The Replacement Wife (10 page)

“He’ll get it together.” Holly defended her brother-in-law. “He’s just used to having you do everything.”

“Kids can’t be put on hold,” Camille reminded her. “It’d be better for everyone if he didn’t have to go it alone.”

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?” Holly asked warily.

“Maybe Mom had the right idea.”
Even if she picked the wrong person
.

“Oh, my God.” Holly’s blue eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Camille nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before going on. “I want to be the one to find him his next wife.” The idea had gradually taken shape in her mind over this past week, and like the cancer eating away at her insides it was inescapable—she couldn’t dismiss it.

Holly’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. With crumbs of croissant stuck to her lips, she looked childlike in that moment. Then she whispered furiously, “Christ Almighty. Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Camille didn’t back down. “Is it so terrible to want to make sure my family will be okay after I’m gone?”

Holly shook her head, still gaping at her in disbelief. “No, but this is going too far.”

“Is it? Holly, it’s what I
do
. What I’m good at. How can I just leave it up to the whims of fate? You know how clueless Edward is. If he ever gets around to it, he’ll marry whoever’s the most persistent.” Half the female personnel in his department at New York–Presbyterian had crushes on him—anyone with eyes in their head could see that—but he always gave her a blank look whenever she teased him about it. And it wasn’t just that he was clueless; he’d be drowning in grief after she was gone. Any woman who managed to snag his attention would have to be a pit bull.
Is that what I want for my family?

Holly went on shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’d even consider such a thing.”

Camille’s mouth twisted in a smile that held no humor. “That’s the funny thing about dying: You find yourself considering all sorts of things you couldn’t have imagined before.”

Her sister’s expression softened. “And what does Edward have to say about all this?”

“He doesn’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” She was waiting for the right moment to broach it with him. Though she had a feeling there would never be a right moment. Her resolve wavered momentarily as she recalled the stricken look on his face when she’d told him she was dying. Her voice cracked. “It’s just . . . oh, God, Holly, I’m so scared. I don’t know what else to do.”

Holly reached for her hand, blinking against the tears that welled in her own eyes. “I know you’re scared . . . you have every right to be. I also know what a control freak you are.” She managed a wobbly smile. “But, Cam, there are some things even
you
can’t control. First off, Edward would never go for it. I’ve never seen a man so devoted to his wife.”

“I know.” Camille felt as if an invisible band were tightening around her chest. “That’s what makes it so hard.” The selfish part of her wanted her husband to mourn forever after she was gone. She pictured him in his bereavement, a lonely figure in black wandering the windswept moors like Heathcliff in
Wuthering Heights
. But this was real life. And real life was messy, full of pieces needing to be picked up. “But we’re not talking about romance. It would be strictly platonic.”

“Like a stock with growth potential?” Holly supplied, her tone grim.

“Something like that.” Camille looked down at her hands.

“What if,” Holly ventured cautiously, “this hypothetical woman, assuming she
is
hypothetical—” She shot Camille a sharp look. “—should develop feelings for him. You can’t always predict how someone will react.”

The band around Camille’s chest tightened further. “I guess that’s the chance I’ll have to take. But whomever I ended up choosing, she wouldn’t be the type to act on those feelings. Give me some credit.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Holly said darkly, but at the look Camille gave her, she immediately backed off. “Okay, let say it
is
strictly platonic. In that case, why bother? Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“Yes, and he has friends, but not someone he could call at two in the morning if he needed to talk. Or who’d drop everything, without being asked, to help out in a pinch,” Camille pointed out. Even Hugh, kind and caring though he was, couldn’t be expected to fill in all the gaps. “He needs someone who’ll be there for him and the kids like another parent would.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Holly replied indignantly.

“No, of course not. But you’ll have your hands full.”

“I’m having a baby, not dropping off the planet.”

“I know. And believe me, I’m counting on you to be there. And to spoil my kids rotten.”

Holly gave a tremulous laugh and reached for a napkin, using it to dab at her eyes. “You mean you won’t roll over in your grave if I let them eat Froot Loops and watch R-rated movies?”

“I might. But don’t let that stop you.”

Holly blew her nose into the napkin. “While we’re on the subject, I have a confession of my own: I’m with Edward—I think you’re jumping the gun. There’s still a chance you can beat this.”

Camille shook her head mournfully. “You can afford to believe in divine intervention, but I have to be realistic.” There was more she could have said—about how much this was hurting her and how the last thing she wanted was to drive a wedge between her and her husband by introducing another woman into the mix—but she held her tongue. There were no words to express how she was feeling, or to convince Holly. All she knew was she couldn’t allow her family to fall apart when she had the means to spare them at her fingertips, no further away than her client list.

They spoke no more on the subject. They finished their croissants—Holly polishing off hers as well as Camille’s—and Camille paid the bill. She glanced at her watch as they were leaving, surprised to see it was nearly lunchtime. As they walked to the subway station, Camille told her sister about the Texas oil magnate, newly divorced, who’d flown in from Houston to discuss the possibility of her finding his next wife for him. She was on her way to meet him now; he was taking her to lunch at Jean Georges. “If you’re interested, he’s filthy rich.” She hadn’t yet given up on Holly, who so far had resisted all her matchmaking efforts.

“No, thanks. I don’t do filthy rich, just filthy,” Holly said, grinning as she placed a hand on her belly. “Speaking of which, you, um, wouldn’t happen to know what time it is in London?”

THEIR FIRST ANNIVERSARY,
Edward had taken her to dinner at the Four Seasons. Camille would long remember that night. How handsome he looked in his best suit and tie, and how elegant she felt in the new dress he’d insisted she buy for herself. She’d questioned the wisdom of splurging on such a pricey meal—at the time, they were subsisting on student loans and the meager salary from her part-time job as a research assistant—but he’d assured her they could afford it. He didn’t bat an eye at the menu prices, nor did he select the least expensive bottle on the wine list. After they’d eaten, he whisked her off to Central Park, where they’d gone for a carriage ride—the final treat of the evening. Only then did he confess he’d sold his collection of jazz CDs to finance the occasion. Camille, deeply moved by the knowledge that he would make such a sacrifice for her, could have wept. She had never loved her husband more than she did that night.

This week, they would celebrate their twentieth anniversary. Edward had warned her ahead of time not to make any plans, saying with a wink he wanted to surprise her. Camille could only hope it wouldn’t involve her getting on a plane. There had been a time she’d have loved nothing more than to be spirited off to Paris or Rome for a romantic weekend, but these days she simply wasn’t up for it. The course of chemo she was on was mild, aimed only at slowing the progression of her disease, but she was feeling the effects. Her appetite was off, and she tired easily.

Camille was relieved, the evening of their anniversary, when their hired car made the turn onto Fifty-Second Street instead heading for the airport. Minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Four Seasons restaurant. “You remembered,” she said, leaning in to kiss Edward on the lips.

He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “I even booked us the same table.”

“By the pool? What, did you pull the sympathy card?”

His smile faded, and he shot her a reproachful look.

It set the tone for the evening. Conversation was strained after that. Camille could only pick at her food, and even the bottle of champagne they sipped throughout the meal did nothing to lift the leaden mood. She knew she was lucky to have a husband who was sentimental enough to want to recapture the happiness they’d known as newlyweds, but it only served to remind her of what she’d lost . . . and what she stood to lose still. Even if they could somehow turn the clock back, time was running out. And there was nothing either of them could do about that.

Her mood improved a bit when they went for the commemorative carriage ride in Central Park afterward. Snuggled next to her husband under the lap robe provided by the driver, she allowed her mind to drift. It was early spring, and blossoms fluttered down around them like pink snowflakes, from the cherry trees lining the roadway down which they rattled. A full moon could be glimpsed through the treetops, floating like a ghostly galleon above the tall buildings along Central Park West. The only sounds were the
clip-clop
of hooves and distant blare of traffic.

“A perfect end to the perfect evening.” She sighed contentedly.

“Better yet, I still have my CD collection,” he replied with a chuckle.
And you.
The unspoken words hovered in the air.

“I still find it hard to believe you let a woman come between you and Charlie Parker,” she teased.

“Not just any woman.” He gazed at her tenderly, shadows from the street lamps that illuminated the roadway flickering over his face. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.” He withdrew a jeweler’s box from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Happy anniversary, darling.”

Inside the box was a diamond teardrop pendant on a delicate gold chain. Beautiful but also a bittersweet reminder. The band around her chest squeezed tighter until she could scarcely breathe. As Edward fastened the chain around her neck, she envisioned him doing the same for their daughter someday. Kyra getting ready for her first prom or her wedding, wearing this same necklace.

“It’s lovely,” she said in a small, cracked voice.

“Sorry my fingers are so cold,” he apologized when she began to shiver. “Perfect,” he pronounced when she turned around so he could see how the necklace looked on her. “I just wish I’d been able to afford something this nice our first anniversary.” Back then, his gift to her had been a silver bracelet purchased from a sidewalk vendor, which she secretly treasured more than all the expensive jewelry he’d given her since. “But then I would have had to sell one my kidneys.”

She laughed. “Only a hopeless romantic would go to such extremes.”

“Are you saying I’m not romantic?”

“No, just that you’re not hopeless.”

They lapsed into companionable silence, each wrapped in his and her own memories. “I’m glad we could do this one last time,” she murmured as they were heading back the way they’d come.

Her husband remained silent, but now it was a brooding silence. She felt the coiled tension in his muscles as he sat beside her, gazing into the darkness. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tight. “It doesn’t have to be the last time. We could have years more.”

“Oh, Edward.” She exhaled deeply, and it seemed all the air she’d ever breathed went out of her lungs. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m simply choosing not to live in a dream world.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up against? Why do you think I went to all this trouble? I wanted tonight to be special, because I didn’t know if—” He broke off with a choked sound.

She fingered the necklace, feeling her own throat tighten. “I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”

In a sudden movement that startled her, he seized hold of her and crushed her to him, whispering hoarsely in her ear, “
You’re
all I want. Don’t you see? Without you, nothing else matters.”

She clung to him, fighting back tears, before reluctantly drawing back. “I love you, Edward. More than you’ll ever know. But the fact remains I have stage-four cancer. You know what that means. You know that whatever I do or don’t do, the chances of survival are next to nil.” She paused, looking him in the eye. “So I have one more favor to ask of you, my darling. And it’s a big one.”

He regarded her warily.
Probably he thinks I’m going to ask him to put me out of my misery when the time comes.
But what she’d be asking of him was much more: to imagine a life without her. Nonetheless, his voice was gentle as he replied, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

She felt a stab of guilt nonetheless. She was doing this for his own good, but he wouldn’t see it that way. “Remember what we talked about before?” she ventured.

He nodded his head, his expression growing warier. He attempted to make light of it, though. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have any candidates lined up yet to be the next Mrs. Constantin.”

She took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing tightly. Oh, God. This was so hard. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want you to be alone when the time comes.”

“I told you I’d keep an open mind. What more do you want?” he replied testily.

“I want to be the one to find her for you.”

He stared at her, wearing the same look of horrified disbelief Holly had worn when Camille had shared the idea with her, only with an overlay of anger. Finally, he exploded, “What is this, some kind of joke?”

Camille pressed on, “Please, just hear me out. I know how it sounds, but it’s not what you think. I’m not suggesting you . . . you take a lover. Nothing like that. I’m talking about someone who’d be a friend to you. Someone who’d help with the children. I don’t expect you to fall in love again right away. If at all,” she hastened to add at his thunderous expression. “It’s just . . . if you do end up marrying again, I want her to be special. As special as you deserve.”