested patience. Rodger was not sinning, the priest said, and perhaps Veronica would come about with time. But time was the problem, Rodger thought. They were already in their mid-20s, and Veronica had not yet completed her degree.
Rodger retreated and bought his first luxury, a new Chevy Chevelle. The money intended for children was going unused. He nevertheless settled for a Straight-Six instead of the V-8. Veronica’s education was not that expensive, he reasoned, and his wife and child were not heavy.
Veronica got her bachelor’s degree in 1966, the year Mike began school. The new parish priest, Rodger heard, was quietly telling people the Church’s teaching on contraception would soon change. Many other things had changed at the parish, including the Mass and the nun’s habits. The priest said the Church was going back to its origins, but Rodger wondered how Catholics had made it so far if birth control were the original plan.
Mike knew nothing of this in his kindergarten year, of course. He knew he had no brothers or sisters, his mom was gone a lot, and that his parents didn’t talk much. His experiences were otherwise normal, and he was excited to start school.
But Veronica was not yet done. Her decision to begin graduate school led to a total estrangement from Rodger. For two and a half years, Mike lived with his father in the old clapboard house. In July 1968, however, the pope said contraception was wrong. And in July 1969, a man walked on the moon. Rodger told Mike they were going to California to bring home mom.