Do You Want to Know a Secret? by Mary Jane Clark Page A

very proud of you.
    I am proud of the way you always try so hard.
    I am sorry to leave you.
    Keep doing a good job.
    I love you very much and I always will, even in
    heaven.
    DAD.
    P.S. And remember, William, an elephant never forgets.
     
    He had known all of the words. He knew that heaven was the place people went after they died. Daddy was there now. It made William feel a little better to know where his father was and that he still loved him.

Chapter 25
    The black limousine carrying Louise Kendall, her son William and Range Bullock pulled up into the brick yard in front of Newark’s Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. Louise’s first awareness was of the crowds gathered outside. Police barricades had been erected to cordon off the inquisitive onlookers. Television news crews pointed their cameras in the direction of the limousine carrying Bill Kendall’s ex-wife and son.
    The limousine door opened and the three alighted. Louise adjusted her sunglasses, grateful for the protection against the bright sun and the penetrating stares of the curious spectators. She looked up toward the soaring granite towers. Their carved, gargoyled spires loomed imposingly. Turning to Range, she declared, “It’s breathtaking! It’s amazing something like this exists in Newark.”
    It took fifty-six years to build the cathedral. Upon its completion, a group of renowned architects had put their heads together and declared the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart to be the most perfect expression of the French Gothic in the western hemisphere. The cathedral itself covered an area of forty thousand square feet, an area almost equal to that of London’s famed Westminster Abbey. Its towers were higher than Notre Dame in Paris. The Cathedral of the Sacred Heart was a world-class cathedral, but until Pope John Paul II’s visit, the world hadn’t known about it. So taken with its splendor, the pontiff granted it the special title “cathedral basilica,” to acknowledge its rank among Christendom’s greatest churches.
    At the massive bronze front doors, a flock of clergymen in white vestments waited to welcome the physical remains of Bill Kendall and commend his spirit to God. The turnout of the religious was impressive. Louise recognized Thomas Gleason, the cardinal archbishop of New York, resplendent in his red cassock, white lace rochet and red mozzetta. On his head was a simple red skullcap.
    Next to the cardinal stood another man, smaller in stature, wearing a white chasuble trimmed in black and gold, and a high white arch of the miter, the official headdress of a bishop in the Roman Catholic Church. Obviously in charge, the archbishop of Newark stepped forward and extended his hand to Louise. “Mrs. Kendall, I am Theodore Sweeney.” He smiled sympathetically and murmured a few words about what a wonderful man Bill had been. Archbishop Sweeney turned toward William, reached out and put his right hand on the young man’s shoulder.
    Louise looked at their son. William was running his fingers under the collar of his shirt, uncomfortable in his tie. Poor kid. Maybe she had made a mistake in having him come today. She was having a difficult time being here. How the hell would William process the elaborate ritual?
    Classified as functioning mentally only as a nine- or ten-year-old, William sometimes amazed his parents with a special insight or observation. Louise was convinced that William’s brain itself was strong. It was his connective ability that was weak. People with Fragile X lacked a protein essential for making connections. Researchers were trying to figure out the protein. She prayed that someday there would be a manufactured protein for her son, like insulin for a diabetic. Gene therapy was also very promising. For now, though, the Ritalin he had been taking helped him focus a bit better.
    So far, his eyes didn’t have that panicked, overwhelmed look. Louise summoned up her trusty inner voice which told her again that she couldn’t