The Replacement Wife (18 page)

“Why, what did you have in mind?”

“There’s a Truffaut festival at Film Forum. We could catch whatever’s playing, then go out for Chinese afterward.”

“Sounds good, but I’m not sure what my plans are this weekend.” It depended on the answer she gave Camille. She felt a fluttering in her belly at the thought. Briefly, she thought about confiding in Glenn, but he’d tell her she was crazy to even consider it. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

“You’re not keeping something from me, are you?” He leaned in, his eyes dancing, and she smelled the peppermint tea on his breath. “Something involving a practicing member of the opposite sex?”

Elise opened her mouth to tell Glenn to stop being obnoxious, then thought better of it. “Of course not,” she said, then flashed him a secretive smile before turning to let herself into her classroom.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I
f you don’t tell him, I will,” Holly said as she made the turn onto Park Avenue. She was driving the “Juicemobile,” which was what she called the OJ-era white Bronco she’d bought, used, so she could travel to flea markets outside the city in search of rock memorabilia. Camille sat in the passenger seat, hanging on for dear life even though she was strapped in, because her sister was a kamikaze behind the wheel.

They were on the way to the Waldorf Astoria hotel to meet their dad, who was in town for the annual golf tournament at his old club in Bronxville. They always had dinner with Larry, at Peacock Alley, the first night of his stay. Camille and Holly hadn’t celebrated holidays with their dad since they were children, so it was what passed for tradition in the Harte family. Usually, Edward and the kids joined them, but this year Camille had thought it best she and Holly go alone. She didn’t want her dad to know she was sick (with Larry, everything was on a need-to-know basis as far as she was concerned) and couldn’t risk having her nine-year-old blurt it out. What she hadn’t taken into consideration was her sister’s big mouth.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned Holly.

“Well, someone has to, since you’re obviously not going to.”

Camille gave a sigh. She was tired and out of sorts from having spent the better part of the afternoon in the infusion suite at New York–Presbyterian hooked to an IV, and in no mood to play make-believe, in pretending their dad gave a damn. “Can’t you wait until after I’m dead?”

Either way, it wouldn’t make a difference. Her father had never been there for her. Not after Brendan Garver broke her heart in eighth grade or when she was devastated after getting rejected by her top two picks when applying to colleges her senior year or even when she was at death’s door the previous year. The most she could expect from him was a murmur of sympathy or consoling pat on the head. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, just that he didn’t care enough. And half-baked love, she’d learned the hard way, was worse than no love at all, because it left you wanting more.

Holly shot her an admonishing look. She was dressed all in green—pale green pashmina shawl over an emerald wrap dress, green faux-crocodile sandal heels, and dangly jade earrings. No one else could have pulled off such an ensemble, but somehow Holly did. “Enough with the morbid talk,” she chided. “I’m not ready to bury you just yet.”

Camille sighed again. “Fine, if you stop making excuses for Dad. He was a shitty dad and you know it. And he’s not much better as a grandfather. Kyra and Zach barely know him, for God’s sake.”

She stiffened and braced herself as her sister swung into the next lane, nearly clipping a black Escalade in doing so. “Okay, so maybe he could make more of an effort,” Holly conceded, “but you don’t exactly knock yourself out, either. How long has it been since you visited him—four, five years?”

“The last visit, the kids and I spent the whole time at the pool while he and Edward played golf. That, and hanging out with a bunch of people we didn’t know. Not exactly my idea of fun.”

“He did make a special trip to see you when you were in the hospital,” Holly reminded her.

“Only out of a sense of duty, I’m sure.” Camille wished her sister could see their father for what he was. Holly saw a whole cake where there were only crumbs and the bare minimum as an act of fatherly devotion.

Holly zipped through the intersection at Park and Fifty-Second as the light changed from yellow to red. “He’s not as bad as you make him out to be. He’s just not good at showing his emotions.”

“There you go again, making excuses.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s some loser dad!”

“No, and we weren’t starved or beaten, either.”

“Whatever happened to
forgive those who trespass against us
?”

“I’m not Catholic, and unless you converted without me knowing it, neither are you.”

“My point is, you may not have many more opportunities,” Holly said in a more subdued voice. “Do you want this to be like all the other times, with him making nice and you making him pay for his sins.”

“What do you mean? I’m always perfectly polite.”

“Yeah, when you’re not acting like it’s torture just to have to sit through a meal with him.”

“That is so not true!” But even as Camille protested, she knew her sister was right: She didn’t make it easier for their dad. On the other hand, any attempt to get close to Larry at this late date would seem forced. Maybe she should aim for the middle ground: general forgiveness of those who’d trespassed against her without naming any names.

“Is too,” Holly said in a sing-song voice, like when they were eight and eleven.

“Okay, okay.” Camille gave in. “I’ll be on my best behavior. But in exchange, you have to promise not to say anything about me being sick. Seriously, Holl, I mean it.” She gave her sister a stern look. “I don’t want this to get maudlin.” Not that there was much chance of that with Larry.

“Don’t pregnancy hormones entitle me to a Kodak moment, at least?”

“Uh-uh. Nothing doing.”

Now it was Holly’s turn to sigh. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Soon they were pulling into a parking garage a block from the Waldorf Astoria. Holly phoned their dad as they were leaving the garage, and he was there to meet them when they stepped through the revolving glass door of the hotel lobby minutes later. He broke into a wide grin when he saw them. “Ah, and who are these two lovely ladies? Don’t tell me they’re my daughters!” It was the same tired line with which he greeted them each time, and they chuckled dutifully.

The mingled scents of Old Spice and Mac Baren pipe tobacco reached through the years to grab Camille by the throat as she hugged her father. “Hi, Dad. You’re looking good,” she said.

It was true. At seventy-nine (“seventy-nine years young!”) he was still in good shape, not an ounce of fat on him, and his face, although deeply lined, had retained its rugged contours. He had all his own teeth and a full head of hair—hair once blond and now the ivory of old piano keys. It was easy to see why he was the most sought-after man at Heritage Acres.

“So are you, baby, so are you,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed how pale and drawn she was, which he probably hadn’t. He turned to Holly. “And how’s my newest grandchild? He kicking yet?”

“We’re still taking bets on whether it’s a he or a she. You in, Grandpa?” Holly said, hooking an arm through his as they strolled through the lobby to Peacock Alley, Camille bringing up the rear.

“How are the kids?” Larry asked Camille when they were seated.

“They’re fine,” she said, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “They send their love.” Mindful of her promise to Holly, she made a conscious effort to strike an upbeat tone. “You should see Kyra—she’s become quite the young lady. She’s been after us to let her wear makeup to school, but so far we’ve been able to hold the line. And Zach”—she shook her head in mock despair—“we’ll be shopping for his clothes in the men’s department before long. He’s shot up at least a foot since you last saw him.”

“I’m sorry they couldn’t make it tonight.” Her father sounded genuinely disappointed. He was good at making all the right noises—she’d give him that. “I don’t remember you and Holly having so much homework when you were in school, but I guess it’s different nowadays.”

How would you know, you were never around?
Camille wanted to retort. But she held her tongue, not wanting to spoil the evening for her sister. She only replied, “It
is
a school night, Dad.”

Larry seemed to accept this and moved on to another topic. “How’s Edward? He still racking up those frequent flyer miles?” he inquired as he sipped the wine their waiter had just poured.

Camille felt a prickle of irritation. The only trips her husband made were when he visited his parents, in Milwaukee, or was flown in to speak at medical conferences, but trust Larry to make him sound like . . . well, like Larry. She replied with an edge in her voice, “As a matter of fact, he’s home with the kids right now. We don’t like leaving them unsupervised. But maybe that’s another thing that’s different than it was in your day.”

“Dad, guess who I ran into the other day?” Holly shot her a warning look before launching into a shaggy-dog story involving some old crony of their dad’s whom she’d randomly bumped into on the street. After that, they stuck to neutral topics. Camille spoke of the increasingly stiff competition in her business—there were more ads for matchmakers in
New York
magazine than for gentlemen’s escorts these days. Larry recounted a recent moment of triumph on the golf course when he’d shot a hole-in-one. Holly told about the leather jacket once belonging to the Boss that had fetched a high price on eBay, money that would tide her over when the baby came. It seemed almost an afterthought when she casually mentioned that she’d been in touch with the baby’s father.

“Curtis and I had a long talk, and he was really cool about it. He wants to be supportive, whatever I’m comfortable with. He even offered to send money, but I told him I have it covered,” she said blithely.

This was news to Camille. Why hadn’t Holly said something earlier? Trust her to bring it up now, with their dad. “Did he also offer to make an honest woman of you?” she asked in an arch tone.

“God, no!” Holly gave a mock shudder.

“Am I missing something?” Larry looked confused as his gaze traveled from Holly to Camille.

“I barely know the guy,” Holly explained. “I don’t see any reason to get married just because I happen to be knocked up. So if you were planning on going after him with a shotgun, Dad, there’s no need.”

He gave a wry chuckle. “Just because I’m old, it doesn’t mean I’m old-fashioned. Honestly, you young people act like you invented sex. This may come as a shock, but your mother and I were hardly virgins when we married.”

The sisters exchanged a look, and Holly nearly choked as she was swallowing a mouthful of the Pelligrino she was drinking in lieu of wine. She coughed and reached for her napkin, wheezing, “Too much information, Dad.”

Larry’s blue eyes twinkled beneath silver brows. “So let me get this straight. You can have a child out of wedlock, but I’m supposed to act as if you and your sister were brought by the stork?”

“Wow. And all this time I thought we came out of a cabbage patch,” Holly quipped.

“The difference is,” he went on, “your mom and I were in love.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying I’m a tramp?” Holly pretended to take insult.

Larry smiled indulgently, reaching over to pat her hand. “No, but then I stopped worrying about your moral fiber a long time ago, around the time you ran off with that head bumper.”

“Head banger,” Holly corrected at the mention of her ex-boyfriend Ronan Quist.

“Dad, why didn’t you ever get married again?” Camille asked. Conversations with her father seldom got past the polite chitchat stage—discussing anything more personal than news, sports, and weather made him uncomfortable—so she seized the opportunity to delve a little deeper.

“Who would I have married?” he replied lightly.

“You certainly had your share of opportunities,” she reminded him. Even before he moved to Fort Lauderdale and became the heartthrob of Heritage Acres, he’d had women flocking around him. “Louise, for one.” A slight crease appeared between his brows at the mention of his former secretary-turned-mistress, but other than that no chinks appeared in his Teflon armor.

“No one could ever replace your mom,” he said.

“Maybe not, but she wanted you to get married again. She told me so herself.”
She was worried about what would become of Holly and me. She knew you too well. And she wasn’t wrong
. Holly shot her another warning look, but she ignored it—the emotions she was normally able to keep contained had been bubbling to the surface, like runoff from a toxic waste dump, ever since she’d learned her cancer was back. She spoke with cold deliberateness. “Instead, you chose to honor her memory by abandoning your children.”

He eyed her with reproach, but his voice was mild when he spoke. “Abandon? Don’t you think that’s too strong a word? Anyway, why dredge that up now? It’s ancient history.”

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

“Cam—” Holly started to interject, but Camille cut her off.

“And no, I don’t think
abandon
is too strong a word. What else would you call leaving two kids to fend for themselves for weeks at a time?” she went on. “Sure, we had Rosa, but you know as well as I do, as far as childcare went she was just for show. God, Dad, I was only fourteen!” Now that she had a fourteen-year-old daughter of her own, her father’s transgressions seemed even more egregious. “Holly had her big sister, at least.
I
was the one who calmed her when she had nightmares, who made sure she was dressed warmly before she went out and that she took her vitamins. I forged your signature on permission slips. I even had to lie to Grandma Agnes when she got suspicious because you were never there when she phoned—I was afraid we’d be sent to live with her. Though, in retrospect, we’d have been better off. Even foster care would have been better.” She shot a glance at Holly, who sat perfectly still, wearing a stricken look.

Larry sighed, visibly annoyed now and maybe even a bit unsettled. But he replied in a purposefully even voice, what she thought of his cockpit voice, the one he must have used to calm passengers when there was turbulence in the air, “Really, Cam. Do we have to discuss this now? I’d prefer to just enjoy my meal if that’s all right with you.” As if he were used to such outbursts, though this was the first time she’d confronted him about his past actions.