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

Bill licking a stamp and sticking it on the corner of the envelope. She wondered if he had walked to a mailbox himself to deposit it, or if he had just given it to Jean to mail for him. She thought of him doing a common, everyday task, oblivious of what was just ahead.
    Briefly, she thought of calling someone to be with her while she read the contents of the envelope. She reconsidered, knowing there was no one with whom she wanted to share the intimacy of Bill’s last message to her. Louise bit her lip as she carefully tore open the flap. Inside was a letter on heavy paper, and a gray computer diskette.
     
Dear Lou,
By now, you’ve learned that I am dead. I’m so sorry that it had to be this way. I’m sorry, too, about leaving you to take care of William all alone.
     
    Leaving you? She stared at those words and reread them over and over again, afraid to continue. How did Bill know that he was dying? She tried to think of how he looked that last time she had seen him. She forced herself to read on.
     
William’s the best thing about us, Louise, and you’ve been the greatest mother he could have ever had. I’ve put all my financial affairs in order, as best I could, and you and William will be taken care of.
You know how much I’ve always hated wakes, so please, just a Mass. I know how strange it may sound, but I want to be buried from Sacred Heart Cathedral in Newark.
     
Newark?
     
There’s a young priest there, Father Alec Fisco, and I’ve already let him know that I want him to give the eulogy. Please make the arrangements, Louise. Maybe a donation’s in order, as I’m not a regular parishioner there. If you would, have my body sent back to Nebraska—there’s a plot next to my parents’.
It’s always amazed me how the experts seem so sure that suicides are angry, wanting their loved ones to know that their love was not enough.
     
    Oh my God! Suicide . But that’s impossible. Bill would never take his own life.
     
I’m not angry, Louise, especially with you. You were a good wife. I want you to know that what we once had was very precious to me. I failed at being the kind of husband you deserved, and though I’ve seemed like a success to the rest of the world I’ve failed at facing life—failed, I guess, at the most important thing there is. I just can’t go on, knowing what I know.
I’ve enclosed a diskette for William. He so loves that computer. I want him to have a goodbye note from me. I know that I’ve left you with the impossible job of explaining this to him. Again, I’m sorry, Louise. Please forgive me.
    Love,
Bill.
     
    Louise sat alone, stunned, listening to the sound of the ticking clock. The phone rang three times before she even heard it. Range Bullock was on the other end of the line.
    “Louise, it’s about Bill. The autopsy results are back. I’m sorry. . . .”
    “I know,” she whispered, not bothering to wipe the mascara running down her cheeks.

Chapter 17
    “This is the Bill Kendall autopsy results narration in three, two, one. . . .
    “New York City coroner Ben Calducci announced the jolting results of the KEY News anchorman Bill Kendall’s autopsy.”
    McBride paused. “Insert Calducci’s soundbite on the Prozac overdose causing death.
    “Pickup narration in three, two, one. . . . Bill Kendall, forty-nine, was found dead in his apartment last evening by his son, William. Louise Palladino Kendall received a suicide note in today’s mail. According to his ex-wife, Kendall gave no specific reason for the suicide. Speculation is widespread as to why the anchorman would take his own life.
    “Here’s where the soundbites from KEY staffers will go.”
    Mack cleared his throat and continued. “Pickup in three, two, one. . . . KEY News correspondent Eliza Blake was substituting for the anchorman when word came of his death. It was she who announced it to the nation.
    “Drop in Eliza’s s-o-t here.
    “Three, two, one. . . . Today KEY News Washington correspondent