The Replacement Wife (16 page)

She leaned in to place a hand on his arm, saying gently. “You have each other, that’s something.”

At the reminder, he rose to his feet. “Speaking of which, I should get back to the party. Camille will be wondering where I disappeared to.” He found himself lingering even so. Being with Angie soothed him in a way he couldn’t explain. They’d only just met but he felt as if he’d known her all his life. “Thanks. You’ve been very kind,” he said as he shook her hand, which was small but strong, like Angie herself.

“My pleasure.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to him. “Look, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I work weird hours, so I’m usually available when no one else is.” She smiled crookedly. “Sometimes it helps to talk to the bartender.”

Edward was used to women slipping him their phone numbers. Camille didn’t think he noticed when other women came on to him, but he only pretended not to because it embarrassed him. Yet he sensed this wasn’t that; Angie was merely reaching out. Nevertheless, he knew, even as he tucked the card in his wallet, he wouldn’t contact her. His wife might get the wrong idea.

He smiled grimly at the irony as he made his way back to the party.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I
have someone who’d be right for you.”

The woman seated across from Camille at the Blue Ribbon Sushi Bar & Grill, where they were having lunch, eyed her apprehensively. “Who said I was looking?” she replied, but Camille could see a glimmer of curiosity, and perhaps a spark of hope, in Elise Osgood’s gray-green eyes.

Camille smiled to put her at ease. “You must have known when I asked you to lunch, it wasn’t strictly social.”

Elise nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“It’s, um, a bit delicate.” Camille paused to take a sip of her Perrier. Why was it so hot in here? Maybe it was just her. She was nervous, a first for her—usually she was the one doing the soothing with prospective clients. “Just hear me out before you make up your mind, that’s all I ask.”

“Fair enough.” Elise sat back, smoothing her napkin over her lap.

So far so good. Camille had had a good feeling about Elise from the start. They’d met several months ago, at a Literacy Partners fund-raiser, and after learning the attractive thirty-eight-year-old schoolteacher was divorced, Camille had slipped Elise her business card. Elise wasn’t quite ready to start dating again, but they’d stayed in touch. Every time they’d talked, Camille had felt more and more drawn to the other woman. She had thought she and Elise could actually become friends, though she hadn’t given up on finding her a new husband when the time came. Never was there a woman more cut out to be a wife and mother. Which was why Camille had asked her to lunch today.

Elise Osgood had all the right qualifications. She was smart, sweet-natured, and wholesome, and pretty enough without being a temptress, with an open, guileless face and shiny light-brown hair worn in an attractive feathered cut. She loved children—her face had lit up when she’d spoken of her students at Saint Luke’s School, where she taught fourth grade—and was a regular churchgoer as well as active in several charities. She came from a solid background; she’d grown up in a small town in Wisconsin, the youngest of three children, where her father was a family practitioner and her mother a nurse. Above all else, she wasn’t in a hurry to get married again.

None of which made this any easier.

Camille had woken that morning feeling as if she had a dry-swallowed aspirin stuck in her throat. The thought of her husband with another woman, however benign the relationship, made her want to throw up. She’d almost chickened out and canceled her lunch date. Only after a good cry, a long hot shower, and a cup of strong coffee, did she find the courage to stay the course.
You can’t afford to be selfish,
she’d lectured herself. This wasn’t about what
she
needed but about what was best for her family. Now, as she sat facing the woman who might be her husband’s future wife, she drew in a deep breath before continuing, “He’s married . . .” At the look of shock on Elise’s face, she put her hand up, palm out, to still the words of protest forming on her lips. “. . . but his wife knows all about it. It was her idea actually. She’s terminally ill, you see.”

Elise’s shocked look gave way to one of sympathy. “The poor woman. My God, how awful!”

“Yes. Which is why it’s important she find the right person.” Camille sought to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t here to get sympathy but to secure her family’s future.

“And you think
I
could be that person?” Elise shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, it’s out of the question.”

Camille had known it would be a tough sell. Elise was a deeply moral person; she’d also been badly burned by her ex-husband, who’d cheated on her, which made the thought of becoming a home-wrecker downright repugnant. Camille had to convince her she would, in fact, be rescuing a home, not wrecking one. “I’m not talking about sex. Just friendship, for the time being.”

Elise eyed her in confusion. “I’m sure this man has his own friends. Why would he need me?”

“I’m talking about something a bit more . . . involved than the kind of friend who delivers casseroles and babysits the children now and then.”

“There are children? Oh, God.” Elise grew even paler.

“Yes, two—a boy and a girl. Both great kids.” Camille’s voice caught, and she reached again for her water glass.

“That makes it even worse.”

“Why? You love kids.”

“Exactly. Which is why I could see myself getting sucked in.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Yes, if you’re me. I could end up marrying a man I didn’t love because I was crazy about his kids.”

“I’m not talking about marriage. Though in time, if you and he should develop feelings for each other . . .” Here Camille faltered, taking a breath to bolster herself and loosen the knot in her throat before going on. “Then marriage would certainly be an option.” Elise stared at her, not saying anything. “Look, I realize it’s a lot to ask. It’s also a huge leap of faith. But you’re exactly what this family needs, Elise. And if you’re not ready to start dating again, it could be what you need, too.”

“I—I don’t know,” Elise stammered.

“Why don’t you meet them before you make up your mind.”

Elise looked torn, but after a moment she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“How could it hurt? There’d be no obligation.”

“Maybe not, but I’d end up feeling even sorrier for the poor woman.”

“She doesn’t want your pity. She only wants your help.”

“Which is exactly why I need to steer clear. You have me pegged. I’ll give you that much,” she told Camille, her mouth twisting in a rueful smile. “I’m always the first person with my hand in the air whenever a job needs doing. But serving meals to the homeless on Thanksgiving is a far cry from getting involved in something like this. I don’t need that kind of commitment right now. If and when I marry again, it’ll be for love.”

“But didn’t you marry for love the first time?” Camille reminded her.

Elise winced and looked down. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “But I didn’t know what he was like when I married him.”

“All the more reason to go a different route. How do you know you wouldn’t grow to love this man in time?” It pained her deeply to say it, but she had to look to the future. She wanted her husband to know happiness again after she was gone and for her children to grow up in a happy home. She swallowed hard, struggling to quell the tears that threatened.

Elise absently fingered the Tiffany heart on a chain around her neck (a gift from her former husband?) as she frowned in thought, the pain of those memories etched on her face. Their entrées had arrived, but neither of them had picked up their forks. “That’s partly what worries me,” she said. “If that were to happen, how could I be sure it was love and not something else? After I found out Dennis was cheating on me, I stopped trusting my own instincts.”

“Just because you chose wrong the first time, it doesn’t mean you will the next time.”

Camille knew she had a nibble when Elise asked tentatively, “What about the husband, what does he have to say about all this?”

“He wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, as you might imagine.” Camille gave a smile that held no humor as she thought back to the verbal battles of the past few weeks. Never had a victory been as hard-won or as hollow. “He’s only doing it for his family. For him, it’s an act of love.”

“He sounds like quite a guy,” Elise observed, her tone wistful.

“He is.” Camille spoke softly, her gaze drifting past Elise. She was seeing Edward in her mind’s eye holding their daughter in his arms when she was minutes old, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. If anyone had told her then she would one day be not only willing to give him up but working to persuade another woman to take her place, she’d have thought they were crazy.

“You sound as if you know him fairly well.”

Camille brought her gaze back to Elise. “I ought to. He’s my husband.”

Elise’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. You don’t mean to tell me—?”

“I have cancer.”

Elise stared at her in disbelief. “But . . . but you don’t look sick!”

“I know. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“God, I feel so awful. I had no idea. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want you to be biased.”

“I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive.” Elise’s eyes pooled with tears. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes. Meet my family.”

“You’re really serious about this?”

Dead serious,
Camille almost said, but this was no time for gallows humor. Elise deserved an explanation. “If you’re asking if this is how I pictured my life turning out, the answer is no. But things don’t always turn out the way you expect.” Elise ought to know that better than anyone. “I’m just playing the hand I’ve been dealt. I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it. But I can’t let my own needs get in the way of doing what’s best for my family. Which is where you come in.”

“Why me?” Elise dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

“You and Edward would be a good fit. And my children would love you.”

Elise gave a wobbly smile. “What are their names?”

“Kyra and Zach. She’s fourteen, and he just turned nine.” A true smile surfaced as she spoke. She couldn’t speak of her children without smiling. “You’d love them. They’re wonderful kids.”

“This must be hard for them, too.”

“It is. But they don’t know the extent of it. Not yet.”

Elise put a hand over Camille’s. “I can only imagine what you must be going through.”

Camille felt deeply grateful toward this kind, caring woman. But knowing she’d picked the right person didn’t make it hurt any less. “It
is
hard,” she said, “which is why it’s important my family be in good hands after I’m gone.” Elise nodded slowly, and Camille could see she was softening. “Would you like to see a picture of them?” She pulled a snapshot from her purse and handed it to Elise, one taken by her sister at their beach house a few summers ago. In it, Edward was carrying the then five-year-old Zach on his shoulders, bookended by his wife and daughter, the four of them brown as mariners and wearing identical grins. It was her favorite photo of her family.

Elise studied it longer than mere politeness dictated. “You have a beautiful family,” she said softly when she finally handed it back. If eyes were windows to the soul, Elise’s were the floor-to-ceiling kind: You could see every emotion in their gray-green depths. Right now, the look in them was that of a woman longing for the child she might have had by now if her marriage hadn’t ended. “All right,” she said. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises.”

ELISE USED TO
think that if you married for love only good would come of it. Her parents were living proof—they still held hands when they sat on the couch watching TV in the evenings, and after her dad had dragged her mom to a ball game or golf tournament, he always followed it up with something he knew she’d enjoy: an evening out at the Rainbow or a movie he wouldn’t in a million years have chosen to see on his own (the kind that had him snoozing by the time it got to the part where Elise’s mom was sniffling into her handkerchief). When Elise had fallen in love and gotten married, she had taken it for granted her marriage would be as solid and loving.

Dennis had all the makings for the perfect husband. He had the same small-town values as she did and revered God, country, and the Saint Louis Cardinals, in that order. He was thoughtful and attentive, as sentimental as he was passionate, and he made an effort with her family. The first Christmas she took him home to meet them, Dennis brought a suitcase full of gifts—a handsome coffee-table book for her parents, a box of fancy chocolates for each of her brothers and their wives, toys for her nieces and nephews. Before he popped the question, he made sure to get her father’s blessing, though Elise, thirty-one at the time, had lived on her own since college.

Dennis fit in so well he might have been an Osgood himself. He was big, blond, and blue-eyed like her dad and brothers. He loved to tinker with car engines and, like Rob and Brett, had played football in college. And he treated Elise like a queen. The only thing they ever disagreed on was the wedding. Elise had her heart set on a church wedding, and Dennis lobbied for a simple ceremony before a justice of the peace, with just their families and close friends in attendance. “Why go to a lot of fuss?” he’d argued. “Wouldn’t you rather be on the beach in Aruba than stressing out about seating arrangements?” In the end, he’d gotten his way. Not that it had mattered; on her wedding day, all she could see was her groom standing before her, his eyes shining with love.

And their passion didn’t ebb once the honeymoon was over. A junior associate at his law firm, Dennis put in long hours at the office. But whenever he had to work late, he always arrived home with something he’d picked up for her along the way, to make up for it—flowers, a box of strawberries, the latest edition of
The New Yorker
or
Cosmopolitan
fresh off the press. On the rare occasion when she was the one who had to work late, she’d often as not arrive home to find candles lit and music playing softly on the stereo and Dennis at the ready with a bottle of massage oil.