Evidence of the Affair(4)

What I am saying is that I am alone in this, David.

Except for you. You are the only person who understands exactly what I am going through. And I hope I can be that same thing for you. We are not alone. We at least know of each other. It is a very lame consolation prize, but I will take it if you will.

As for the answer to your question, here is how I get through the days: I spend every moment I am alone asking myself what sort of future I want. Instead of thinking of what has happened, I think of what will make me happy one day, hopefully soon.

For instance, we are still trying to have a baby. Every month that passes feels like a new opportunity, at least at the beginning. The pursuit has not been easy, especially now. It is almost as if I have to become some other version of myself in order to muster the enthusiasm for both of us lately. But I do it because I still believe in the future I’m hoping for: a family with the man I chose.

I’m trying to think of better times, later in life—not so much the past or the present, but a brighter future.

Maybe that will help you, too.

All my best,

Carrie





February 26, 1977

Carlsbad, California

Dear Carrie,

Your advice was quite helpful. At dinner last night, as Janet put the green beans and brisket on the table, I was looking at her truly mystified. How is it that she is capable of being two people at once? It pains me to think of what else she is capable of. I must have been staring at her because she snapped her fingers in front of my eyes and said, “David! Pass the salt, please.”

I looked at my sons, who were now staring at me like I had three heads. And so I decided to redirect my thoughts, as you said to do.

I thought of five years from now when my oldest son, Michael, will be graduating high school. I imagined Janet and me in the audience with our three younger sons, Sam, Andy, and Brian. I thought of the five of us clapping as Michael crossed the stage. And I thought of looking at Janet with full trust and happiness.

I wonder if that future is even possible anymore. But I have to hope that it is because the other future, where I am seated a few rows down from my family, and another man has taken my place . . . I can’t bear it.

So I am going to continue to think about the good future for now until I know what I am going to do.

Thank you for being there for me. I know you only as handwriting on a page, and yet you might be my closest friend.

Tell me more about yourself, your life. I’d love to listen as you have for me.

Yours,

David





March 4, 1977

Encino, California

David,

Do you ever feel like your life got away from you somehow?

Lately, it feels like my whole life has a similar feeling to when you check the clock on a Saturday and realize it’s already half past four.

I just don’t understand how I got here.

I was nineteen when Ken and I met. I had just started my sophomore year at Boston University. I was studying to be a teacher. To be honest, I’m not sure why I was studying to be a teacher. I think it’s just what everyone was doing.

I met Ken at a party of a grad student friend of mine. He was about to finish his final year of medical school. He asked me out by offering to take me to an exhibit at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and I said yes. I don’t remember what the show was, but I do remember that I had already seen it a few weeks before and pretended otherwise. It’s interesting, the things we remember.

Anyway, I fell fast for Ken. He was so confident. I felt like I wasn’t quite sure who I was back then, and he was so sure of himself. We got married in Boston when I was twenty-one. As I think I told you, my parents weren’t altogether excited about the match. They thought I should stay single a bit longer, try to make my way in the world alone. My mother has always told me that I have more opportunities, as a woman of my generation, than she ever had. She made it seem like I had an obligation to use them how she would have.

But, honestly, I just wanted to marry a nice man who made a good living and have children. I guess I’m no women’s libber.

I left school when Ken matched at a residency program in Chicago. We lived there for a few years and then moved here to Los Angeles for a fellowship he took at UCLA.

Now that we’re settled, I think of going back to school every now and again. But Ken has been clear about wanting me to stay home and spend my energies on getting pregnant. He says if it’s not happening when I’m home and relaxed, it’s definitely not going to happen if I’m up and out of the house all day.

I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it has been hard to argue it with a doctor.

And so I spend my days maintaining the house, throwing dinner parties for Ken’s colleagues and their wives, and, lately, helping his mother settle into her new town house ten minutes away. She says she’s moved here to “help” with “things.” I suspect she’s here expecting a grandchild any minute. She’s starting to make comments about me being “too slim.”

This just isn’t how it was all supposed to go.

All my best,

Carrie





March 9, 1977

Carlsbad, California

Carrie,

I feel like my life has gotten away from me all the time.

I thought by my midthirties I’d have some financial security. But I am a high school biology teacher who has also taken on coaching girls’ field hockey and basketball as of late to earn more money. I know almost nothing about field hockey or basketball. I’m considering adding driver’s ed since at least I know how to drive.