Evidence of the Affair(3)
XO,
Janet
P.S. I heard Simon & Garfunkel the other day at the bank and thought of you dancing in your bathrobe. I started laughing right there in line. My kids thought I was nuts. You make me a little crazy, I think.
January 18, 1977
Carlsbad, California K,
I am falling in love with you. I should have told you that yesterday when you said it to me, but I was afraid of what loving you would do to my life, to my family. It’s true, though. Of course it is.
I love the smell of your aftershave. I love the way you seem to need me, the way you sometimes look like you’ll die without holding me. I love how you always order your burgers with the cheese on the side. I’ve never heard of that before!
The past few days were full of so many moments that made me fall more and more in love with you.
I loved lying in our robes and eating french toast in bed. I loved reading the paper with you out on the balcony. I loved how beautiful you made me feel as I stood there in front of you in an old wrap dress and beat-up knee boots, things I’ve had for years.
It hurt so much to leave you there. I did not want to come home. I love being the woman I am when I’m with you. I feel like everything in the world is exciting, and everything is something easy and fun to do.
With you, anything is possible. At home, I’m always thinking about my children or whether my family can afford something or how my in-laws will feel. There are so many things that have to be done in a day, and none of them are for me, none of them are what I want. But as I go about all of it now, I think of you. I think of the woman I am when I’m alone with you. With you, I am enjoying myself. I am doing what I want. I am living, in our moments together, with no worries.
You are only for me.
It is as if I have lived with a hard shell all over my body and you have cracked it and it has all fallen off. I am fresh again.
I love you for that. And I needed you to know.
XO,
Janet
February 15, 1977
Carlsbad, California
Dear Carrie,
Thank you for sending those letters. The ambivalence you felt about sending them seems to match my ambivalence about reading them. I wish I hadn’t, but I know that I had to.
I feel unending fury at the idea of her sharing what she has shared with your husband. When I think of the two of them in a hotel room together, it burns inside me so hard that I think I might collapse.
Yesterday, on Valentine’s Day, Janet left to take a phone call in the bedroom. I pretended I had no idea what she was doing. But before she even came back, I got so mad that I punched a hole through the pantry door and had to pretend it was an accident. You don’t know me, but I have never punched a thing in my life. I even pretend to kill spiders, but I actually coax them into a jar and take them outside. Please don’t tell Janet that. Not that you would. I guess that’s my own secret, isn’t it? I’m not quite the man I pretend to be, and she’s certainly not the woman I thought she was.
Am I weak for still not confronting her about it? I am scared for the things we will say that we can’t take back. I am scared for our children. I do not want to be one of those dads in a condo. She’ll take the kids. What if she takes the kids and moves to LA to be with your husband?
But I also don’t know how much longer I can go on, living a lie, side by side with her. How much longer can I keep this all inside?
Tell me how you live with it, how you make the days go by. I cannot make it through this alone. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive. Please, Carrie, tell me how to do this.
Yours,
David
February 16, 1977
Carlsbad, California
Dear Carrie,
I am sorry for my previous letter. I was losing my mind. I know that you can’t help me through this. I’m sure I sounded like a crazed maniac.
I’m sorry I wrote to you so desperately.
Yours,
David
February 22, 1977
Encino, California
Dear David,
You have nothing to apologize for. I am always ready to listen. And I find great comfort in your letters. You can consider this a two-way street.
I don’t think you’re weak for not confronting your wife. As you know, I’ve decided not to confront my husband just yet. I still think there is a good chance this thing will run its course quickly. If it does, I think we will be happy that we let it.
But even if I didn’t have that hope, the truth is I’m still not sure I would confront Ken right away. In general, I prefer not to discuss anything with him until I know exactly how I feel about it. Ken has a frustrating way of always winning any argument. He is very intelligent and very persuasive, and I oftentimes lose track of why I was mad as I’m speaking to him. So no matter what direction this thing leads, I am not going to speak to him or anyone else about this at all until I understand exactly what I want to say.
Which is complicated. Quite obviously.
My situation is different from yours. I do not have children. (We have tried for years, and I have not been able to conceive so far.) So I suppose my fears are different.
I married Ken almost ten years ago. I can’t imagine a life without him. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I am afraid of losing all that I have ever known.
I feel like I can’t tell anyone about this because if I’m not willing to leave him, then no one can know.