The Replacement Wife (26 page)

Elise’s gaze dropped to his shoulders. “Um, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but that’s a pretty nasty sunburn you have. You ought to put some sunscreen on before it gets any worse.”

Only then did he become aware of the prickly heat on his back and shoulders. He grimaced and reached belatedly for the tube of sunscreen he’d brought. “Usually, my wife reminds me.”

“Allow me.” Elise plucked the tube from his hand.

He stretched out on his stomach. It had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s touch, he gave himself over to the sensation of Elise’s hands smoothing lotion over his back as he lay with his eyes closed and his head cradled in his arms, sinking into it as he would a comforting embrace.

ELISE COULD FEEL
the tension that had Edward’s muscles in knots, even in his relaxed state, as she applied sunscreen to his shoulders and back, and her heart went out to him. At the same time, she took pleasure in the borrowed intimacy of the act. The last time she’d had her hands on a bare-chested man stretched out beside her was when she was married. Mentally, she drew comparisons. Edward was swarthy whereas Dennis was fair, with a leaner build than her ex-husband and a mat of dark hair on his chest that tapered to a narrow trail where it disappeared below the elastic waistband of his swim trunks, in marked contrast to the dusting of golden hairs on Dennis’s. And the differences between the two men didn’t end there. Dennis had loved her in his own fashion, she supposed, but like the old cars he liked to rebuild in his spare time, he wasn’t able to go the distance, whereas Edward’s love for his wife was built to last. She knew because she’d witnessed it in action. It had also been evident in the way he’d spoken of Camille the night before as they’d sat up late talking.

“You know what the toughest part is?” he’d said as he sat hunched over with his elbows propped on his knees, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold. “I’m a doctor, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do. I can’t make it better. And I can’t stop it from getting worse.”

“You’re a good advocate, though,” she reminded him. She had never seen anyone mobilize the forces faster in getting someone admitted to a hospital. “I don’t know anyone else who could have gotten that doctor on the phone as quick as you did . . . not to mention get him to come in when he was in the middle of watching a baseball game.” Edward shrugged, a crooked smile forming. “It didn’t hurt that the Mets were down twelve runs.”

“You’re also a good husband,” she added.

He gave a short, harsh laugh, as if he might beg to differ with her on that count, but she chalked it up to the sense of helplessness he must feel. “What good will it do in the end, when she’s dead and buried?” She flinched at the stark finality of his words. Exhaustion had caught up with him, she could see, stripping away his defenses and any optimism he might have felt.

“I know this is hard for you,” she said gently.

He shook his head, saying in a tight-lipped voice, “You don’t know the half of it. Have you ever had to watch someone you love slip away bit by bit?” His anger wasn’t directed at her, she sensed, nor was the question—he was only voicing his frustration. But she responded nonetheless.

“No, but I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. When I found out my husband was cheating on me, it felt like a death. What made it even worse was that I didn’t see it coming.” Though, looking back, she could see the signs had all been there; she’d simply chosen to ignore them.

Edward tilted his head up to look at her, squinting a little. “Knowing what lies ahead doesn’t make it any easier, believe me,” he said. With his bloodshot eyes and beard stubble, he reminded her of the men who came to the soup kitchen at her church, where she volunteered, some more presentable than others but all with the same look of despair. “It’s just a longer good-bye.”

Elise felt an urge to comfort him the only way she knew how—the same way she would if it’d been one of her students who was hurting, with a hug—but she held back. This experience had brought them closer than would otherwise have been possible in so short a time, but the fact was they hadn’t known each other long enough for her to take the liberty of putting her arms around him.

Now, as she felt the knotted muscles in his back start to give under the pressure of her fingertips, she felt something loosen inside her as well—the part of her that hadn’t dared risk getting her heart broken again. For the first time since her divorce, she allowed herself to think about getting married again one day and having children. Whoever she married would have to be special. Someone smart and kind and, most of all, trustworthy.
Someone like Edward
. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine it might actually be him—the possibility was too remote at this point . . . and too charged. But the thought remained nonetheless, teasing at the edges of her consciousness.

She thumbed the cap closed on the tube of sunscreen. This weekend wasn’t turning out the way she’d expected, and not just because of the scare with Camille. Elise had intended only to satisfy her moral obligation in honoring Camille’s request. Her imagination hadn’t stretched any farther than the possibility of her becoming a friend to Edward and Camille and their children, nothing more. Instead she found herself drawn to Edward in ways she wasn’t prepared for or entirely comfortable with. She had no idea where it would lead; she only knew there was no turning back. She’d known, in her heart, the instant she’d spotted him as she was stepping out of the cab yesterday at the East Fortieth Street jitney stop. She’d recognized him from the photo Camille had shown her, except he wasn’t smiling like in the photo. Taking in the sight of the tall, well-dressed man with the solemn dark eyes and dignified bearing, she’d thought of the lines from the poem “Richard Cory.”
He was a gentleman from sole to crown. / Clean-favored, and imperially slim.
A poem with a tragic ending, she recalled belatedly.

“You’ll find someone to love again,” her friend Glenn had said to her once in the thick of her post-divorce misery. He’d come over that evening to console her, as he had the previous evening and the one before that, bearing a Netflix DVD in one hand and box of microwave popcorn in the other. She felt more miserable than usual on that occasion, having wept her way through
Saving Private Ryan,
selfishly thinking only of Dennis and not the real tragedy of D-Day when so many lives had been lost. Glenn didn’t seem to mind, though; he was used to it by then.

“If I do, how will I know I’m not making a mistake?” she moaned, disconsolate. She’d made a mistake in choosing Dennis and had as little faith in her instincts as she did in her ex-husband.

“You’ll know,” Glenn replied calmly, passing her the bowl of popcorn.

“How?”

“You just will.”

Now, thinking of Glenn, she felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been looking forward to spending the day with him and his parents tomorrow; instead all she could think about was how sorry she’d be to say good-bye to this family. Despite last night’s ordeal, and in some ways because of it, she was having a good time. Also, she could see where she might be useful. Growing up in Grantsburg, she’d been taught to pitch in when a friend or neighbor or fellow congregant at her church needed help, whether it was tending to someone who was gravely ill or babysitting someone else’s sick child so they wouldn’t miss a day of work. As a doctor’s daughter she had also witnessed firsthand what terminal illness could do to a family. Last night was just a sample of what was to come, and there would be times it would be more than Edward and Holly could cope with on their own. They would need outside help, if only someone to pick up the slack with child care and chores.

Still, she couldn’t keep from questioning her motives. She looked down at Edward, dozing beside her.
Would I be doing it purely out of the goodness of my heart?
It was one thing to help another woman in need, another to develop feelings for that woman’s husband in doing so.

HOURS LATER, AFTER
Zach’s sand castle had fallen victim to the rising tide and Kyra had grown tired of waiting for some cute boy to notice her (the chances of which would have been dramatically increased if she hadn’t sat self-consciously hunched over with her knees to her chest the entire time), no one raised an objection when Edward suggested they grab a bite to eat and then head home.

They went to Shippy’s Pumpernickels, on Windmill Lane, where Zach ordered the same thing he always did—the butterfly shrimp—and Kyra and Holly split a pastrami sandwich. Edward put away an entire order of Shippy’s dauntingly apportioned Weiner schnitzel while Elise nibbled daintily on her shrimp salad. The only solemn moment was when Zach said he wished his mom could be there. To which Edward responded with a lump in his throat, “Me, too, sport.”

He phoned Camille as soon as they got home.

“Did you guys have fun at the beach?” She sounded tired but upbeat.

“Not as much fun as we would have if you’d been with us. But we worked up an appetite, at least. You should have seen all the food our son packed in at Shippy’s.” He paused before asking gently, “How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday, that’s for sure,” she reported. “Dr. Harding says I can go home tomorrow, on one condition: I had to promise to have Regina look me over as soon as I get back to the city.”

“Do you need me to make an appointment?”

“Already taken care of. I’m seeing her first thing Monday morning.”

“Great. I’d like to have a word with her, too.” He hadn’t given up yet on pursuing some form of treatment beyond just palliative. To that end, he’d consulted with Camille’s doctor on prior occasions as well as other hematologist-oncologists whom he’d worked with in the past. He also continued to scour the Internet for word of new protocols or cancer drugs in development. He was determined to leave no stone unturned. Camille may have given up, but he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to come with me,” she told him.

“I know, but I’d like to.”

“Really, Edward, I’m perfectly capable of getting there on my own. There’s no need for you to rearrange your entire schedule when I can just call for a car. You have your own patients to tend to.”

“You’re more important,” he said, his voice firm.

“All right, if you insist.” Camille sighed as if too tired to argue. After a moment, she ventured, “How’s Elise?”

“Fine. She seems to be having a good time,” he answered cautiously.

“I feel bad about ruining her weekend.”

“You didn’t ruin it. It just didn’t turn out the way you planned.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to her,” she said.

Edward bristled at the implication. What, was he supposed take Elise to a candlelit restaurant? Wine and dine her while his wife lay sick in the hospital ?
Christ. What kind of man does she take me for?
Lately, he’d begun to suspect, to his ever-growing dismay, his wife of twenty years didn’t know him at all.

LATER IN THE
afternoon, Holly took the kids to visit Camille. It was after dark by the time they returned. In the meantime, Elise had prepared supper: salmon poached in white wine, a loaf of bread, and a green salad. After they’d eaten, Edward lit a fire in the hearth, and they played Scrabble. It wasn’t long, though, before all the excitement of the night before, coupled with a day at the beach, began to take its toll and the children started to droop. “Come on, guys, time to hit the sack,” Holly ordered. For once, they didn’t protest.

“You must be tired, too,” Edward said to Elise after Holly had shepherded the kids upstairs to bed. The room was quiet—too quiet. The only sounds were those of embers crackling in the fireplace and the creak of footsteps overhead.

“You’d think so, but strangely, I’m not.” She sat curled in the armchair by the fireplace, looking no older than Kyra, in her cutoffs and faded Camp Cheyenne T-shirt. She’d been a camp counselor the summer before her senior year of high school—one of the many things he’d learned about her while they’d sat up late talking last night. (She was also a huge Bon Jovi fan and had a weakness for candy corn.) He pictured her now seated before a campfire, surrounded by a gaggle of children, leading them in a chorus of “Kumbaya” or telling kid-friendly jokes like the ones that had had Zach in stitches at lunch.

“Me, either,” he said. “Actually, I was thinking of taking a walk.” Edward didn’t particularly feel like company right now but didn’t want to risk hurting her feelings, especially after she’d been so kind—not only in staying with him at the hospital last night but in keeping his nine-year-old entertained today at the beach while he caught some shut-eye—so he asked, “Care to to join me?” Elise nodded, looking pleased to have been asked.

They donned their jackets—the weather had turned nippy—and headed out, walking in the direction of the beach, past the other houses that lined the street, saltbox cottages and quaint, shingled Cape Cods like the one he owned, some peeking from behind overgrown trees and hedges. The air was cool but clear, the moon and stars shining brightly overhead, seeming almost close enough to touch.

As they strolled along the sidewalk, Edward thought back to summer nights when he and Camille used to go for walks on the beach after the kids had been put to sleep, when Holly was there to keep an eye on them. One warm night, when the beach was deserted, Camille had impulsively stripped off her clothes and gone racing down to the tide line to plunge into the surf, swimming out beyond the waves. He followed a minute later, gasping when he hit the ice-cold water.

“It’s freezing! Why didn’t you warn me?” he yelled.

“Because you’re you,” she called back playfully.

He swam over to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’d still be standing on the beach with your clothes on if I’d warned you.” She wound her arms around his neck, pressing her slippery body against his and giving him a salty kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” She grinned. “In fact, I see a dune with our names on it.”

They swam back to shore, where they used their discarded clothing to towel themselves off as best they could, before tumbling naked into the leeward side of the dune, where they would be hidden from the view of any passersby. She straddled him, her wet hair dripping onto his torso and her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, and it took all his restraint to keep from coming as soon as he entered her. She felt both cool and hot to the touch. She tasted of the ocean.