Behind her, Tim lets out a quiet chuckle. Aimee tries to keep her face neutral.
“Well, then you can let the birds have the berries. That would be very environmentally conscientious of you. And you’ll probably be able to get a handful of berries.”
“I have to say I am really disappointed. I thought a bird, maybe two.” She exhales. “Butbirds? Plural? This is really unacceptable.”
Aimee looks at the thousand dollars’ worth of mature blueberry bushes that need to go into the ground today. What she’d really like to do is tell this woman to suck it. That her friend’s husband was just murdered. That she should be back at her house now, comforting that friend. Instead, she digs deep, trying to channel her father, who never lost his patience with a customer. “How about we put in one or two very elegant bespoke nettingboxeson the ones closest to the house.” She points to the end of the trench that Tim dug. “We’ll paint them green, you’ll hardly even notice them, and leave the rest of the bushes for the birds? That way, from the street you won’t notice the box, the greenery will hide it, but you’ll have one or two bushes right near your kitchen door so you can pop out in the morning and have fresh blueberries with breakfast?”
“Netting boxes, huh?” The woman nods as if imagining those fresh blueberries in her yogurt. “How many blueberries are we talking?”
“Pounds. When these mature, you’re looking at three to nine pounds each year. Each.”
“Really? Wow. I had no idea. Two bushes should be plenty. All right, go ahead, put them in.”
Finally, she and Tim can get to work. She is grateful for the physical labor—it’s always been a way for her to work off any bad energy, ever since she was a child helping at her dad’s nursery. In the years after her mother’s death, the nursery was a refuge from the home she no longer recognized without her mother there. And then Deb moved in, making her feel even more uncomfortable. Aimee sprinkles soil acidifier into the trench and hauls a four-foot bush into it.
But even with the task at hand, her mind keeps looping back to what happened this morning. Anton is dead. She’ll need to clear some time to help Gwen. She knows Gwen has a sister, but they aren’t close. She thinks she’s the closest friend Gwen has. She can organize a meal train, get the other moms in the neighborhood to help out. She won’t let Gwen go through this alone.
Aimee steps back to see if her spacing is correct, that the bush has enough room to spread out. She wants it to blend into the bushes that will be planted next to it, but at the same time they all need enough room to avoid becoming entangled in each other’s limbs, which can spread disease. She adjusts one bush that is lilting to the left, trying to focus, but a horrible thought pops into her head.Scott was involved in Anton’s death.Aimee’s body stiffens. Where did that come from? She banishes the thought, attributing it to the stress of everything going on. Scott could never be involved in anything as sordid as a murder.He’ll explain everything later, she reassures herself.
After she and Tim have finished the job, she heads back to Cathy’s to grab Noa. She texts Cathy once she’s outside her house and then waits in the truck, going through her missed messages. Her phone is blowing up with the news about Anton. Random groups texts, like one among parents in Noa’s class about bringing in hand sanitizer and tissues to school, have been repurposed to spread the news. Her feed is filled with wild stories and speculation—a robbery, a drug deal gone wrong, gang activity.
She just wants to get home and have a face-to-face conversationwith Scott. They communicate best in person. On the phone he might be distracted, looking at a screen while he is talking. Over text she could never figure out his tone. She needs to be looking at his face, his body language, when he explains everything about last night.
Noa jumps in the truck. “It was so cool, Mom. They are getting so big. And they’re brave, too. Miles tried to leave the closet.”
“Miles, huh? He’s the adventurous one?” Aimee turns back toward Bethesda. “We’re going to grab Ledo’s for everyone—all three families.”
“Mommy, I don’t like that pizza. I only like Da Marco.”
Aimee sighs. Ledo’s is closer, and cheaper. But Noa is underweight. In the second percentile for her age. At the last visit, the pediatrician admonished her and Scott to get food into Noa any way possible.Don’t worry about a balanced diet right now, she said.Noa needs to gain weight.
Aimee has seen her daughter skip meals too many times. Deb told her that Noa will eat when she is hungry, but it is turning out not to be the case. The pediatrician said if she didn’t gain weight, they would have to go to an eating specialist. “Da Marco’s it is.”
They pick up enough pies for all three families, along with a few salads, and head back to the house. Noa offers to run down to Lisa’s and get all the boys while Aimee pulls out plates, cups, and napkins, preparing for everyone to show up at once. She lifts a box lid and inhales the scent of tomato, cheese, and basil. After all that physical work, she’s starving. She pulls out a slice and starts eating while standing at the counter. With her other hand, she texts Gwen.
Pizza if you’re interested.
Then she deletes it. Too casual. This isn’t a typical Saturday night. Aimee tries calling instead, but it goes straight to voicemail.
What should she do? Everything she thinks of sounds toovapid to say to someone whose husband has just been murdered. Anton’s death has opened a gulf between her and Gwen, and she doesn’t like it. The kids burst through the door yelling for pizza, with Lisa and Marcus trailing behind them. Marcus hoists a six-pack of beer. “Scott here?”
“He’s on his way home. Kids, wash hands!” Aimee directs the kids to the downstairs bathroom. It’s then she realizes Gwen’s kids are not here.
“Where are George and Rafi?”
“They’re probably with Barb. Gwen’s mom.” Lisa stops putting slices on plates and faces Aimee. “I spoke to her earlier today. I didn’t mean to be the one to break the news to her, but I just assumed she knew.”
“When did you speak to her mom?”
Lisa’s hands flutter to her neck. “Oh, I saw she was texting the boys. Well, Rafi. But he had taken his watch off to go on the trampoline. And I thought it might be urgent, so I called her.”
Aimee searches Lisa’s face for any sign that she realizes she may have crossed a boundary. But Lisa’s face, perfectly made-up as always, cheeks and lips ever so slightly plumped by filler, reveals nothing of the sort. “I’m sure you were trying to help,” Aimee says. She’s always had a soft spot for Lisa’s clumsy attempts at intimacy. She’s seen how hard it is for her to blend in with the other moms in the neighborhood.
“Oh, I was! Absolutely. Anyway, she said she was going to come up and grab the boys. Take them back to Virginia for a few days.”
“Without Gwen?”
“I didn’t ask. How is Gwen doing?” Lisa says. “I can’t imagine how she feels right now.”