The Replacement Wife by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online Page B

the hours of eight and midnight.
    The night Camille phoned in, it was pouring rain. He recalled thinking, as he slogged across campus on his way to the subway station, that if anyone were contemplating suicide they’d be twice as likely to go through with it on a night like this. The rain had been coming down so long and hard, the campus walkways were flooded and the lawn in front of Low Memorial Library a bog. Armed with only a flimsy folding umbrella, he was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the crisis center. He’d only just settled in at his desk, with a large container of coffee and the textbooks he’d brought in case it turned out to be a slow night, when one of the phone lines lit up. He picked up and a breathless voice, that of a girl so agitated he couldn’t make much sense of what she was saying, began to babble—something about a bad breakup and an asshole of a boyfriend.
    “Take a breath,” he said calmly. “Tell me what the problem is.”
    “Pills, I think. I’m not sure.”
    “You’re not sure if you took pills?” This is a new one, he thought.
    “No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”
    “But you might have. Is that what you’re saying?” He spoke slowly and carefully, in case she turned out to be even crazier than she sounded. You never knew, with some of these people.
    “No! I didn’t take any pills!” she cried.
    He frowned in confusion. “Then who did?”
    “No one. Yet. As far as I know.”
    “So, no pills . . . okay.” He exhaled. “Let’s start at the beginning. Have you been depressed lately?”
    “Not me! My roommate. I’m afraid she might try to hurt herself.” She went on in a rush, “She’s been a mess ever since that dickhead broke up with her. Excuse me, but he is, and that’s putting it mildly. Then today I find this vial of prescription pills in her dresser drawer, and I can’t think of why someone who has absolutely nothing wrong with her, except bad taste in boyfriends, needs Codeine.” Finally, she took a breath, saying a bit more calmly, “I didn’t know who else to call.”
    “You did the right thing.” He was momentarily at a loss, then after he’d collected his thoughts, he suggested, “Why don’t you put your roommate on? Maybe it would help if I talked to her.”
    “No! She’d kill me if she knew I called this number.” She made a sound halfway between a groan and a giggle. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I just said that. Now you’re going to think she’s homicidal on top of suicidal. She’s really not that bad, I swear. Just a little mixed up.”
    “Well, you did the right thing. She’s lucky to have you as a friend. What’s your name, by the way?”
    “Camille.”
    “Like in the movie?”
    “You know it?” She sounded surprised. She was probably thinking he wasn’t the average medical student, and she’d be right. Thanks to his nana Clara. Growing up, every day after school that he didn’t have homework he and Nana Clara would watch the black-and-white movies from her girlhood on TV while she did her ironing—films like Red Dust and The Lady Eve and The Public Enemy . By the time he was twelve, he’d seen the entire Thin Man series and could quote lines from movies his friends had never even heard of.
    “Of course,” he said. “Garbo’s finest hour.”
    “My parents were huge fans,” she explained. “Apparently, they didn’t see it as a bad omen that her character dies in the end.” She gave another helpless giggle. “Sorry, I seem to have death on the brain.”
    “Join the club. I spent the morning dissecting a cadaver.”
    “Which means you’re either a serial killer or a med student. I’m assuming the latter.”
    “Third year,” he said.
    “So this isn’t your real job? You don’t get paid to talk people off ledges?”
    “No. I’m just a lowly volunteer.”
    “Well, I’m glad I got you.” There was a brief pause, as if she were considering what to do with him now that she had him, before she went on,