Chapter Eight
Los Angeles ran up from the ocean and into the surrounding hills, sending traffic towards the approaching Chevelle. Fighting first this stream, Rodger next noticed the smog—a dirty vapor atop the city from its elevated approaches to the blue Pacific. He sensed the energy and dissipation of the place. He would never feel so parochial and, at the same time, so comfortable with his own background as in L.A.
He did not know Veronica’s location. She had only given him a number to call, which grieved him. His more immediate concern, however, was for a place to make the call. The thought of calling from a pay phone was intolerable. He could not imagine initiating such a conversation along a street, in view of everyone. And, because he did not know Veronica’ location or even where she wished to meet, it was too soon to get a room.
After some thought, Rodger decided a parish might let him borrow a phone. Happening upon a Catholic church, he looked for the rectory. A sign on the front door, however, directed him to the parish office. Rodger and Mike found the office, where a further sign stated: “Office Hours.”
Rodger stood before the sign for a minute or two. He had never seen such a thing. “Office hours,” he thought to himself, “for a priest?” The juxtaposition of priesthood and bureaucracy was disconcerting. No longer sure he would receive a friendly welcome, he entered the office.
Except for pictures of Pope Paul VI and Cardinal McIntyre, it could have been a dentist’s office. The secretary, pleasant enough, asked if she could be of help. Rodger awkwardly said he needed to call his wife. The secretary paused for a moment and then explained that the parish did not have a public phone. Rodger said he understood and asked to speak to a priest.
This request the secretary accepted, with some displeasure. She asked Rodger and the boy to be seated. They sat down and, after a few minutes, a priest appeared. Dressed in black slacks and a gray clerical shirt, he said, “Do you want to speak to a priest?” The question seemed redundant to Rodger, but he answered “yes.” Without introducing himself, the priest then motioned Rodger to an office. Rodger told Mike he would be right back.
The priest’s office had a large desk with two chairs before it. Rodger sat in a chair, and the priest sat behind his desk. A bookshelf was packed with newer-looking books. Rodger noticed a stylized crucifix on the wall but little else he associated with clerical quarters.
“Okay,” Rodger began, “I know you don’t want people just using your phone for no reason, but I’m in a tough spot.” The priest said nothing. Rodger went on: “My wife left me three years ago in Kansas, and she’s here in L.A. I need to call her, but I can’t stomach calling on a public phone somewhere. I think she is in real trouble, and we might need some help.” Again the priest said nothing. He was in fact considering whether to ask Rodger if his wife was a member of the parish, but he decided against it.
“Your situation sounds difficult,” the priest said. Rodger just nodded, and the priest looked out the window.
“When was the last time you spoke with her?”
“When she called me this summer to say she was in trouble. She asked me to come out and get her.”
“I see. And you need to find her?”
“Yes, she left me a phone number. I guess she didn’t want to tell me more.”
“We have been working on a marriage ministry here in the parish,” the priest said. “Of course, you are not a member of the parish”—he paused as Rodger shook his head—”and we do not know where your wife is.” “I think,” the priest concluded, “that in this situation we can let you use a phone, and we’ll see where it goes from there.” He raised his voice slightly, signaling that the meeting was over. Rodger thanked him.
The secretary led Rodger to an unoccupied office. He took a folded paper from his wallet and hurriedly dialed the number. He did not want to think before talking to Veronica—it had never helped before.
A thin, nearly-choked voice answered. “Hello?”
“Veronica?” Rodger asked.
“Yes, hi Rodger. I guess you made it to town.”
Hearing his wife long distance had not prepared Rodger for the immediacy of this contact. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m not very well,” she answered. “I am staying with some friends. They take good care of me.” This last comment infuriated Rodger, but he did not know why. He thought of leaving Veronica in the care of her friends but choked back the impulse.
“Do you want me to come get you?”
“Yes. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon in Pasadena. It’s right next to the hospital. I should be done about four-thirty. How’s Mike?”
“He’s fine, or, well, I think he’s upset.” Rodger could have expected a number of questions from Veronica in past years on such a response, but not this time. She perfunctorily gave him the doctor’s address and said goodbye.
Retrieving Mike from the parish office, Rodger walked back to the Chevelle. He could have asked for directions first, but he suspected this also would be out of routine for the parish employees. He instead found a filling station, bought a map of the area, and talked to the cashier. At four-thirty, he and Mike were in a parking lot near Pasadena Hospital.
Thirty minutes later, they were still there. Sirens sounded as ambulances departed and arrived at the hospital’s emergency room. People entered and left the doctors’ complex, more leaving as the hour approached. Rodger saw an orderly push a small woman in a wheelchair from a side door. He was wondering whether he needed to get something for Mike to eat when the woman pointed to the Chevelle. The orderly pushed her towards them.
Veronica was too weak to prepare for this encounter. She had often thought that she would remedy any loss to Mike later, once she was degreed. She could work at a university, and perhaps he would attend some day. The work Rodger did disgusted her, though she had never admitted it to him. The intolerable thing would be for the boy to follow his father. Mike would be a professional, as was she. His prospects were better than Rodger’s, and he could support her in old age. This was her sacrifice.
Now, however, she could not graduate. An infection had gone untreated, sepsis had set in, and the internal damage was too great. Her consultation that day had ruled out further intervention.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Rodger knew his feelings. Seeing Veronica so reduced, so evidently mortal, drove his sentiments past all reserve. He was clutched with an infinite regret. If she were to die in the harness, living the life to which she had committed, it would have been a terrible loss. This death would only fulfill her earlier abandonment, leaving not a loss but a simple void.
Mike was entirely confused. He did not recognize his mother. He was repelled by the woman’s physical condition, and he did not understand why she was at their car. When Veronica managed to smile and say hello, Mike made no response. Rodger, perhaps gifted for this moment with social instinct, undertook to introduce the two.
The boy stood rigid and then rushed to her. He hugged Veronica though she could not respond. Tearfully, Mike told her about the book he had read on dolphins, adding that he was now in Third Grade. “Dolphins are mammals,” he said, “that means they breath air.” She dropped her head in exhaustion.
The orderly helped Rodger place her in the front seat. They drove to a nearby motel, where Rodger got two rooms. He helped Veronica into one and made her as comfortable as possible. He then took Mike and went looking for a different priest.