The Replacement Wife (38 page)

Kat heaved a shuddery sigh. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. Like I said, the date went well, and then we went back to his place after dinner. I was fine . . . until he kissed me. That was when I lost it. I broke down and started crying for no reason. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me! It wasn’t even like I’d had too much to drink. And you know the worst of it? He was really sweet about it. He kept asking if there was anything he could do or if he should call someone.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked. “It was so . . . so humiliating.”

“Do you have any idea what might have caused it?” Camille asked.

Kat shook her head, taking another gulp of wine. “No, not really. Except . . . well, like I said, he was the perfect gentleman. He reminded me of—” she broke off, her cheeks coloring. “Someone I once knew,” she mumbled. She sucked in a breath and took a haphazard swipe at the tears still running down her cheeks. “That’s when I realized how hopeless it was. Whenever I meet a nice guy who I’m attracted to, it all goes to shit somehow. If I can’t find anything wrong with him, I’ll find a way to sabotage it. Which means there must be something wrong with
me
.”

Camille suggested gently, “I think it would help if you saw someone. A professional, I mean,” she clarified, at the panicked look Kat shot her. “I’m going to give you the name of a therapist. His name is Dr. McDermott. He’s very good, and he’s helped some of my other clients.”

Kat gave a harsh laugh and said bitterly, “Sure, why not? I’ve tried everything else. And it’s not going to get better on its own.” She eyed Camille plaintively. “Is it?”

“Probably not,” Camille said. She got up and went into the den, returning a minute later with one of her former colleague’s business cards. She handed it to Kat. “Call him. You won’t regret it.”

Kat tucked the card in her Chanel bag, then stood and smoothed her skirt. She was heading for the door when her gaze strayed to the grouping of framed photos on the mantel. There was a black-and-white one of Camille and Edward, at the beach in Southampton, standing with their arms around each other’s waists looking out at the ocean, she with her head resting on his shoulder. It had been taken a few years ago, by a photographer friend of hers who’d visited one weekend.
A portrait of happier days,
Camille thought now as she watched Kat pause to study it, a wistful look on her face. “You’re so lucky,” Kat said. “I just wish I knew your secret.”

Lucky?
Kat’s words stayed with Camille long after she’d gone. The irony was too rich. She was dying and her marriage in shambles. How much more unlucky could you get? If Kat only knew . . .

Edward was working ever longer hours, and when he was home, he was preoccupied much of the time. She used to complain about it, but lately it seemed too much of an effort. And yet he was unfailingly attentive whenever she was in need of ministering: when she’d been up all night throwing up or had a splitting headache or was running a fever. He monitored her temperature and placed cool washcloths on her forehead; he brought her tea and toast in bed and insisted on accompanying her to every doctor’s appointment. Sometimes Camille felt like screaming at him, “I want a husband, not a caregiver!” But she never did. She never said a word. How could she? She needed for him to let go of her, not hold on.

And then there had been the peculiar business with Elise. Edward had informed her recently that they wouldn’t be seeing any more of Elise. They’d just finished washing up after supper and were settling in to watch a movie on TMC, one of the rare evenings he wasn’t working late. The kids were in their rooms. “Really?” Camille said, her hands idle in her lap, loosely holding the TV remote, as she processed this disturbing new development. She was stunned and more than a bit perplexed. Why hadn’t
Elise
told her? It seemed out of character. “And what brought this about?”

“She decided it would be for the best,” he said.

“The best for whom?”

“For us. She didn’t want to make things any worse for me or the kids.”

“How could she make things worse?” Kat maybe, but not Elise. Elise couldn’t mess it up if she tried.

He shot her a dark look. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me, it isn’t.”

“What if it didn’t work out? Then where would we be?”
With you gone,
he didn’t need to add. “The kids don’t need any more upheaval in their lives.”

But Camille was still perplexed. She’d seen the way Elise looked at Edward: like a woman in love who’s trying not to show it. Why would she give up the chance to be part of his future? Unless . . .

“Did you say something to her?” she asked.
Something that could have led her to believe it was a lost cause?

He gave her another look. “Why do you automatically assume everything is
my
fault?”

“I wasn’t accusing you. Why are you getting angry?”

The discussion had ended with his getting up and leaving the room. Typical of Edward. But Camille couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was keeping something from her. It had been nagging at her for days, and now all at once the mists cleared. She thought about how close he and Elise had become, and how happy and relaxed he was with her.
He’s in love with her
. It must have been Edward’s decision to end it. He was torn, and didn’t want to risk giving in to temptation. And knowing Elise, she felt the same as he did: She was too principled a person to go anywhere near that slippery slope.
Wasn’t that partly why I chose her?

As Camille picked up Kat’s wineglass to place it in the dishwasher, she noticed the clear imprint of Kat’s lipstick on the rim of the glass. As she stared at it, it seemed to mock her.
My husband’s in love with another woman
. Yet why should that come as a shock? It was she who’d set the ball in motion. She hadn’t listened when Edward tried to warn her.

And the worst part, the part so horrible she could scarcely bear to contemplate it, was that she couldn’t just let it go. Her husband might have changed his mind, but her circumstances hadn’t changed. She was going to die. Sooner rather than later. The new drug wasn’t working, and it was only a matter of time before her family would be left to fend for themselves. Panic swelled in her.

I have to talk to Elise
.

Not over the phone, though. If she spoke to Elise in person, she’d stand a better chance of persuading her to . . . what? Go against her principles in allowing herself to grow even more attached to a married man for whom she had feelings? Suddenly, it all seemed so impossible. So wrong.

A wave of regret washed over Camille. Edward had warned her she was playing with fire, but she hadn’t known the fire would rage out of control, consuming everything she held dear.

SAINT LUKE’S SCHOOL,
on Hudson Street in Greenwich Village, was one of a select handful of elite private schools in Manhattan. It was one of the ones Camille and Edward had considered applying to when Kyra was old enough to start school, and she recalled touring the campus and being impressed by the lovely, parklike setting and obvious dedication of its teachers. (Ultimately, they’d chosen the Collegiate School, which had equally strong academics and was closer to home.) But gone were the days when her children’s education had been her primary concern. She had more urgent business at the moment, the outcome of which could affect their entire future.

Her taxi pulled up in front of Saint Luke’s an hour later. She had timed it to arrive when school was letting out, so as to catch Elise. On the way there, she’d rehearsed what she would say to her.
This isn’t what you want, I know—to be in limbo. But if you can be patient a little while longer, it will be so, so worth it later on.
Sure, there was risk involved. But the greater the risk, the greater the reward.

What’s my reward?
she wondered. Only the comfort of knowing, when her time came, that her children would be spared the loneliness of an empty house. Though any comfort to be had would be tinged with sadness, she knew; she could feel it now, a heaviness dragging at her, as if she’d been transported to a planet where the gravity was twice that on Earth.

She paid the driver and climbed out, crossing the sidewalk to the wrought-iron gates, flanked by high brick walls, that opened onto the campus, where she paused to steel herself before stepping through them onto the path. The bell had just rung, and students were pouring out of the two-story building at the other end of the tree-lined path, running to meet their parents or nannies. When she reached the entrance, Camille pushed her way in through the door. She passed the administrative offices on her right before heading down the first corridor on her left, which was where she spotted Elise, pretty and fresh-looking in a blue A-line skirt and ruffled pink blouse, standing outside her classroom talking to one of her students, a dark-haired little boy who didn’t look too happy. Elise was bent over so she and the boy were eye level. Camille heard her say, “Yes, Manuel, you’re still the mural monitor even though Kate and Jonathon are your helpers.”

“Yeah, but they have to do what I say!” he declared.

“Being in charge doesn’t always mean it’s okay to boss people around. Someday when you’re a real boss, you can tell other people what to do, but in the meantime, don’t forget this is a team effort.” She straightened and ruffled his hair. “Now run along; you don’t want to keep your mom waiting.”

He brightened, flashing her a smile before he scampered off.

“You handled that well,” Camille remarked as she approached.

Elise turned around at the sound of her voice. She looked startled for a second, and perhaps the tiniest bit dismayed, but then she broke into a smile. “Camille! What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to have a word with you. Do you have a moment?” Her heart was pounding hard enough to crack a rib, and she felt sick to her stomach, but she had to see this through.

Elise eyed her apprehensively. She seemed nervous. Camille had a pretty good guess as to why.
You’re in love with my husband, and he’s in love with you.
But Elise wasn’t one to shy from difficult conversations. Camille recalled the story of how Elise had confronted her husband when she’d suspected he was cheating on her, refusing to hide her head in the sand like many wives would. Besides, Elise had nothing to apologize for. “Sure,” she said with forced-sounding cheer. “Why don’t we step into the faculty lounge?”

A plump, older woman wearing a soft cast on one foot hobbled out the door to the faculty lounge, leaning on her cane, as they were headed in. “‘Hi, Flora,” Elise greeted her. “How’s the foot?”

“Better, now that I have a teacher’s aide,” the older woman said. “Those kids. They’ll be the death of me yet, I swear.” She was still shaking her head as she continued down the corridor.

Elise turned to Camille. “That was Mrs. Hobbs. One of her first graders accidentally let the class hamster out of its cage, and she broke her ankle chasing after it. The kids thought it was hilarious until they realized she was really hurt. Now all she talks about is retiring, though I doubt she ever will—she loves teaching.” Elise kept up a steady stream of chatter, as if to ease the tension that stretched between her and Camille like an invisible thread pulled taut. They entered the lounge, which was thankfully deserted—the other faculty members must have gone home. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward the Formica table by the window, where Camille pulled up a chair while Elise remained standing. “Can I get you some coffee, or maybe a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks. I’m good,” Camille said.

Elise sat down, reluctantly it seemed. Camille glanced around the room, taking in the rows of cubbies along one wall, each marked with a different faculty member’s name; the notices and sign-up sheets tacked to the bulletin board; the collection of mismatched mugs lining the shelf above the coffee station. It all looked so normal. So safe. A place where the worst that could happen was breaking an ankle chasing after a hamster on the loose. “So,” Elise said, “what can I do for you?”

Camille smiled to put her at ease. “I was sorry to hear we wouldn’t be seeing you anymore,” she began. “I wondered what made you change your mind.” She didn’t mince words, but her tone was gentle. She didn’t want Elise to feel pressured, or as if she was being reproached. “You seemed to enjoy spending time with us, and we certainly enjoy your company. Did something happen to upset you?”

Elise looked startled, and then she blushed and looked down. She seemed rattled for some reason, and Camille sensed it wasn’t just that she found it awkward discussing such a sensitive matter. “No. It . . . it wasn’t anything in particular,” she replied hesitantly. “He . . . we . . . decided it would be best if I bowed out. Things had become . . . complicated. Not that I haven’t grown fond of you all, but . . .” Elise trailed off, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture.

Camille sensed she wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. Part of her wanted to let it go at that. She’d done her best; she’d been through hell and made sacrifices no wife should ever have to make. But she knew she had to see this through. “Forgive me,” she said, “but I can’t help feeling I’m missing something here. I realize you don’t owe me an explanation, but it would help me if I understood. Please.”

Elise was silent for so long, Camille wasn’t sure she would say anything at all. Elise’s face was troubled as she seemed to wrestle with herself. Finally, she said, “It wasn’t my decision. It was Edward’s. He told me he could never see me as more than a friend and that if I was looking to get married again someday, he didn’t want to hold me back.” Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “I would have stuck around if it’d been up to me. If it makes you feel any better, you had me pegged correctly. I guess I am cut out to be a wife. I just happened to marry the wrong guy. It wasn’t until I got to know your husband that I realized that. He’s . . . he’s very special.”

It wasn’t quite what Camille had expected to hear. She’d guessed right but only partly. Elise was in love with Edward, but he wasn’t in love with her. The realization was followed by a swift, and entirely selfish, surge of relief. She thought:
Thank God
.
He still loves me.
But why hadn’t he told her the whole truth? Was it because he thought she’d be disappointed that her plan had failed? Whatever the reason, Elise wasn’t to blame.
Poor Elise. If I hadn’t twisted her arm . . .
She met the other woman’s gaze, in which, amazingly, she saw only kind concern. Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was more concerned about my husband.”