CHAPTER EIGHTEENCarolyn Horton pushed the sleep mask from her eyes and reached for the bedside telephone. She knew even before the caller asked if this was indeed she, knew who was calling and what the message would be.
“Mrs. Horton, this is Father Wyshinsky at Kaiser Hospital in Oakland. I’m the chaplain on duty. I’m calling about your husband. I think you’d better get down here quickly.”
“Father Wyshinsky?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What kind of father is that?”
“Roman Catholic, Mrs. Horton. From the Diocese of Oakland.”
“There must be some mistake. We’re not Catholic.”
“Doesn’t matter, ma’am. We work in rotation. I just happened to pull the duty tonight. Mrs. Horton, I don’t mean to be discourteous, but I really think you ought to hurry.”
“Couldn’t it wait till”—she blinked at the beside c
