The Replacement Wife (49 page)

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can.” Her head spun; she felt confused. And she wanted so desperately to believe it was possible. “But we can’t move forward unless we’re honest with ourselves and each other. This isn’t just about you having an affair. It’s not just about me getting sick, either. After I got better and you started putting in more hours at work, I never said a word, even though it made me angry, because I knew why you were doing it. You wanted to escape. What right did I have to object when you’d sacrificed so much on account of
me
?”

“I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“Maybe not consciously. But wasn’t there a part of you that was tired of me? Tired of being the good guy? I don’t blame you.
I
was tired of me, too. I would have escaped if I could have.”

“It’s not too late. We can fix this.” A note of desperation crept into his voice.

“Oh, Edward. I don’t know.”

Edward felt panic swell in him, clogging his throat, filling his ears with a strange buzzing noise. He took a clumsy step back, as if he could somehow ward it off, and bumped up against the wall behind him, the heels of his oxfords scraping against the brickwork with a sound like a match being struck. Maybe Camille was right; maybe there was a part of him that
had
wanted to get away. It had been a difficult time for them both. But right now all he wanted was to go home.

“What are you saying?” He eyed her apprehensively.

She let out a breath that seemed to release something deep inside her. “I think,” she said in a shaky voice, as if she’d just then come to a decision, “we should take a break. Until we can sort this out.”

The words landed with a dull thud in the pit of his stomach. “Are you asking me to move out?”

“I think it would be best, don’t you? For the time being.” Camille fought the urge to backpedal. Or to lessen the blow by saying
Just for a few days.
She prayed for the strength to see this through as she knew she must. Though, God, the way he was looking at her—as if she’d stuck a knife in him.

At last, he gave a slow nod. She caught the glimmer of tears amid the shadows that partially obscured his face. “What will we tell the kids?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.”

“We can’t lie to them.” His expression turned hard.

“No,” she said. “We’ll tell them the truth.”

He gave a dry laugh. “The truth? I’m not sure I know what that is anymore.”

“I know one thing: This is the only way we’re going to find out.”

Edward was silent as he contemplated this, gazing out at the darkened, rain-soaked street. “Look. It’s stopped,” he said at last. The pavement glistened where puddles had formed. The relentless drumbeat of the rain had given way to the sound of dripping eaves and the swishing of tires from the cars that crawled past. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Let’s go home.”

Home
. A picture formed in Camille’s mind, of the framed sampler that hung in her kitchen, a wedding gift from her in-laws, its simple homily cross-stitched in threads whose colors had faded over time:
Home is where the heart is
. If that was so, where did her heart belong now?

ELISE HAD HEARD
about it by accident. She and Glenn had gone to Kings County to visit a fellow faculty member, Chips Miller, who was in the ICU recovering from heart surgery. His real name was Anson, but years ago the assistant principal, Brenda Phipps, had commented that Mr. Miller reminded her of the character played by Robert Donat in her favorite old movie,
Good-bye, Mr. Chips.
She started calling him Chips, and the nickname stuck. He was not distinguished-looking—he was short and gray and stout—but he had the same exuberant manner, disdain for slackers, and gift for teaching. He was not without a sense of humor, either. He’d roared with laughter along with everyone else at the comic skit written and performed by his eighth-grade students in the school’s variety show the previous year, which featured a character called Mr. Chips-and-Dip. He was beloved by staff and student body alike, so everyone was shocked and distressed when the principal, Mrs. Hardaway, announced on Monday of that week, during morning chapel, that Mr. Miller had suffered a heart attack and was in the hospital.

Elise went to visit him the very next day. Glenn, although he wasn’t as close to the old man and might not have chosen to go on his own (he and the other faculty members had sent a get well card that they’d all signed, and Glenn had had each of his students write a letter), insisted on accompanying her, so she wouldn’t have to go alone.

They arrived at Kings County Hospital to find their colleague resting comfortably and in good spirits. They didn’t stay long—visits to the ICU were restricted to fifteen minutes. After a brief chat, Elise said as they were leaving, “Next time I see you, I expect you to be up and about, getting the nurses to write their congressman.” Chips Miller was a tireless promoter of doing one’s civic duty.

“Count on it,” the old man said smartly. “In fact, I’ll draft the letter myself. They’re underpaid, those nurses, and the deplorable conditions they’re forced to work in, why, it’s shameful.”

“You can write a letter about us poor underpaid, overworked teachers while you’re at it,” joked Glenn.

Mr. Miller was still chuckling when they left.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” asked Elise as they headed down the corridor.

“Sure. He’s a tough old bird.” Glenn spoke confidently. “If he had a sign around his neck it would read ‘Do Not Bend, Tear, or Staple.’” He grinned. “By government regulation, of course.”

They got into the elevator. Three floors down, it stopped and a pair of nurses got on. Both of them young—in their mid-twenties, Elise guessed—a pretty, freckle-faced redhead pushing an EKG cart and a girl with curly dark hair and an overbite. “Her water broke on the subway,” the redhead was saying. “Imagine. Good thing her family was with her or she might’ve ended up in Brighton Beach; she was in such a panic—she didn’t know what continent she was on.”

The dark-haired girl laughed. “Thank God for family, right?”

“Oh, and here’s the best part,” the redhead went on, apparently unaware that Elise was shamelessly eavesdropping. “Turns out Jeanine—you know Jeanine Danziger, works on my floor?—used to date the baby’s father. About a million years ago, but still. You should’ve seen the look on her face when he showed up.”

“Was he good looking?” asked the other girl.

“Yeah, but nothing compared to the sister’s husband. Oh, my God, you should’ve seen
him
.”

“Whose sister?”

“Subway Mom’s.”

The two nurses giggled, and the first nurse said, “Talk about hot. I mean, like,
to-die-for
. I swear, the guy was a dead ringer for George Clooney. And get this: He’s a doctor. I overheard him talking to Dr. J. Too bad he’s not on staff here, or I’d seriously think about switching floors.”

“Too bad he’s married,” the dark-haired nurse said with a sigh.

Doctor . . . pregnant sister-in-law . . . looks like George Clooney.
There could be only one person who fit that description, Elise thought. She didn’t know whether it was fate or mere coincidence that she and Edward happened to be in the same place on the same day, but it seemed a sign of some kind. She waited for her heart to do its little Saint Vitus’s dance, like it always did at any reminder of him. But it maintained its steady, normal beat. She let out a breath. Maybe she was finally getting over him. She felt both relieved and saddened at the thought.

Glenn must have put two and two together, because he was giving her a funny look. Others often underestimated Glenn, because of the way he joked around, but he was more perceptive than most people, or maybe just when it came to her. He didn’t question it when she got off on the same floor as the redheaded nurse. Nor did he offer any comment. He merely tagged along. It wasn’t until she’d stopped at the nurses’ station to ask for Holly’s room number and they were headed in that direction that he asked, “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m visiting a friend. I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” she said. She was careful to speak in an even, neutral voice.

“A friend who just happens to be related to the guy you’re in love with,” he stage-whispered.

“The guy I
used
to be in love with,” she whispered back. She wished now she hadn’t told him about Edward’s breaking up with her (if you could call it that). But there had been no one else to confide in, and she’d known Glenn would understand. He never judged her, even when he disapproved. How could he, with his track record? He was the self-proclaimed king of romantic dead-ends. He’d only said:
And I thought I was the only one whose picker was broke. Fine pair we make, huh?

They’d been walking in Madison Square Park at the time. Glenn had recently adopted a puppy from the SPCA, a dachshund-poodle mix that he called a wiener-doodle and had named Curly, and they were taking Curly to the dog run, the puppy straining on his leash, scattering pigeons and other pedestrians with each lunge. (Glenn had enrolled him in an obedience class, but Curly wasn’t making much progress.) “I just wish I’d followed my own advice,” she said with a sigh. “I’m always reminding my kids to look before they cross, and what do I do? I walk straight into traffic.”

“We all do stupid things in the name of love.” Glenn bent to unclip Curly’s leash, releasing him into the dog run, yipping with delight, to chase after a blond cocker spaniel. “Look at me. I have the market share. It doesn’t mean I was foolish or reckless or whatever.” He straightened and grinned. “Well, foolish maybe, but not reckless. Anyway, my point is, it happens and you move on.”

She gave a snort. “Look who’s talking. Mr. Optimism himself.”

“It’s different with me,” he said, his tone matter of fact. “Whatever I have, it’s not what women want. Either that or I’m cursed.” The most recent prospect, whom they’d dubbed the Cheese Lady, was, as it turned out, already in a relationship—with another woman. A few days after Glenn’s chance encounter with her, he’d spotted her again at Whole Foods, this time shopping with her partner and their little girl. Later, he and Elise had laughed at the irony of his having worried that the Cheese Lady would think
he
was gay. “You, on the other hand, could have any guy you wanted just by snapping your fingers.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, warming at the compliment nonetheless, “but even if it were true, I don’t seem to be very good at holding on to them.” She sighed again. “I couldn’t even hold on to my own husband.”

“Ah, so we’re back to that, are we? If what’s-his-name only knew, his head would be so swelled it would look like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. Seriously, Osgood—you’re reading way too much into it. He was just a shallow jerk who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Yes, but don’t you see—I
chose
him. Out of all those hypothetical men I could have married, I chose Dennis. Then after swearing off men, I went and fell in love with someone else who was all wrong for me—for different reasons, okay, but still wrong. Maybe it’s like you said. Maybe my picker’s broke.”

“I was only joking when I said that. Or maybe trying to make myself feel better about my own sorry state. Seriously. You struck out a couple times, that’s all. And maybe it’s all part of the plan.”

“What plan would that be?” She squinted at him. It was a chilly day, and he was wearing his green Patagonia windbreaker and winter-weight corduroys. With the sun shining on his face, his eyes seemed bluer than ever. His brown hair was scuffed from the wind and his cheeks stamped with red.

“The cosmic plan,” he said. “The one that’s keeping you on ice until your prince comes. Who, may I add, could come along at any moment.”

“You’ve been reading too many fairy tales,” she scoffed.

“You just wait. You’ll see. Though you may have trouble recognizing him at first. Remember, in fairy tales the prince is usually in disguise. A beggar or a frog or . . . you never know.” He cast a wry glance at Curly, who’d stopped chasing the cocker spaniel and was now sniffing a Labrador retriever.

She laughed. “I’ll keep an eye out, in that case.”

They found Holly awake, looking worn out but beatific. Curtis was with her. Elise recognized him from the one time they’d met, several weeks ago, at one of Zach’s soccer games. Curtis had cheered louder than any of them, and she remembered thinking at the time,
He’ll make a good dad.
Now he was one, and it was clear, from the slaphappy grin he wore, that he couldn’t be more pleased about it.

“Elise, hi!” Holly greeted her as she walked in. “Wow. News travels fast.”

Elise introduced Glenn, and Curtis stood to shake Glenn’s hand. “Welcome to the situation room.”

“We were visiting a friend, and we heard some nurses gossiping in the elevator,” Elise explained. “About a woman who almost gave birth on the subway. I figured it had to be Holly, from the description.”

“It’s on YouTube, if you want to see for yourself,” Holly reported.

“YouTube, huh?” Glenn looked amused.

“Yep. Some dipshit filmed it with his camera phone.” Holly rolled her eyes but didn’t sound too perturbed. “Just type in ‘subway mom,’ and then you, too, can witness my public humiliation.”

“Wow. So you’re a celebrity,” Elise remarked.

Holly grinned crookedly. “I always wanted to be a rock star. I guess this is the closest I’ll ever get.”

“Fortunately for us,” Curtis said, with a wry laugh. He turned to Elise and Glenn. “You just missed Edward and Camille. They were here not five minutes ago.” From his blithe tone, Elise surmised he knew nothing of her involvement, outside normal socializing, with the Harte-Constantins.

“Oh.” Elise waited once more for her heart to start doing its little dance, but it continued to beat at its normal, steady pace. “Well, next time you speak with them, tell them I said hello,” she replied pleasantly.

“Boy or girl?” asked Glenn.

“Girl.” Holly said. “We’re naming her Judith after my mom.”