Do You Want to Know a Secret? (16 page)

She’d reassure Pete later. She hated to see him hurting.

Pete, her lover, her own. She still marveled at the fact that he found her so desirable. No man had ever wanted her the way Pete did. It was a precious dream come true.

But what if people found out? If they knew, she’d be unable to push for Pete in executive meetings. And then what? Pete wouldn’t like that. She knew it made him happy when she boosted his career. And she so wanted to make Pete happy.

Again, Yelena thought of Bill. Just last week, he had come to her and told her to watch out for Pete, that Bill suspected Pete was too close to the Wingard campaign and wouldn’t be able to be objective in reporting on the presidential race.

Yelena looked over at Pete. She wasn’t going to confront him. And with Bill dead, she didn’t have to make that choice.

Yelena was paying no attention to the Scripture reading. Instead, she looked across the aisle at Louise and William Kendall. Bill had loved that kid so. This whole thing was sad. But she wouldn’t cry, not here, not in public. The president of
KEY News
had to appear strong.

Chapter 28

He had agonized
over what he was going to say. According to the Church, his must be a spiritual discourse to the congregation, not just a recap of the man’s life. Father Alec was well aware that the funeral was not really for Bill Kendall. It was for the people left behind, for family and friends in mourning. It was for the people attending, reflecting on life and death and what Christians believe about the meaning of life and death. Bill Kendall no longer needed to be consoled.

From his position on the altar, Father Alec looked out at the nave of the cathedral. It was full. He recognized many faces. He supposed that the highest ranking would be the vice president of the United States, though there were others sitting there today who had more power. He noted male and female TV personalities and anchorpeople, show business faces, political types and even some foreign dignitaries. He had seen the secretary general of the United Nations arrive. There were hundreds of others he did not recognize. Father Alec could only speculate on who they were and what they did. Try to remember this, he thought. You won’t see an assembly like this again.

When the cathedral had been planned, it had been thought that it would be a worshiping place for wealthy Catholics. But Newark’s fate had dictated the cathedral’s. Its primary use now was for large ceremonies such as the ordination of new priests. The elite lay population which sat there today was an anomaly.

Archbishop Sweeny loved it. His cathedral . . . showcased on national television today. For once, not the innocuous second fiddle to Saint Patrick’s. Father Alec looked over at the cardinal archbishop of New York, sitting across from Sweeney in the sanctuary. He wondered just how bugged Gleason must be, watching Sweeney sitting in the cathedral, the throne of marble with the crest over it, the bishop’s chair.

So far, so good. The bishops had taken off their miters and readjusted their skullcaps. Sweeney’s beanie was the violet of the bishop, Gleason’s the cardinal’s red. The deacon was proclaiming the Gospel.

Father Alec was nervous. Bill Kendall had requested that the young priest deliver the homily. Archbishop Sweeney hadn’t been thrilled. That would normally have been his domain. Though Father Alec didn’t like the idea of stepping on his superior’s toes, and he was nervous at the prospect of addressing this daunting group, he wanted the chance to speak at the funeral of the man he had come to know and respect. Father Alec was keeping his promise.

The time came for Father Alec to mount the steps of the ambo, the elevated marble pulpit on the right side of the altar. The ambo’s marble had come from the same quarry as the marble for Michelangelo’s
David
. At the bottom of the curved staircase leading up to the speaking platform were two statues, St. Francis de Sales and St. Cyril of Alexandria, the patron saints of wisdom and brevity, respectively. His hands briefly touched the feet of both saints as he began his climb. Please God, let me do this right.

He looked out at the sea of faces. Some of them stared expectantly at him, others were looking around at the marvels of the cathedral, some fiddled with hemlines and handkerchiefs in breast pockets. He knew that some—in fact most—of his audience was not Catholic. But one of his goals this morning was to have as many as possible leaving the cathedral wishing they were.

Father Alec swallowed and began.

“Many of you here this morning make history. Some of you report it. All of you, for one reason or another, have chosen to come here today to pay your respects to Bill Kendall, a man who made his living telling the public what went on in the world each day. Explaining today tomorrow’s history.”

They were listening.

“So I thought it would be appropriate to begin with a short history lesson. And I do promise to keep it short.”

Many in the audience smiled. He could feel them being pulled in.

“We sit here today in a magnificent setting. The Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart. Majestic, awe-inspiring, a tribute to man’s imagination and his ability to implement and execute his ideas, and even his dreams.

“What most people
don’t
know is that cathedrals were built to house a treasure. The French cathedral in Chartres was built after Charles II presented that tiny town with the tunic worn by the Blessed Virgin at the Annunciation. The cathedral was built to house that tunic, that treasure. The Cathedral of Notre Dame holds a nail from the True Cross.

“But the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart is a modern cathedral; it was not built to hold any particular relic. This cathedral was built to commemorate the treasure of the immigrant spirit here in Newark. The Irish and English and Polish and Italians and Germans came here to Newark, all in search of a better life. They worked hard and prayed hard, and their hard-earned money was earnestly donated to build this structure. The altars in the semicircle behind this sanctuary stand in testimony to Newark’s immigrants. Saints Patrick and David and Lucy Filipini and Boniface: the saints of the old countries standing benevolent guard in the cathedral of the new. The treasure of the hopes and dreams of the people of Newark is the treasure of the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart.”

Archbishop Sweeney sat a little taller on his throne. Father Alec’s hands gripped the marble pulpit tightly and went on. He knew that this would be the place he would most likely lose them. Up to this point they had followed him, comfortable with facts.

“Most of us believe that we are given life for a purpose. Whatever our faith, we believe that we are here to
do
something with our lives. I would like all of us to imagine that, in a way, we are all meant to build a cathedral with our lives, to find our treasure and build a beautiful cathedral to keep it safe.” Father Alec paused and looked out at his audience.

“What was Bill Kendall’s cathedral like?”

He stopped and looked directly out to the front pew and into the eyes of Louise Kendall. He waited for her to realize that he would be speaking directly to her. Her eyes engaged his.

“God gave Bill 17,233 days to build the cathedral of his life. We watched as Bill Kendall reported triumphs and tragedies, told the stories of heroes and villains, covered space shots, stock market ups and downs, coronations, inaugurations, wars, other people’s lives and deaths. He shed light on the events of the world as we know it. And for many of us, that was the Bill Kendall most of us knew.

“You didn’t have to know Bill long, however, to discover the treasure of his cathedral, what meant the most to him, what sat at the heart of the cathedral of his life.

“For Bill, his son William was his greatest treasure.”

The priest saw Louise take William’s hand.

“Bill was a loving and devoted father to William and was known to have remarked on more than one occasion that, he had gotten much more from his son, than he had given. Bill told a friend that because of William, he had really learned how to pray and he was grateful for that. But Bill, the realist, knew that not everything can be solved by prayer alone. He became very active in fund-raising and, through his efforts, there are more group homes for ‘sperial’ people, more places for them to have dignity and independent lives. Bill Kendall tried to make a difference. He illuminated the need for people to do something to try to make the world a better place, a place closer to God.”

Father Alec couldn’t, wouldn’t, use the word suicide in the homily, but he had to address it. Everyone here knew the anchorman had killed himself. There could be no getting around it. He caught sight of Eliza Blake. Her eyes were filled, the corners of her mouth turned downward.

“What some considered problems, Bill Kendall counted as challenges. And that’s why, gathered here in this holy place, so many of us feel lost, bewildered at the events of the past week.

“I think it is fair to say that many of us have felt desperate at some point in our lives. We’ve felt alone. Far and removed from everyone, even God. This is where belief in God can help us through, help us make our peace with what is, help us accept and go on.

“Did Bill Kendall get the chance to finish his cathedral? I think the answer must be yes. Bill Kendall now stands before Christ in heaven—Christ his Savior, who loved Bill every minute of every one of those 17,233 days. He loved him, most of all, at the last moment of that last day. Bill’s final legacy to us may be in shaking us, reaching us, reminding us by his startling death that, whether we make history, or report it, all of us still have a chance, still have some time to build cathedrals of our own.”

Chapter 29

An earnest expression
fixed on his face, Pete Carlson listened as the young priest rambled on. He hated to hear this babble about how wonderful Bill Kendall was. It only made things harder for him, more for him to live up to.

The fact that Eliza’s thigh was brushing his as they sat next to each other in the packed pew was the only pleasant part of this whole spectacle. He could feel the warmth of her leg through her silken dress and his fine wool slacks. He was drawn to her at the same time he was threatened by her.