Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) Read Free Page A

gasped.
                Frankie covered herself in a robe and stepped toward the assistant. “What? How did it happen?”
                “In a parade—in Dallas—it’s all over the news,” she muttered. “It’s on television.”
                Frankie ran back to the dressing room and quickly changed into her clothes. When she returned she found the photographer, the assistant, and several others gathered around the television in the studio office, watching Walter Cronkite broadcast the news of the President’s death.
                Dead silence filled the room, except for a few whimpers. Frankie, unable to control herself, wiped the tears that fell from her eyes. Frankie had never been one to involve herself in politics, but Kennedy’s death touched most Americans on a much more personal level. Suddenly, it seemed, one could no longer take anything for granted.
                Later that evening, in the small Spanish-Colonial apartment she shared with Katie, Frankie’s eyes were glued to the television as the assassination footage was rebroadcast over and over. Every time it played, every time Kennedy’s car pulled closer to the crowd, Frankie silently hoped for a different outcome—somehow the bullet would magically miss him. But it was always the same.
                The apartment door swung open and Katie entered, tossing her tailored jacket over the back of a chair. She kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch next to Frankie.
                Frankie glanced sideways at her. “I can’t believe you went on your date with all that’s happened.”
                Katie peeled off her white gloves. “L.A. is as dead as Kennedy tonight.”
                “I can’t believe you can be so callous,” said Frankie, wiping a tear from her eye.
                Sorry. I just don’t know what to think or how to feel. It’s all just so surreal. It really kind of sticks to you, you know? One day you’re alive, the next day dead,” said Katie. “I don’t know what to feel.”
                “I can only imagine what Jackie is going through,” Frankie said with a teary sniff. Imagine having your husband die in your arms and you are helpless to do anything for him.”
                Katie wrapped her arm around Frankie’s shoulder. “You can’t spend all your time worrying about death, Frankie. You have to concern yourself with living.”
                Frankie knew it was the truth, but in the days that followed, it was hard for anyone to contemplate living. The road to Kennedy’s funeral was a sobering experience for many Americans. Frankie and Katie sat on their couch, watching the televised procession with a box of tissues between them. They witnessed the band play “Hail to the Chief,” after which ushers carried the president’s casket, draped with the American flag, up the steps of the Capitol. Life in America at that moment seemed to stand still. If there was any denial in any American that day, there was none now—Kennedy’s death was certain.
                Tears streamed down Frankie’s face, seeing Jackie and her two small children—Caroline and John Jr.—parade behind the procession, but what pained Frankie more was seeing Robert Kennedy, standing tall and strong, yet his face was tight with mourning. She couldn’t help it; she burst out sobbing. Katie pulled out a tissue and handed it to Frankie. “Thank you,” Frankie choked, wiping her face.
                Katie was rather cool and calm throughout it all, until the moment came when little John Jr. saluted the procession passing before him. She started balling, and it was now Frankie’s turn to hand her a tissue. It was so very tragic to everyone in the country who cried tears of grief—the sight of this little boy standing and saluting his father’s passing, without any clue to the