The Replacement Wife (58 page)

“I was thinking we could make the announcement when we’re in California,” he murmured into her hair. Their “engagement” was clearly a foregone conclusion in his mind. And why not? Hadn’t she led him to believe her answer would be yes? She had been there for him throughout this ordeal; she’d said Kaddish with him and his sisters; she’d held his hand, earlier, at the synagogue; and to cap it off, she’d just quoted from
The Bridges of Madison County.
What was he supposed to think? “It’ll be the perfect time—my whole family will be there.”

Angie’s heart sank. But she couldn’t break it to him here, not with his sisters and aunt in the next room. She had to stall him a little longer. So she only said, “Let’s talk about it later, okay?” He smiled as if it were a done deal, which made her feel even guiltier.

Minutes later, her cell phone rang.

EDWARD DRANK IN
the sight of her. He felt as if he’d been trapped for weeks in a dark chamber and a door had been flung open, letting in fresh air and sunlight. She wore a dark blue dress and black wool cardigan, low-heeled black pumps, a single strand of pearls around her neck—more conservative attire than he was used to seeing her in. But she was still the same Angie, her hair in a ponytail and freckles showing on her unmade-up face. A face that at the moment was a mask of fury.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she said as she stood facing him, in the frozen food aisle of the D’Agostino at the corner of First and Fifty-Sixth. When she’d met him in the lobby of the building where the reception was being held, they hadn’t lingered; she’d gestured, stone-faced, for him to follow her and then had stalked ahead of him down the sidewalk before ducking into the first establishment they came to. It seemed fitting somehow that it was a supermarket: a reflection of their unorthodox relationship. “What the hell did you think were you doing, showing up like that?”

“I needed to see you,” he told her.

“Now? I’m on a job! Which you’d have known if you’d bothered to call in advance.” If the look she was giving him could cause hypothermia, her voice was an ice pick chipping at his confidence.

“I admit my timing could have been better,” he said.

“No shit.”

He felt the last of his confidence drain away. He hadn’t thought this through, no. Nor had he given her fair warning. She had every right to be upset. “I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad time.”

“You couldn’t have picked a
worse
time. I’m dealing with a bereaved family here.”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry for their loss.”

“And this is how you pay your respects? God only knows what Dav—what the family must think, me running out on them like that.” An older, henna-haired lady pushing a grocery cart eyed them curiously.
We must look like a married couple having a spat,
Edward thought. Perhaps about what to have for dinner or over a credit card that had been maxed out. “So, what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait?” Angie whispered furiously after the woman had passed them.

“Camille and I are getting a divorce,” he blurted, and then winced inwardly. That had come out wrong. He’d meant to begin by telling Angie how much he’d missed her; that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since they’d parted. Instead, stupidly, he’d made it about him and his wife.

Surprise registered briefly on Angie’s face. Her eyes widened, and a flush rode up her cheekbones. Then her expression hardened again. “
That’s
what you came to tell me?”

“Partly, yes. But . . .” The look on her face stopped him before he could finish the sentence. How could he tell her the rest, what was in his heart, with her looking at him like that?

Angie carried her jacket folded over her arm—her hunter-green North Face parka with the fur-trimmed hood. She put it back on, as if she’d heard enough, and he was gripped with panic. “Wait.” He placed his hand over hers as she wrestled with the zipper. She jerked back as if stung.

“Look, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” she snapped. “But here’s a news flash: I’ve moved on.”

“At least, let me explain.” Edward started toward her, but she took another step back.

“I get it.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “I was Plan B, right? If you couldn’t patch it up with Camille, you’d still have me. What, did you think all you had to do was snap your fingers for me to come running?” She was so angry, she was quivering. The old lady pushing the grocery cart paused as she was opening one of the freezer cases, to stare at them. Clearly, they were arguing about something more than a roast versus chops.

“I didn’t think of you that way,” he said, imploring her with his eyes.

“No, I guess not, because clearly you weren’t thinking of me at all. Or you would have called. I don’t hear from you in months,
not one frigging word.
I have to find out from some random person at a party that you and your wife are separated. Jesus. Do you know how that made me feel?”

“I knew if I called you, it wouldn’t stop at that,” he said, but the explanation sounded feeble to his ears.

“I see.” Her eyes flashed. “So once again you were only thinking of yourself.”

“Camille and I were in counseling at the time.” He felt a stab of regret at the mention of his wife, like the phantom pain from an amputated limb, and then it was gone. He would always love Camille, but he was no longer
in
love with her. The woman to whom his heart belonged, and who held his fate in her hands, was standing before him now. “I had to see it through, to be fair.”

“What about being fair to me? The least you could’ve done was drop me a line.”

“You’re right. I should have. I’m sorry,” he said. The cold air had seeped through his overcoat; he felt chilled to the bone. “If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s too late for that. I’m seeing someone.” She lifted her chin in defiance.

He’d feared as much—a woman as vibrant as Angie wasn’t going to sit around waiting for a man who couldn’t make up his mind—but still, it caught him off-guard, knocking the wind out of him. He felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “Is it serious?” he asked, finally.

“He’s asked me to marry him.”

Edward blinked, and a black hole opened inside him. “And?”

“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” Her voice softened the tiniest bit.

Time stood still. He could feel a pulse thudding at the base of his throat. Every detail of his surroundings seemed magnified: the flickering of the overhead fluorescents; the music coming from the sound system—Carly Simon singing “You’re So Vain”—the rows of packaged goods inside the freezer case against which Angie stood, with her parka gaping open and her arms hanging at her sides. Finally, in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own, he choked out, “Don’t. If you really love this guy, I won’t stand in the way. I promise you’ll never hear from me again.”
Even if it kills me
. “But if you have any feelings for me at all, for God’s sake
don’t
.”

She studied him as if not quite knowing what to make of his words. The flintiness had gone out of her expression, but he heard the challenge in her voice when she asked, “And if I tell him no? What then?”

Edward’s gaze locked onto hers. This was his one chance, and he couldn’t screw it up. This time, he wouldn’t back away from his feelings. He wouldn’t come at it sideways or present some watered-down version. “I love you, Angie. I never stop missing you, not for one second.” This time, he didn’t bother to keep his voice down. “I know I handled it badly, and I’m sorry.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the henna-haired lady staring openly now. He’d drawn attention from other shoppers as well. He didn’t care. So what if he made a fool of himself? There were worse things. “Just give me another chance. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t regret it.”

Angie was staring, too, and for a heart-stopping moment, when she muttered, “Damn you,” he was sure he’d blown it. Then she took a jerky step forward, as if being tugged against her will, and with a choked cry fell into his arms. He hugged her hard, filling his lungs with her scent. “Don’t look now,” she whispered, “but everyone’s looking at us like we’re the two-for-one special.”

“Then let’s give them their money’s worth.” He tugged the elastic band from her ponytail, forking his fingers through her hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders. Then, her face cupped in his hands, he kissed her. He kissed her as if he’d been born for the sole purpose of doing just that.

They drew apart to the sound of applause. A pair of young women hooted in approval. A balding, middle-aged man lifted a pint of ice cream in a wordless toast. Even the old lady who’d been looking at them askance was smiling.

They held hands as he walked her back to the building. The light had faded from the sky, and shadows were pooled in the recesses of buildings. Spring was just around the corner, playing hide-and-go-seek—snow flurries one day, mild temperatures the next. Today it was cloudy and cold. Not that Edward noticed; they might have been strolling on a tropical beach to which they’d been magically transported.

“So, this Mr. Blum, how did he die?” he asked.

Angie tilted her head to smile at him, her face lit by the glow of the street lamp they were passing under. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she said. “The question is, how did he live?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Six Months Later

“H
old still. Let me see if I can fix it.” Camille frowned in concentration as she tugged at the zipper on Kyra’s dress. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, as if she’d spent the past hour shoveling snow on this bright summer day instead of getting the kids ready.
It’s not just this zipper that’s stuck
.

Relax. Take a deep breath. You can do this,
she told herself.

She wrestled with the zipper, and after freeing it from the piece of fabric it was caught on, guided it up the back of the pink satin bodice. “There. Now turn around so I can see.” Kyra dutifully swiveled to face her. “Oh, honey.” Camille’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know when I’ve seen such a beautiful bridesmaid. You look”—she was about to say
so grown up,
but caught herself. Kyra didn’t like being reminded that she was only fifteen—“absolutely stunning.”

“You don’t think this dress makes me look fat?” Kyra padded in her stockinged feet to the full-length mirror on her closet door, scowling at her reflection as if squaring off against a rival. She tugged at the skirt that flowed in gossamer layers from the fitted empire bodice, over hips so gloriously narrow it was enough to make a grown woman weep. Camille knew she’d never be that lithe or firm-fleshed again, no matter how many hours she spent at the gym.

“Sweetie, you wouldn’t look fat in a flour sack.”

“Mom. Be serious.” Kyra cast her a reproachful look.

“I
am
being serious. You look gorgeous.”

Kyra’s frown deepened. “I weighed myself this morning. I’ve gained two whole pounds!”

“So? You’re still growing.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Only because it’s the truth. Ask your dad if you don’t believe me.” At the mention of her ex-husband, she felt herself start to come undone and quickly reined in her emotions. She didn’t want to spoil this day for her children. “Now, do you think you can manage the rest on your own?” The only thing left for her to do was slip into her shoes. “I’d better go see how your brother’s doing.” For some reason, Zach had balked when she’d gone to pin the boutonniere on his lapel.

She found her son sitting on his bed where she’d left him, wearing a glum expression. He looked handsome in his groomsman suit and, like her daughter, more adult than Camille was entirely comfortable with. His hair glistened from all the gel he’d gooped on, to give it that precise messy look. He’d never paid much attention to his appearance until recently, but since he’d started noticing girls, she’d been buying hair gel and antiperspirant in economy-size jars and spray cans. Next it would be shaving cream and condoms.
Would you please stop growing?
she wanted to command. Though right now, he was acting more like a five-year-old.

“I’m not wearing it,” he insisted, glaring at the florist’s box on his dresser as if it contained hazardous material and not an inoffensive sprig of white freesia. “It’s stupid.”

“Why is it stupid?” she asked.

“It just is.”

“The other groomsmen will all be wearing theirs.”

“That’s different—they’re older.”

“I don’t see why that should make a difference,” she said, using her let’s-not-have-any-more-of-this-nonsense voice. She marched over to the dresser and withdrew the boutonniere from its box. She bent to pin it to his lapel, but was stopped short by the look on his face, which was more miserable than mutinous. Concerned, she asked, “Sweetie, what is it? Are you upset about Dad?”

When he didn’t answer, she knew she’d guessed right: Zach couldn’t talk about what was really bothering him, so he was making a big deal out of nothing. He pushed out his lower lip, squinting hard as if to keep from crying. “I showed it to Colby,” he said. Colby Jenkins was a friend from school who lived in their building; he’d stopped by earlier to visit with Zach. “He said it was
gay
.”

“Well, that’s just silly. I don’t know why anyone would say such a thing.” She refrained from adding that there was nothing wrong with being gay—for a fifth-grade boy, it was the worst insult imaginable, she knew. “Besides, you don’t want to be the only one not wearing one. It’ll look funny.” Perhaps the second biggest fear in fifth grade was of being conspicuous.

The tactic paid off. “Okay,” he relented, with a noisy sigh. “But I don’t need you to pin it on. I can do it myself.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in the Volvo on their way to the Episcopal church in Prospect Heights, where baby Judith had been baptized and where today’s nuptials were being held. Camille smiled to herself, thinking of Holly. Her fear that her wild-child sister would never settle down had proved groundless. Holly had found love at last, with a good man who doted on her and their daughter. Even so, Camille knew it was a huge leap of faith for Holly when she accepted Curtis’s proposal, and she applauded her sister for taking that leap.