14. Cant Take My Eyes off You
Can't Take My Eyes off You
The Emails
Same Day
O ctober 15, 1997
Dear Arden,
I don’t have the words to tell you how much it meant to see you at the hospital. Not just for me, but to know you were there for Bronnie. If Frances Maynor had arrived twenty seconds later, she’d have seen me with my arms around you smacking kisses all over your beautiful bearded face. (The beard and flannel was a nice touch, btw.)
I was so close to throwing caution to the wind, but I have more than just me to worry about. I know you understand. The disguise and the way you kept your distance was proof enough of that. I'm so grateful to have you in my life, even if we are unorthodox.
Knowing others rely on me was the only thing that could have stopped me. Looking away from you physically hurt. The memory of it still does.
Bronnie’s surgery went well, just like you said it would. She’s groggy, and I had to give her Children’s Tylenol, but she should be back to herself in a day or two.
She loves the stuffed hedgehog you gave her. She named it Ardy, lol. I hope that doesn’t offend you, because it cracks me up.
The flowers are stunning. My whole place smells amazing, and I smile every time I see them. During the day I put them on the kitchen table. At night, I carry them into my bedroom and put them on the bedside table.
This is NOT permission to start sending me fresh flowers all the time. (I know how you are.) Just between us, though, I love the way you try to spoil us.
Your scarf stopped smelling like you a long time ago. I’ve forgotten the scent of you. I wish I could remember.
Wistfully Yours, Charlotte
Same Day
O ctober 15, 1997
Sweet Charlotte,
I’m glad Bronnie's surgery went well. (That's an understatement.)
I didn’t show up expecting anything from you, and you don’t have to explain your actions to me. I couldn’t have been anywhere else.
I felt the same ache.
Bronnie is resting now, but don't forget to take care of yourself too. Worrying is exhausting.
I’m not offended that Bronnie named her hedgehog Ardy in the least. That’s hilarious. I made the critical error of telling the boys about it.
Gabriel has been singing, “Ardy, Ardy, Ardy. He’s super smelly farty,” ever since. (He’s referring to the hedgehog, I assure you. Not me. Never me.)
Henry told him he was acting undignified.
There’s always been a great deal of standing on our dignity in this family. I’ve never made a fart joke in my life. Mother would have been horrified.
Before knowing you, I’d have corrected Gabriel. But you would never react to a child’s joy in something so harmless by reminding him that “life is serious.” Life manages to do that on its own.
His song hurt no one, and my five-year-old was giggling. Why should I do something to make my child stop smiling for the sake of maintaining the McRae family dignity? I did remind him that these are jokes to make at home, not in public or at the dinner table.
No doubt, I’ll always have a bit of a “stick up my ass,” as you so lovingly refer to it.
I’m sending you a package with some of my shirts in the mail so you can smell me anytime you like. (That looks bizarre when I write it out. Somehow it seemed more normal in my head.)
Use them as pillowcases. Sleep in them. Do anything you want. Is a new set once a week enough?
I’m going to make a confession. When you gave me your scarf, I took it to a professional perfumer and had him create a copy of your scent so I could keep it smelling like you. That sounds a bit unhinged, which is why I never admitted to it before now. But there you go. I have a bottle of cucumber melon linen spray on my bedside table. It's not quite right because it's missing the blend of your chemistry with it, but it reminds me of you.
Also Wistfully, Arden
Two Months Later
D ecember 18, 1997
Dear Arden,
I managed to squeak out another 4.0, but this one was by the skin of my teeth. The renovations on the theater were supposedly complete months ago, but as soon as the cast and crew realized how generous RealFreedom was going to be, they became relentless with new requests. Thank God they have to go through me to get them.
There are a couple people obsessed with the idea of installing a hydraulic lift in the basement under the stage. We don’t need it, and quite a few of us don’t want it. It’s a major construction issue since it’s a dirt floor basement, and it’s not something appropriate for the type of theater we have, anyway. Dealing with the situation has taken a chunk out of my study time. I’m beyond grateful that I was the one assigned as liaison, though. I shudder to think of the mess we’d have if it had been someone else.
Sometimes I feel like a hockey goalie guarding a net.
You told me once that I was stuffing myself inside a cage out of fear. I tried to break free of it when I graduated from high school and ended up right back where I started. I’m finding my bravery again, but there are lines I can’t cross.
One of my favorite professors said she was going to recommend me to a firm out of New York City for an internship.
I’m devastated that I had to turn it down. But I can’t leave Blackwater for an internship for so many reasons.
One of them is that I won’t take Bronnie somewhere so far away. I rely on my family for their help. I know if something happens, even little things like me coming down with the flu, that I have people who love her who will step in to take care of her. She needs stability.
I found another internship in the next county over. It’s a tiny firm with only two architects. I hope I’m not destroying my career before it starts.
I know all the reasons why I need to stay, but some days it’s harder to accept than others. The truth is I may never leave central Pennsylvania, and I have to figure out how to be okay with that.
Love, Charlotte
Same Day
D ecember 18, 1997
Sweet Charlotte,
Congrats on a perfect record. You’re headed straight for summa cum laude.
I’m sorry you felt you had to give up the internship you wanted, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that when you graduate, there will be a world of career possibilities available for you.
You’re not trapped there. If it feels like a cage, find the door. We’ll take the thing off its hinges together, if that’s what it takes. No matter where you are, you can always call me if you need help. Always.
I do understand wanting family around for Bronnie. It must be an incredible thing. I don’t have the same kind of support system that you do. Both of my parents are alive and live nearby, but they’d look at me like I had two heads if I asked them to babysit the boys. They were rarely alone with me without a nanny present in the background when I was a child.
Recently, my mother asked when Henry starts boarding school. The answer is never. My boys live with me.
I don’t understand how it didn’t bother my parents to send me away when I was eight. I know they loved me, but it was a formal kind of affection.
It was hard to unlearn without any examples of a different home life to look to. The way you are with Bronnie is who I strive to be with my boys.
When it comes to parenting, mine had different priorities than you and I do.
In case of emergencies, I have to call the nanny service. I also have staff here at the house. Housekeeping and security. In the past they’ve both pinch-hit for me until the nanny arrived, in exchange for a bonus.
Until you, I didn’t miss (or even understand) what I’d never had.
You made your decision about the internship based on what was right for your child. You always consider her needs first, and I don’t have the words to express how much I admire and respect you for it.
If you ever did decide to come to New York, I'd welcome you and Bronnie both with open arms. We could be that support for each other. You could show up any day, any time, and my door would be wide open for you.
Love, Arden
D ecember 19, 1997
Dear Arden,
Your offer choked me up. I have your back too. Day or night.
If you came here with the boys, though, I have to warn you that my trailer is tiny. We’d have to get creative at bedtime. I’m guessing the boys have never had to sleep on a pull-out sofa bed before. :)
Maybe someday, just for fun, I could be a sneaky visitor to your house.
If I showed up in a maid’s uniform for a few hours, surely, no one would catch on that I wasn’t really your employee.
I could polish your tchotchkes for you, sir. ;)
Love. Always.
Charlotte
One Month of Emails Later
Handwritten letter to Charlotte Miller.
J anuary 17, 1998
Return address: John Smith
Sweet Charlotte,
I can’t put this in an email.
We promised we’d be honest with each other about anything that bothered us.
To clarify, I’m not bothered.
But ever since you started calling me “sir,” in that sassy way you do, I can’t stop imagining you in a pencil skirt bent over my desk. (And other far more graphic fantasies).
If you’re trying to turn me on, you should know it’s working.
Love, Sir
J anuary 18, 1997
Dear Sir,
It’s been almost three and a half years for me. Do what you have to do. I know I am.
Love, Charlotte
Four Months Later
May 19, 1998
Hand-written letter from Jane Smith to Arden McRae III
Dear Sir,
This photo is for your eyes only. Don’t get too excited. I would never have the nerve to take naked pictures, let alone send them.
This is as close as you’ll ever get to a photo of me almost, but not quite, totally nude. I’m covered enough that I wouldn’t EXPIRE if anyone else got ahold of it but would rather no one but you saw it. I printed it out at home, so it isn’t great quality, but there was no way I was letting some worker in a photo lab see it.
Nearly Nakedly Yours, Charlotte
M ay 20, 1998
Sweet Charlotte,
You are beautiful beyond comprehension. I’ve been staring at your photo for hours.
I’m generally an articulate man, but I have no words for the hundred things I’m thinking right now. (At least not ones I can put in an email.)
Unspeakably Gratefully Yours, Arden