(2012) The Court's Expert Page 8

  “Oh, I didn’t do any such thing,” she protested, but Larry interrupted.

  “No, please hear me out. Thinking about it, you helped unleash some memories that were ready to burst inside me. I don’t know what would have lain ahead for me if you had not been there when you were. It’s like a boil that can’t be seen, because it’s inside the body. It should be lanced and this one was last night. I can’t really express how much better I feel since the catharsis of last night. Thanks be to God for the fog!” he acknowledged with sincerity.

  “But if you don’t mind,” he offered, “I would like to finish the part about my wife’s ordeal. Okay?”

  “Certainly, there’s no turning back,” and a very attentive Maria offered her continuing support.

  “Well, as awful as the crime was, no one meant for Anna to be injured much less killed. Two drug-addicted youths tried to grab her purse while she was entering her car in a parking lot at a big department store in Pasadena. Anna was very athletic and with her purse let one of the guys have a roundhouse blow that staggered him. An off-duty policeman saw what was happening. The kids started to run, and he yelled for them to stop. One of them turned toward the officer and pointed something at him. He thought it was a gun and prepared to fire at the kid. Just as he did so, the door to the store was opened by a customer who had no idea what was happening. The officer’s arm was bumped, causing the gun to discharge just when the door swung outward, but a wild shot was tragically fired. Anna was killed instantly. Turns out the kid was just trying to show the officer his driver’s license. He did not have any weapons on him. Since Anna was killed during the commission of an attempted robbery, the felony murder rule applied, and the kids each got twenty-five years to life.

  “The boys had no criminal records, but had no business pulling such a stunt. They came from good families and were terribly remorseful. As much pain as our family suffered, some of us felt the sentences were too harsh given the circumstances. I’ve had a difficult time reconciling all of this, as you must know by now,” Larry sighed heavily.

  “You amaze me,” Maria said, staring at Martorano. “Such anguish over losing your wife who you obviously cherished and were devoted to. Then to see the additional misery of the families of the young men who made such stupid mistakes. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

  “Well, that’s it. It’s all out of my system now. I’ve never been able to put the whole story out to another person and gain so much relief and liberation in the process. You know, you really are good at listening and supporting. Maybe you should consider changing your major to social work with a minor in angeling!”

  “I doubt that I could bring the same level of empathy to all my clients,” she ventured, returning his gesture at humor. Larry fell silent.

  When breakfast was finished, Larry was at the window checking for visibility at ground level. Satisfied it was safe to embark on the trip to the south they “broke camp” and made for the parking lot. They found Larry’s truck first, piled in, and drove around the lot to locate Maria’s car. She led the way, and they drove caravan style to her home in Tulare. Their good-byes were short yet heart felt, and Larry continued the short second leg of his trip to Tipton.

  5

  Semester’s End

  May 1984

  Three months later, Larry, tempting tardiness again, made his way quickly to the professor’s office to check the mailbox. He noticed some bulletins and the usual stuff about clearing out offices now that the spring semester was coming to a close. He grabbed the short pile with his name attached, and a sealed envelope dropped onto the floor. He reached down, picking it up without noticing the personal salutation to him. He was very nearly late to class, so placed the mail on the desk and departed for his last class of the semester and possibly the last class of his short teaching career.

  The session was most useful, with everyone resonating optimism about careers and the future. You had to love them. Farmers were a resilient and optimistic lot, which reflected their intimate contact with renewing life cycles as they dealt with the challenges of annual successes or failures of crops and livestock production. Larry checked the cafeteria one last time before leaving campus, maybe for a very long time. He had hopes of seeing Maria and had checked absentmindedly from time to time, yet his efforts were never rewarded.

  Maybe something today, he thought. Nope, no such luck. He picked up a coffee to go and returned to his temporary office of the past semester. Fiddling with the stack of mail and fliers, he reclaimed the small envelope. As he opened it, he sensed that it was out of the ordinary. He was not, however, prepared for what he was about to read.

  “My dearest Larry, Querido Mio–

  “How many months have I longed to see you again and feel your caring arms surround me in all ways imaginable. You and your life, your incredibly sad life, are in my mind constantly, and I miss you beyond words. I am tempted time and time again to seek you out in the cafeteria, since I know your teaching assignment is almost finished, yet I feel uncertain about ever seeing you again.

  “Whatever the future holds for each of us, I will always have the memory of the miracle of our love, my darling. Yes, I am carrying our baby. And please, do not be angry with me for not telling you sooner. In my defense, I had to work out my own emotions before sharing this wonderful news with you! Forgive me for the delay. At least, I am reconciled to the glorious future ahead and can share my feelings openly.

  “Papa and Mama are delighted, although many hours of conversation, and more in prayer, helped all of us reach this point in our lives. Please do not worry about the baby and me. You see, we have decided that my parents will help raise the baby as their own, so you will be spared expense and embarrassment. I hope you understand, since you are the best thing that ever happened to me in my short life.

  “I love you beyond words. I could not make this sacrifice for our child if I did not feel so deeply for you. Please understand that my family will manage this challenge without revealing our secret to anyone, so do not be concerned about your future. There will be no complications, I promise you.

  “My prayers are with you, and I hope you find the peace you deserve with someone who can love you as fully as I do. I am forever grateful that you shared with me your deep insights and feelings about life, and led me to emotions I could never have imagined.

  “All my love, forever and ever, Maria

  “P.S. No one knows for certain, but Mama says the baby is a girl. If so, we shall name her Guadalupe, after her auntie!”

  Larry tried, over and over again, to reread the letter, but could not. Tears flowed down his face in rivulets, a tragic reminder of their only night together. He felt, in successive waves, overwhelming rushes of self-doubt, guilt beyond relief, and inexplicable elation. His legs no longer bore his weight, and he sank into the nearest available chair, sitting motionless for the longest time. His breathing pattern changed radically, perhaps permanently. He struggled with his thoughts, usually so organized, but now pouring through his mind without restraint in a barrage that he could barely manage much less comprehend. He was physically dizzy and dared not try to stand. As he became oriented again, he recollected his thoughts, grateful no one was near to observe his plight.

  ***

  Over the ensuing weeks and months, Martorano’s efforts to contact Maria proved futile. If he reached someone at her home in Tulare, a polite voice encouraged patience, but no one returned his repeated calls. His letters were likely unsuccessful in reaching Maria, judging at least by the total lack of response whatsoever. He drove to the house on occasion, and while never certain whether anyone was home, no one ever came to the door. He never talked to anyone in Maria’s family and had no way of discovering that Francisco Figueroa’s firm hand engineered a final arrangement that left Larry forever excluded and shunned by the Figueroa clan. Mr. Figueroa firmly believed that if Guadalupe were to become legitimized by Martorano she would as much as vanish from her own heritage, given the differenc
es of social rankings, if nothing else. He was the patron of his household, and he decreed, in no uncertain terms, there was to be no contact with Martorano or any of “his people.”

  Larry forced himself to conclude that Maria and her family were handling the issue in their stoic manner, without resentment perhaps (he had no way of knowing differently), but definitely without his involvement.

  The very idea of his existence was being challenged, or so it seemed. Yet, somehow, and without reconciling it in his mind and heart, he was able to accept the Figueroa solution to this problem. Still, he took his responsibilities seriously. He respected the miracle that life is. In his mind and heart, he felt blessed that he had fortuitously bred another daughter. Strong paternal instincts kicked in from this knowledge alone. He wanted to help and forwarded a ten-thousand-dollar check to the family to cover expenses. When the check was processed and included with his bank statement, he examined it carefully. He found a tiny inscription in the left corner near his name and address: “Muchichimas gracias por todo—Amor y paz, M.” (Thanks so very much for everything—Love and peace, M.) Ah, finally, some form of contact! He pulled this check from the others, meaning to find a place for it in his permanent mementos, although he was still pensive about what the future would bring.

  Larry regained his composure and began studying the furnishings of the borrowed office that he was vacating now that he had fulfilled his teaching assignment. His memories of this place and the conjoining of souls with Maria would never fade. Never fade, he repeated to himself. The extra key was left in the desk drawer as he had agreed. As he exited the office, the door hastened to close forcefully behind him, shoving his reluctant body into the hallway, and the latch clicking noisily and emphatically behind him. There was no going back. He muddled his way to the parking lot to find his pickup truck and make the lonely commute to his home, all the time mired in a web of colliding and unresolved thoughts and emotions.

  6

  Diagnosis

  June 1991

  “Yeah, Doc,” Martorano was saying, “it does seem as if I’ve had more head colds in the last few years, and my sinuses drive me bats sometimes.”

  Charles Felton, MD, gazed absentmindedly out the window in his upscale Visalia office. He caught his fingers walking up his smock to the pocket containing his Marlboro hard-pack cigarettes and nervously jerked his hand away. Too early, wrong time, and wrong place. An oft-repeated habit these days.

  “In fact, I seem to have more nasal action than I recall from earlier days. Whaddya think, Chuck?”

  The two men were well acquainted. Over the years, Dr. Felton, a common-sense internist, had performed some miracles for Larry and his family. Larry had the utmost trust and confidence in his personal physician, and he would not make a move without his advice. Larry was in the office today not because of any big problem with his head colds, but he was sure as hell annoyed. It was getting to the point where taking the time to simply blow his nose frequently was very irritating, not just the tissue involved, but having to interrupt some operation at work to take care of the problem. It was a big nuisance. Larry wanted relief, and he realized his energy level had slacked off considerably besides. Not a good situation for a very busy farmer.

  “We’ll get you over to see Dr. Schnoz. Actually his license is issued to Barkley O’Connor, MD. That’s just our nickname for him. See Peg on your way out, and she’ll make the appointment. He’ll probably get a film and take it from there. A good man, board certified. You’ll be in very good hands. His office is in this building, real easy to find.”

  Larry followed the instructions. Peg called ahead, reached the ENT’s receptionist, who reported that there had been a cancellation that morning, and Larry was welcome to come over in twenty minutes. Larry accepted the appointment, and Peg gave him detailed instructions to find Dr. O’Connor’s office. Looking over his shoulder for no particular reason, Larry caught sight of Charlie lighting up his fourth cigarette of the morning. He made a mental note to return and counsel his physician friend about his harmful habit. Larry had kicked the addiction years ago and had become somewhat strident afterward, yet he was truly concerned about the welfare of his medical chum.

  Larry arrived at the doctor’s office, signed in, filled out new patient forms, and found his way to the magazine rack. This was good news. There was a wide variety of periodicals, including a current copy of the New York Times, somewhat of a novelty in these parts. As he reached for the newspaper, he heard his name called: “Mr. Martorano, the doctor will see you now.”

  Larry was pleased with the promptness in the office, although a bit disappointed to miss the news from the Times, since it was unusual to find a copy less than twenty-four hours old in this neighborhood.

  Once in the doctor’s examining room, Larry recited his recent history and symptoms. Dr. O’Connor questioned him about his efforts to treat the problem, and Larry explained the mundane steps he had taken.

  “Any blood tests? Any films taken?” the doctor asked.

  “No, nothing so far,” Larry replied.

  “In that case, I’d like you to take a short hike to our radiology department. It’s in the next building to the west of this one. They’ll be able to help this morning if that’s convenient for you. It’s important that we get a better look at what might be going on in your sinuses and lungs. Have you had an X-ray of your sinuses?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Larry pondered searching his memory. “This trouble only started during the past winter, but I can’t seem to get things cleared up. That’s why I came to see my good buddy Charlie, down the hall. He sent me over here just a minute ago.”

  “Yes, and we’re keeping an eye on him, too,” O’Connor mumbled, mostly to himself. “We’ll get a sinus X-ray or two, and I suggest a fairly new diagnostic study called a CT scan. There’s more information with the scan, yet both studies are useful. The radiologist will send a report to me, and my office will let you know what he says.”

  “What’s in the cards, Doctor?” Larry inquired.

  “Hard to say before I get the report. I review the films myself. We’re looking for blockages of the sinus cavities. If your films are negative, that is, if nothing out of the ordinary is discovered, then we’ll prescribe some medicine you can take either orally or by inhalation. When we find a blockage, we normally go in and surgically open up the sinus for you. When it drains and heals fully, you will feel like a new man. I know. I’ve been through the treatment as a patient at Stanford Medical Center. A vast improvement, in my case at least. A week after the procedure, I was back to leaping over tall buildings,” and he cackled a nervous laugh for Larry.

  “And we’ll do a complete blood work up for you. No telling what we might find. I see you’re a farmer, so you are at greater risk in this Valley than those of us working inside all day. LA thinks they have a dirty basin. They ain’t seen nothin’ compared to the bucket of the great Central Valley—Bakersfield to Redding—hundreds of miles long and it can get real plugged up with irritating pollutants. Throw in an occasional inversion layer when the weather is foggy or hot, and you’ve got some real hazardous living conditions. The cotton seems to do okay, however. This is the most fertile growing area on the planet. But you knew that already.”

  Larry appreciated his new medical specialist. He was well informed and had concern for his patient’s circumstances . And Larry felt confidence in O’Connor’s manner and self-assurance. The doctor called his nurse into the examining room and directed her to take some blood from Larry for analysis. Almost as an afterthought, he ordered an immune globulin test along with the ordinary blood studies.

  Larry surrendered the blood, which was then placed into several glass tubes. Following instructions, he found the radiology department with little effort. X-rays, he was familiar with, but he was certain he had never submitted to a CT scan in the past. He had no difficulty with the procedures, and he was informed that Dr. O’Connor’s office personnel would be calling him within t
he next seventy-two hours to report the results.

  Since it was lunchtime, Larry decided to drive to Finni’s Restaurant for a meal and some tough memories: still no word from Maria over all these years. His child, whom he had never seen or met, must be in elementary school by now. Well, if he had learned anything from farming all his life, he knew that nature ruled, sometimes mercifully, sometimes forgivingly, and sometimes ferociously. All without an offer of any explanation or apology.

  As he drove southbound on Mooney Boulevard, he realized he had not returned to this part of town or to Finni’s Restaurant since Guadalupe, that must be her name, was born. My God, that’s several years by now. Wait a minute. Did he drive past the place? Then another shock. Finni’s was gone; the building had been razed, and a music store stood in its place.

  If that doesn’t beat all, he mused to himself. Well, he still had an appetite, and it was lunchtime, so where to go? He thought of some options: the Depot, a very charming restaurant in the remodeled Southern Pacific Railroad station downtown, and, of course, the Vintage Press (the VP), a few blocks west of the Depot. Too bad Estrada’s restaurant was closed these days. He decided on the VP and headed the other direction on Mooney Boulevard to reach his destination. He arrived a couple minutes after one o’clock and found the congenial owners, John and Arlene Vartanian, inviting and cordial as always.

  He recalled a wonderful evening some years back when he had stopped in for dinner. Sitting in the cocktail lounge he learned the story of how this remarkable and devoted couple had managed to remodel the restaurant and move the establishment into the top of its category; it was now one of the finest eating establishments in the region. As he thought back about what John had relayed to him, he realized what an incredible task they had undertaken. Their efforts returned dividends beyond measure, and they had attained, if not exceeded, their goals in the process.