The Replacement Wife (35 page)

She hadn’t expected to fall in love, and certainly not so hard and so fast. But the more she got to know Edward, the more convinced she became that Camille had been right in choosing her as his future wife. Her dad always said of his relationship with her mom that they were like “peas and carrots,” and that was how she felt about Edward. They shared the same values and interests—they both loved music (though she was more into classical and he into jazz), and nostalgia in the form of classic films, vintage posters, and club car diners—and she adored his children. She recalled with a smile the hot July day they took Kyra and Zach for a walk along the High Line, then to lunch afterward, at The Diner. Edward ordered a round of milk shakes to go with their burgers.

“Dad, do you know how many calories there are in a milk shake? About nine billion,” Kyra said. “Seriously, do you think Mom would approve of you feeding us this stuff?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. Why don’t we get another woman’s opinion?” He looked to Elise, asking with a twinkle in his eye, “What do you think, Elise? Would my wife disapprove?”

Elise chose her words carefully. “What I think is that you and your wife raised a sensible daughter who’s smart enough to know one milk shake isn’t going to kill her.” She turned her smiling gaze on Kyra. “Even if it has nine billion calories,” she added, trying not to think about her own waistline.

“Good save,” he whispered in her ear.

Elise knew she could never replace Camille in his affections. He loved his wife; anyone with eyes in their head could see that, but there were different kinds of love. Even if Edward saw her, Elise, only as someone he could potentially love down the line, she was willing to take that chance.

Her thoughts drifted to Glenn. She puzzled once more over the fact that there had never been so much as a glimmer of spark between them. Well, except that one time, after Dennis moved out. Glenn had come over for his nightly “tour of duty,” as she’d called it, but there was no consoling her that night. She’d just found out her estranged husband was shacked up with his girlfriend, after he’d told her (the lying bastard) he was staying with a friend. The news had sent her into a tailspin of self-pity and renewed outrage.

“It’s not that I care that he’s still sleeping with her!” she railed. “We’re not together anymore, so he can do what he likes. It’s just that . . . he . . . he . . . well, it’s the blatantness of it!”

“I don’t think that’s a real word,” said Glenn, attempting to lighten the mood.

She began to weep in earnest, and he put an arm around her. Finally, when she wouldn’t—couldn’t—stop, he guided her into the bedroom and eased her onto the bed. Still, the tears continued to flow, like blood from an open wound. Someone else might have been at a loss as to what to do, but not Glenn. He took off her shoes and then his, and stretched out beside her on the bed. He held her until his shirt—a gray polo, she recalled—was damp in one spot from her tears.

“Have you ever heard of anyone calling 911 because they couldn’t stop crying?” she asked in a choked voice. She was only half joking.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if you think it’d help, I’d be happy to make the call.” His breath smelled pleasantly buttery from the popcorn they’d been nibbling on while watching the Netflix DVD he’d brought over that night, a hokey 1950s movie starring Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee that he’d ordered only because he thought it would cheer her up. Glenn was the only man she knew, other than her dad, who’d willingly sit through
A Summer Place.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” she said, her runny nose inches from his.

“I have no shame. You should know that by now.”

She managed a feeble smile. “Look at you, you’re as bad as I am. Worse even. I can’t help myself, but you’re
choosing
to hang out with a woman who clearly needs psychological help.”

He held his handkerchief to her nose and ordered her to blow. “Maybe we both belong in the nuthouse,” he said after she’d obeyed. “Can’t you just see us in his-and-her straitjackets?”

Elise laughed at the image, a loose weepy laugh that rattled in her throat like phlegm.
I must look awful,
she thought. But it was just Glenn, she reminded herself, and he didn’t care what she looked like. He loved her for who she was on the inside, the way only a best friend can.

At some point, she drifted off to sleep. Hours later, she woke in the night to find her head resting on Glenn’s arm, his other arm draped over her. He was snoring lightly. She wondered how long he’d stayed awake after she’d fallen asleep. Long enough for his arm to grow numb, no doubt.

He must have felt her stirring because his eyes opened. He smiled, as if he was in the habit of waking up next to her. For the longest time, neither of them spoke. They just lay there, smiling at each other like a couple of kids in a blanket fort hiding out from their parents. In that moment, she realized something she’d known all along but that hadn’t really sunk in until then: She wasn’t alone. And she never would be, not as long as she had Glenn.

That was when he kissed her. Not a romantic kiss, but it wasn’t exactly
un
romantic, either. She felt the light pressure of his lips against hers, as gentle as an exhaled breath, and closed her eyes, imagining it was Dennis. Dennis’s mouth on hers, his fingers brushing her cheek.

When she opened her eyes and saw it wasn’t Dennis, the spell was broken. Glenn must have sensed it because he drew back at once, wearing the irreverent smile of the Glenn she knew. Perhaps he hadn’t meant it the way she imagined, she thought. Perhaps it was only an affectionate kiss. She knew this to be true when he didn’t act at all embarrassed. Instead, he teased, “Do you still want me to call the men in the white coats, or do you think it can wait until tomorrow?”

Elise, lost in thought, blew by the outdoor café where she was to meet Edward. She didn’t realize it until she was almost to the end of the block and noticed the addresses were getting higher. She was doubling back when she spotted him at one of the tables under the blue-and-white awning in front of the café. She halted in midstride, taking in the sight of him. How noble he looked! A patch of sunlight had crept past the awning to gild his profile, with its aristocratic nose and defined jawline: that of a Roman emperor on a gold coin. His dark curls gleamed as if he’d just showered. She pictured him stepping from the shower, naked, and felt a warmth steal over her that was part desire and part shame. At that exact moment, he caught sight of her and waved. When Elise waved back, her arm seemed to float up of its own accord.

“I haven’t kept you waiting, I hope,” she said when she reached him.

“Not at all. I just got here a few minutes ago.” He gestured toward the iced coffees on the table. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you. Double decaf espresso with skim milk, right?” She nodded and smiled as she sat down, touched that he’d remembered. “You look nice, by the way,” he said.

“Why, thank you. So do you. Some men are born to wear a jacket and tie, and you, sir, are one of them.” She was careful to strike the right tone, playful without being flirtatious. “You’re like my dad—he always wears a coat and tie to work. He says being a country doctor is no excuse for lowering your standards. My mom’s the same way—she wouldn’t dream of showing up at church in a pantsuit.”

“You’ve told me so much about your parents, I feel as if I know them.”

“You’d love them,” she said, adding silently,
and they’d love you
. “They’re great people. It’s a little embarrassing to admit this, but I think I had pretty much the perfect childhood.”

“Why embarrassing?”

“Well, when I was little, I used to think all parents were like mine. But when I got older and started spending time at my friends’ houses, I realized not everyone had it as good as I did. My mom and dad never fought, for one thing—they only disagreed from time to time—and although they were strict with me and my brothers, they never spanked us. They didn’t get drunk, like my best friend Courtney’s mom who was always causing scenes. They weren’t always off doing their own thing, either—we did things as a family. We played card games after supper, like you and Camille do with your kids, and every summer we went camping up at the lake.” Elise felt a tug of homesickness at the memory. “Nowadays, when I listen to my friends talk about their childhoods, I’m afraid if I tell them what mine was like, I’ll sound like a Pollyanna. Either that, or someone who’s hopelessly deluded.”

“I can see you in one of those big old farmhouses with a tire swing out back.”

“White clapboard with blue trim, and yes, there was a tire swing—it’s still there, in fact. There’s also a barn and chickens and an old pony named Popcorn that my brothers and I used to ride. He doesn’t do much anymore besides munch on grass, but Mom and Dad keep him for sentimental reasons.”

“Zach would think he’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Except the nearest golf course is miles away.”

Edward gave a knowing chuckle. Zach had returned from his trip to Fort Lauderdale lugging a set of pint-size golf clubs, a gift from Grandpa Larry. He’d spent the rest of the summer, whenever he could cajole one of this parents or Elise into taking him, at the driving range at Chelsea Piers. “If he ever decides to give up golf for farming, we’re in real trouble,” he joked.

They chatted about other things while they sipped their coffees. She asked after the children and Camille, who was soon to undergo another round of tests, she learned. He seemed interested in hearing about the field trip Elise had taken her fourth graders on, to the Museum of the Moving Image. Finally, when enough time had elapsed for it not to seem as if she were dying of curiosity, she asked, keeping her voice light, “So, what was it you wanted to see me about?”

Edward shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. She felt a trickle of unease in her belly. A trickle that became a flash flood with his next words. “Elise, I know we’ve talked about this, but I thought I should make myself clear, in case you’ve changed your mind or . . . or gotten the wrong impression: There’s no future with me. I like you, and enjoy your company, but . . .” He trailed off at the stricken expression she must have worn, realizing, as he must have, that his suspicion was correct: She
had
gotten ideas, despite what she’d told him initially. His face creased with concern. “If . . . if I’ve inadvertently led you on in any way, I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to say. She kept her smile locked in place as her heart sank.

He placed his hand over hers. “Not that I don’t value your friendship,” he went on, in the same kind voice. “It’s been wonderful getting to know you, and the kids adore you. But it would be selfish to string you along if you’re looking to get married again someday. You deserve better.”

Elise was suddenly having trouble getting enough air into her lungs. She concentrated on slowly inhaling and exhaling, until she could breathe normally again. Finally, she said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone, that of a sane person who wasn’t in danger of becoming hysterical, “I’m glad you think of me as a friend. I think of you that way, too. But we don’t know what the future holds—we haven’t gone down that road yet. I know it’s not something you want to think about right now, nor do I, but someday we might feel differently.” As if she weren’t in love with him already. “Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to, at least, be open to the possibility?”

He shook his head. She saw the regret on his face—regret at having to hurt her, not because he had misgivings. “I don’t see myself ever loving you the way I’d have to in order to make that leap.”

“Because you love your wife?”

He hesitated before answering, “Yes.”

She took him at his word, but that beat of hesitation made her wonder. What if it wasn’t just that he loved his wife? Suppose
she
was lacking in some way. Maybe he could never love her for the same reason Dennis couldn’t stay faithful. Whatever it was, she needed to know. “Is that the only reason?” she asked. He froze, and at the guilty, almost panicked expression that came over his face, she realized he’d misunderstood. She, on the other hand, understood perfectly. She knew that look all too well: It was the same expression Dennis had worn when she’d confronted him about the affair. “Oh, my God. There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all.

“I see. So I wasn’t the only one,” she went on, her voice hardening. “Camille had someone else lined up in case I didn’t pan out. Maybe I wasn’t even her first choice.”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” he assured her. “Camille . . . she doesn’t know.”

This was an even bigger shock. Elise didn’t ask if he was cheating on his wife. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, though she hoped he wasn’t—she hated to think of him being anything like Dennis. Besides, it was enough to know he was in love with someone else. Though, judging by how tormented he seemed, it was bringing him more grief than joy. “Well,” she said, after the shock had worn off, “I can’t say I saw it coming, but I appreciate your honesty.”

“If it means anything, I’m sorry,” he said.

“I know. Me, too.”

“You’ll find someone, and when you do, he’ll be worth the wait.” He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, an affectionate gesture that was like antiseptic poured over an open wound.

“We’ll see. I’m not holding my breath,” she said.

“Trust me, he’s out there.”

Elise started to choke up. She’d thought she
had
found him—that special someone with whom she could curl up in bed at night, go on trips, exchange sections of the
Times
while they lounged in their pajamas on Sundays drinking their morning coffee. Someone who’d father the children she hoped to have someday. She drew in a shaky breath. “So,” she said, “I guess this is it then. Will you tell the children good-bye for me?”

“It doesn’t have to be good-bye,” he said. “We can still be friends, can’t we?”

Elise was on the verge of answering,
Yes, of course—
because wasn’t that what nice girls said to make the other person feel better?—but she couldn’t; it would be wrong. She couldn’t be friends with him without wanting more. “No, I don’t think so,” she told him. Struck by the absurdity of the situation, she smiled. “Silly, isn’t it? I haven’t done this since elementary school.”