American Wife

toward each other awkwardly but with a shared understanding, a certainty. He is strong and sweet and golden, and I am wearing a red dress that I never in reality owned. We don’t say much because it’s not necessary. And then—a miracle—we kiss, we are kissing. This is all I ever wanted, to come back to you, to be held by you, for what existed between us not to be cut short, and especially not at my hand. Your lips are soft and tentative, without the pushy sureness of a husband’s tongue. It is enough, just this—your hand at the small of my back, the heat of your chest beneath your shirt, our faces close together, and a cloak of privacy surrounding us. Could I have been your wife after all, might we have made a life together on your parents’ farm or one of our own? Once, on that extended visit back to Riley, I decided not, but now that we’re together, our compatibility makes me think of course we could have. We can talk to each other, we make each other laugh, there is between us a common sensibility, a wordless affection whose subtext is a single question: What took us so long?

And then I awakened, a sixty-one-year-old woman in a big, grand, shadowy bedroom in Washington, D.C., the wife of the president of the United States. Can Charlie and I not also talk to each other, do we not make each other laugh, is there not between us a common sensibility? It isn’t necessary for me to insist to myself that I love Charlie; I know that I do. But that dewy certainty I felt for Andrew, the lightness of our lives then—it is long gone. I have never experienced it with anyone else.

I didn’t vote for Charlie for president. I did vote for him both times for governor, but when he ran for president, I didn’t want the upheaval or the burdens, and I also believed sincerely that his opponent would do a better job. He had more experience, a more nuanced view of the issues; he was a lifelong public servant rather than an intermittent dabbler. I wondered, exiting the voting booth in 2000 and again in 2004, if my expression might give away my actions, but my vote was apparently so inevitable that no one ever asked me about it, no reporter or campaign staffer. I suppose it would have been disrespectful. In the photo taken of us that morning in 2000, Charlie and I pause outside the curtained booths at the elementary school in Madison, simultaneously holding hands and waving. What does the photo show, I’ve wondered since—my treachery or his? During the periods when I’ve been the most frustrated by our lives, or by what is happening in this country, I’ve looked outside at the cars and pedestrians our motorcades pass, and I’ve thought, All I did is marry him. You are the ones who gave him power. At other times, I have felt both a sense of regret for deceiving him and an oppressive awareness of my complicity in his elections.

Did I betray Charlie, or did I act on principle? Has he betrayed the American people, or has he acted on principle? Perhaps the answer is all of the above. If the many novels I’ve read are an accurate indicator, I have to assume there are betrayals in most marriages. The goal, I suppose, is not to allow any that are larger than the strength of the partnership.

While I don’t imagine that I’ll ever be able to reveal to Charlie this particular betrayal, the future is difficult to predict, and perhaps there will come a time when even having voted for his opponent might seem an amusing anecdote. I doubt it, but it’s possible. For now I will say nothing; amid the glaring exposure, there must remain secrets that are mine alone.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In researching the life of a first lady, I relied on many books, articles, and websites. I drew particular inspiration from the facts and insights of The Perfect Wife: The Life and Choices of Laura Bush, by Ann Gerhart. I also must acknowledge my debt to four other books: Laura Bush: An Intimate Portrait of the First Lady, by Ronald Kessler; Ambling into History: The Unlikely Odyssey of George W. Bush, by Frank Bruni; Living History, by Hillary Rodham Clinton; and For Love of Politics: Inside the Clinton White House, by Sally Bedell Smith. I am grateful to all these authors and would encourage anyone interested in nonfiction accounts of life on the campaign trail or in the White House to seek out their work.

In addition, my gratitude and affection go to my editor, Laura Ford, my publicist, Jynne Martin, and my agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh. I’m lucky to have many other advocates and allies in publishing, including Gina Centrello, Jennifer Hershey, Tom Perry, Sanyu Dillon, Sally Marvin, Avideh Bashirrad, Janet Wygal, Victoria Wong, Robbin Schiff, Amanda Ice, Suzanne Gluck, Tracy Fisher, Raffaella DeAngelis, Michelle Feehan, Lisa Grubka, and Alicia Gordon. For her years of steadfast support, there will always be a place in my heart for Shana Kelly.

For being smart and supportive, I thank my early readers: Susanna Daniel, Cammie McGovern, Samuel Park, Brian Weinberg, Shauna Seliy, Emily Miller, Jennifer Weiner, Lewis Robinson, Katie Brandi, and Susan Marrs.

For helping me figure out particular details, I thank James R. Ketchum, Marisa Luzzatto, Katie Riley, Jo Sittenfeld, Ellen Battistelli, Darren Speece, Jennie Cole, Joe Litvin, Marc Miller, Chris Thomforde, Susan Brown, Marcie Roahen, Susan Schultz, Jeanne Stewart, John Stewart, Sr., John Stewart, Jr., Mikey Stewart, Nick Stanton, and once again, Susanna Daniel. Any errors in the book of either fact or judgment are my own.

As always, I thank my parents and siblings for being my parents and siblings, and I’m especially appreciative to my father for his feedback and input. Finally, I thank Matt Carlson, who read each section as I finished it and encouraged me to keep writing because he wanted to find out what would happen next.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C

URTIS

S

ITTENFELD

is the author of

The Man of My Dreams

and

Prep,

which was chosen by

The New York Times

as one of the Ten Best Books of 2005. Her nonfiction has appeared in

The New York Times, The Atlantic Monthly, Salon, Allure, Glamour,

and on public radio’s

This American Life.

Her books have been translated into twenty-five languages. Visit her website at

www.curtissittenfeld.com

.