The Replacement Wife Read Free Page B

meet?”
    “A suicide hotline, if you can believe it.” She laughed at the look of astonishment on Yvonne’s face—the story never lost its shock value. “Don’t worry, neither of us is suicidal,” she hastened to add. “I was concerned about a friend of mine, and Edward was the one who took the call.”
    “How romantic,” observed Yvonne, her tone wry.
    “It goes to show, you never know where you might find your soul mate.”
    Yvonne dropped her gaze, leaning forward to adjust the volume control on the tape recorder. She consulted her notes before moving on to another topic. “I understand you were a marriage counselor before you became a matchmaker. Why the career switch, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “It’s a long story,” Camille said. “The short version is, I got tired of being around unhappy couples all day long.” There had been days when she used to drag home from work bruised from the verbal battles she refereed. “Now, instead, I get to play Cupid. It’s way more satisfying.”
    Camille thought she saw a wistful look flit across the blonde’s face as she commented, “You must go to a lot of weddings.”
    Camille smiled. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I don’t get invited to them all.”
    Yvonne looked surprised by that. “Really? Why not?”
    “Not everyone wants it known they required the services of a matchmaker.” Camille gave a sanguine shrug. “I don’t take it personally. As long as the story has a happy ending, that’s all that matters.”
    “So you believe in happy endings?”
    Camille thought of her husband and children, fourteen-year-old Kyra and eight-year-old Zach. Despite the past year’s ordeal, she was luckier than most. Not many forty-two-year-old women could say they had it all and mean it: a loving family, a fulfilling career. Her health, too, though it seemed she couldn’t entirely count on that. “Yes,” she answered unhesitatingly. “I truly believe there’s someone for everyone. Some people just need a little help finding that special someone.”
    Yvonne smiled and sat back, crossing her slender legs and settling her notebook on one knee. “Which is where you come in.”
    “Exactly.”
    “How do they find you ?”
    “By referral mostly. But a lot of it is just chatting people up.” Camille was naturally friendly—when she was a child, her mother was constantly scolding her for talking to strangers—whether it was fellow guests at a social function, other ladies in department store dressing rooms or public restrooms, or seatmates on planes. Once, on the shuttle from La Guardia to Boston, she struck up a conversation with an attractive older man. By the time the plane touched down, she’d learned his wife of forty years had died four years prior and he was finally ready to start dating again. She gave him her business card, and six months later she was dancing at his wedding.
    After she’d told the story, Camille glanced at her watch. A quarter to three. She’d have to leave now if she was to get to the doctor’s in time. Her stomach twisted. Never mind the results of the last two PET scans had showed no recurrence of her cancer, she was never able to face that moment of truth without a sense of dread. She rose, signaling the interview was at an end.
    “Call if you have any more questions,” she said, shaking the blonde’s hand.
    “Thanks for your time. I’ll let you know when the article comes out. Oh, one more thing,” she said as Camille was turning to go. Camille heard the note of hesitation in her voice and thought, Here it comes . She’d been expecting it since the moment she’d laid eyes on Yvonne Vickers.
    “Yes?” she said, maintaining a pleasant, neutral expression so as not to betray her thoughts.
    Yvonne confirmed her suspicion by blushing to the roots of her highlighted hair and asking. “Just out of curiosity. Do you, um, have anyone you think might be right for me?”
    CAMILLE’S HEMATOLOGIST-ONCOLOGIST