7. Hand in My Pocket
Hand in My Pocket
The Emails
Thirteen Months Later
M ay 5, 1996
Dear Mr. McRae,
I hope you and your family are well. It occurred to me recently that you asked if I’d say hello from time to time. So here I am. HELLO! :)
I can’t believe it’s been more than a year. I’m enclosing a photo of Bronwyn from a couple of months ago at her first birthday party. We call her Bronnie most of the time. She isn’t very big, but the doctor says she takes after my mother, and it isn’t a problem. She’s been walking (running, really) since she was ten months old. You never saw such a giggly girl, though she hates to get out of the bathtub.
Steve’s mom called me last week to ask about the baby. I don’t think her husband knew she did it. My first instinct was to send her a big “up yours, lady,” but I sent her a photo, instead. She asked me not to put my name on the return address. I felt for her. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be married to someone you can’t be honest with. I could never do it.
I probably shouldn’t tell you that. I’m not trying to gossip. Just thinking things through, mostly. Besides, who are you going to tell?
Anyway, I know Steve would want his mom to see what she looks like and for me to show you her photo.
Let’s see. What other news don’t you know?
No one has seen or heard from Jeremy Polford in more than a year. He disappeared, seemingly, off the face of the planet.
The sheriff is calling his disappearance “suspicious.” The cops thought I had something to do with it. Bronnie was only a week old at the time.
The sheriff followed me around for a while and generally made life miserable. I thought I might end up having to call you, but I flashed your card at him, and he backed off after that. So even though I never reached out to you for help, you helped me anyway. You just didn’t know it. ;)
I'm glad he isn’t here. In case you think I mean I’d rather he was off making someone else’s life hell, I don’t. I think that the world would be better off if we found out he drove his car off a bridge.
I’m sorry if that makes me awful.
As for me, the life insurance policy allowed me to work part-time at the grocery store for Bronnie’s first year, but my sister offered me full-time hours at her diner, so now I work there.
I’m not a fan of waitressing, but I’m grateful for it because I don’t like digging into my savings too much for living expenses. That’s Bronnie’s money. Besides, it’s better to save some for emergencies.
I moved out of my parents’ house and am trying to be more self-sufficient. I am a mother, after all.
All my best, Charlotte
M ay 6, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
Thank you for the photo. She’s growing fast. It’s hard to believe Bronnie is over a year old already. She’s beautiful. You’re right: She does look a lot like Steve.
I’m glad to hear Polford isn’t living in Blackwater any longer. You’re a kind person to think about others, but remember someone with his proclivities could have put himself into a dangerous situation he didn’t walk away from. Try not to worry if you can.
If you ever need someone to talk to about anything, including Polford, I’m here. It’s not a platitude. I mean it.
The next time anyone attempts to question you, call me first. Do not answer their questions without a lawyer present. Don’t allow them to perform any searches without a warrant. You’re innocent of any and all wrongdoing, but innocent people get arrested, and even convicted, all the time.
I’m glad my card proved sufficient in the situation, but please don’t hesitate to reach out next time. You don’t have to handle everything alone. In a case like this, it’s much, much better if you don’t.
It sounds like you aren’t enjoying working at the diner. In a perfect world, if you could do anything you wanted to, what would it be?
I’m attaching a photo of my boys at Henry’s birthday party. He just turned five. His expression is a little somber because he was upset about the candles on his cake. He doesn’t like the idea of blowing germs on something everyone would eat. He has a point, I suppose. He was only at his party for about twenty minutes when he disappeared.
Eventually, after a full-blown incident where we tried to figure out if he was still in the house, I found him hiding under his bed. He says parties are “not fun,” and sent me a formal request written on notebook paper to “limit my fucher birthday selubrayshun to no more than 4 peepole.”
Arden
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M ay 7, 1996
Dear Arden,
That must have been nerve-wracking to not know what happened to Henry. I’m pretty sure if Bronnie disappeared, even for a short amount of time, I’d have a panic attack. Luckily for me, she’s so loud about everything she does, I’d hear her long before I lost her. She’s even noisy in her sleep.
I can relate to Henry, though. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all hide under our beds, sometimes, when the world gets too hard? Both boys are adorable and so was Henry’s note. I can almost hear his little voice saying the words. He must be really advanced for his age. I don’t know any five-year-olds who can read or write that well.
I like his bow tie. Did you choose that or did he?
Polford is an evil man. I realize your comment was nothing but guesswork. But if it turned out to be true that his own actions led him into danger, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.
Your private investigator probably told you about the rumors about me and Polford. He met me through Steve and told me he was interviewing teens to find out how he could help the community. He guilted me into going there and planned the whole thing.
His wife caught him red-handed. I got away before he got my clothes all the way off because of her, but afterward she pretended she didn’t see anything. In my mind, that makes her as bad as he is.
After I told people what happened, Polford told everyone I was jealous and trying to destroy his marriage. Bianca stood by him, so it was my word against theirs. They said his blood under my fingernails only proved that I attacked him, not that he’d done anything to me. A lot of people still believe those lies.
I can’t pretend that I understand anything about how my brain works, but it’s gotten harder to talk about now than it was when it first happened. At that time, I felt like telling people about it would wash it off my skin and soul. I thought if I could just get it out of me, maybe it would stay out, instead of living in my head and making me feel sick and afraid all the time.
I found out my mother has her own story with someone else. How is it that so many of us are expected to hide it like it’s OUR shame, instead of the person who did it?
At first, I thought the police would arrest him. I used to believe that was what happened to “bad guys.” I look back at that time and it’s like I can see a physical wall between the child I was and the person I became. And it wasn’t just the assault, though that was a big part of it. It was how people treated me afterward.
If it weren’t for Steve and my best friend, Rochelle, high school would have been a nightmare. You know that phrase “ride or die”? That was them.
My own family is Catholic. When I confessed to Father Beatty how much I hated the Polfords and everyone who took his side, he gave me ten Hail Marys and two Our Fathers as penance and told me to get over it. Okay, his exact words were about finding forgiveness in my heart and putting it in God’s hands.
You’ve told me more than once that I can talk to you about this, and, since you’re so far away, I’m unlikely to ever see you in person. That makes it feel safer.
If you react the way most of the congregation and the police did, I suppose I’ll learn which kind of person you are then, won’t I?
I’m sure you think I’m pathetic complaining when the cases you work on have to be so much worse than my story.
As for the diner, I feel ungrateful admitting it, but you’re right that I don’t like working there. It feels like I’m on display the entire shift. There are people in this town who aren’t exactly nice to me, even now. At the grocery store, I worked in the back. No one made me work the cash register. At the diner, I’m a waitress, and I never know who’s going to come in.
There’s no such thing as a perfect world. Dreaming of one just makes the crash more painful when you wake up. I know because sometimes I dream that Steve is still here, and we got married.
In the dream, I moved with him to New York, and Bronnie, Steve, and I are living in a tiny apartment, but the sun shines in through the window, and we’re squabbling over whether orange juice is better with or without pulp (without, if you’re wondering).
Then I open my eyes and realize it isn’t real. It hurts so much more than if I’d never imagined it in the first place. I try to keep my focus on what matters. I have Bronnie, and she’s everything to me.
College isn’t practical, no matter how much I wish I could go back to school. I have to work full-time or dip into Bronnie’s college fund. I’m not using the money I’ve saved for her education on my own.
There’s no angst here about it anymore. Just a bit of wistful yearning. For fun, I’ll say “In a world where money was no object,” which is nearly as big of a pipe dream, I’d finish my architecture undergrad here at Blackwater State University (so I’d stay close to my family).
With apologies for rambling, Charlotte
M ay 9, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
I hate what you’ve been through. I believe every word you wrote. Of course I do. What happened afterward was a travesty. It’s a terrible truth in this world that, many times, justice doesn’t prevail.
You used the word evil to describe Polford, and it’s the right one. Please talk to me about anything. Unfortunately, you’re right that very little shocks me at this point—I’ve seen too much in my job—but I hate to hear anyone, much less you, categorize their own struggles as less important because someone else may have suffered more. Another person’s pain doesn’t cancel yours out.
If you need professional counseling to help you heal and don’t know where to start, I can help you find someone qualified. And you can absolutely keep talking to me as much as you need to. I can’t promise to be as helpful as a therapist, but I’ll lend a listening ear (or is it “reading eyeball” since these are emails?).
As far as the diner goes, I can understand why you wouldn’t enjoy dealing with those people. My late wife despised being the focus of public attention. For her, it caused feelings of anxiety, so I can understand (a little) how you must feel.
I hope this doesn’t come across as an overstep on my part, but Steve spoke of you often. He didn’t take your sacrifices for granted. Both of you were trying your best to be a good partner for the other, and I don’t know if anyone could ask for more. He loved you desperately, and he wasn’t shy about sharing his feelings.
In some ways, I almost felt as though I knew you before I met you because he spoke of you so often.
Henry chose his own bow tie. His grandfather wears them and told him they look “dapper.” So now Henry owns twenty-seven bow ties (and counting). He can become obsessive about things when he decides he’s interested in them. He’s developed a recent interest in the solar system, as well. Gabriel is less intense than Henry. He’s a character who always likes to make people laugh. They’re both great kids.
I know you said college was off the table, but I recently came across an article about some scholarships you may find interesting.
I’m attaching links to the applications I found. The one from RealFreedom looks especially promising. It’s for single parents and non-traditional students and could work for your situation. The scholarship provides not only tuition, living expenses, and room/board, but a dependent-child stipend and on-campus childcare.
It couldn’t hurt to apply. Good luck.
Arden
J une 20, 1996
Dear Arden,
OMG. OMG. I GOT IT!!!!! Thank you!!!! I had no idea scholarships like this one even existed. And when I told them I already have my trailer and didn’t need the “room” portion, they said it didn’t matter. That they would send me the extra money in a check to help with living expenses!!!
I’m not exaggerating when I say I sat on the floor with Bronnie and bawled like a baby when the phone call came. It’s like this scholarship was custom designed for me. It even has health insurance!
When Steve died, I felt so hopeless and out of control. I still miss Steve constantly, and I despise that Bronnie won’t ever know her father, but the life insurance policy, and then this scholarship . . . it feels like the universe is telling me not to give up.
And Bronnie too. She is so amazing. Probably all parents feel this way. I can tell how much you love your boys just from your emails.
When Bronnie smiles and giggles, it’s almost impossible for me to see the world as gray and miserable.
Thank you so much again for sending those links my way. In September, I’ll be a college student!!!
I’m not offended by what you said about Steve. I appreciate it. What you said about trying to be good partners reminded me of my dad. He always says the secret to a happy marriage is when you disagree, it should be the two of you fighting together to solve the problem, not fighting to win an argument.
As for healing, I did see a therapist all last year. It started out as grief counseling, but it ended up including a lot more. There were things I couldn’t talk about, but there was a lot that I could.
I’ll never be exactly the person I was, but maybe I’m scarred over? Or is that a kind of healing in itself? I’m doing well.
Speaking of doing well, I’m attaching a pic of me and Bronnie standing in front of the Blackwater Bear statue with my acceptance letter.
Apparently, it’s a rite of passage for drunk frat boys to pee on it, which is SO disgusting and disrespectful. Obviously, I didn’t let Bronnie climb on it, even though, as you can see from the picture, she REALLY wanted to.
Charlotte
J une 21, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
That photo made me laugh out loud. She’s a determined little thing, isn’t she?
Frat boys are a whole different breed of immaturity. I know because, once upon a time, I was one. I recommend avoiding them at all costs.
Congratulations on the scholarship. I had a good feeling about it.
I noticed Bronnie’s eye color turned lighter. They look like yours now. Gabriel’s did that too. He was born with dark blue eyes, but by the time he was a year old, they’d turned light green. His temperament reminds me a bit of the way you describe Bronnie. He bounces around a lot, and he’s always ready to laugh.
I know what you mean when you say “scarred over.” Some things always leave a mark. In the thick of it, it’s hard to imagine ever living without pain again. That’s been my experience too. I love that you found your smile.
Your father sounds wise. It would take a lot of faith in your spouse to have that kind of marriage. It’s one thing to know you have positive intent. It’s another to find someone you could count on to treat you the same way. Trust in a marriage is everything.
What an incredible relationship that would be.
Arden
Approximately Two and a Half Months Later
O ctober 8, 1996
Dear Arden,
I wondered if I shouldn’t bother you with my email. When you said to write from time to time, I wasn’t sure if that meant once a year or when I had something interesting to share. You obviously have more important things happening than reading about my little life in Blackwater, lol.
I hope your job isn’t taking too big of a toll on you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be the person responsible for prosecuting dangerous criminals and having to cope with the horrible things evil people do. It’s not just the pressure of your responsibilities. I imagine you’ve had to hear and see things that haunt you. I always worried about Steve because he wanted to do the same thing.
All of it has to wear on your soul. It’s not something I could do, but I appreciate that the world has people like you who can.
I’m really proud to know you, Arden. Maybe that sounds like a strange thing for me to say, but sometimes it’s nice to hear kind (true) words, and I don’t know if anyone has said it to you lately.
As for me, I’m loving school. I’m lucky because my credits from Columbia transferred, so I only have three years ahead of me for my undergrad.
Bronnie adores the campus childcare center. I get to have lunch with her every day.
No need to write back if you’re too busy. But I was thinking about you and wanted you to know it.
Sincerely, Charlotte
O ctober 8, 1996
Dear Charlotte,
Your emails are never a bother. They’re a welcome bit of sunshine.
I’m proud to know you too, Charlotte Miller.
You’re right that this career can be taxing, not just on me, but my entire family.
My current case is wrapping up soon. After the verdict and sentencing, the boys and I are taking a long and much needed vacation on the Amalfi Coast to recharge.
When I’m in the middle of a big trial, I spend more time away from home than I’d like. In the evenings, I do as much as I can from the home office, but I’m distracted. Last night the boys built a blanket fort next to my desk and fell asleep in it while I was working. I thought the photo I took of their feet poking out the bottom might make you smile.
Never wonder if you “should” contact me. The answer is always yes. You could email me every day if you wanted to, and I would smile each and every time I saw your name in my inbox.
Arden
****
Sixty-Two Emails Later
November 9, 1996
Dear Arden,
Or should I say “Dear Mr. McRae” because this time, I’m writing for your professional advice?
Basically, I need to know how much criminal activity is too much before I’d end up in jail.
We have a community theater here that’s slated to be demolished. I’m usually really good about keeping my cool, but it’s going to happen next week, and nothing we’ve tried has made an impact.
Rochelle organized a meeting. I thought we would be discussing petitions, but when I got there, Rochelle riled everyone up to chain themselves to the building on demo day.
What kind of SOULLESS, town-devouring MONSTER destroys a beautiful landmark and replaces it with a hotel?
RealFreedom, that’s who. If the name sounds familiar, it’s because they’re the ones who gave me my scholarship. :(
I told our theater group that chaining ourselves to the building wouldn’t work. They’d have us arrested, and then tear it down anyway. The only thing that would slow them down at all was if the equipment wasn’t working. To which Rochelle said, “You’re right. We need to go bigger.”
And, yes, I was angry when I suggested it, and I meant it IN THAT SECOND. But I immediately changed my mind and told them it was a terrible idea. It won’t work long-term, and we’d get caught. We haven’t exactly been quiet about our objections.
One of the guys wrote down what I said about sabotaging the equipment in the minutes of the meeting, and he didn’t include my retraction, even though I specifically told everyone we have to find another way.
My name is on the petition. I not only attended the meeting where we planned criminal activity, it was my idea. I realize I sound dramatic, but I can’t let them tear that building down.
How do you determine the difference between a normal, legal protest, and straight-up trespassing and vandalizing property? We have to find a way to save the theater that doesn’t involve anyone getting put in handcuffs.
Honestly, I don’t know what my next steps should be. I sent them all a STRONGLY WORDED EMAIL telling them not to do this, and we needed to explore legal options. Maybe we could file some kind of injunction or something to put it on the historical registry?
I got nowhere when I stopped by RealFreedom’s local office and asked for contact information for someone who could override their decision. They wouldn’t even talk to me.
We’re getting desperate because, even though they won’t start construction until spring, they plan to tear it down now. When I say that I CAN’T let them do it, I mean it. There has to be a way to stop them. I’d put sugar in all their gas tanks if I thought it would work. That’s how serious I am, but in the long run it would make things worse.
I can’t go to prison. Bronnie needs me.
Don’t even think about telling me to turn in my friends. Over my dead body.
Sincerely, Charlotte I-Don’t-Look-Good-In-Orange Miller
****
November 9, 1996 (Same Day)
Dear Charlotte,
I’m on my way. The drive is five and a half hours. I assume you’re referring to the theater located near the Rosalind Estate. If you’re able, please meet me there at 4:30 p.m.
In the future, never put anything in an email that you wouldn’t be comfortable hearing read aloud in a court of law.
Arden