Call a Friend

“What’s wrong, Josef?” It was his friend and confessor, Monsignor Rafael Mendoza.

Ranell sat staring out of the window of his hotel room, looking out at the last rays of sun staining the horizon with indescribable shades of pink and violet. This time of year, the California sunsets were spectacular. The beauty was a solace for his battered soul. “She’s leaving me.”

“Ah…” There was a long pause. Ranell had been discussing the state of his marriage with Mendoza for many months, so the bad news did not surprise him. “How bad is it this time?”

“She’s served papers at my office,” Ranell answered flatly. “It’s over.”

“I’m so sorry, Josef.” The deep sympathy expressed by a man he trusted eased Ranell’s heavy burden.

“Thank you, Rafael.” Ranell typically addressed his friend as Monsignor. His use now of the priest’s first name was an instinctive reflex in response to genuine compassion. “But maybe this is all for the best.”

“It is unfortunate, yes.”

Ranell knew that Mendoza disapproved of divorce. But he also knew that Mendoza would never condemn him for it. So, the priest’s next question didn’t surprise him.