Aimee looks at the sheet. Calling it math might be a stretch. It’s number patterns. She’s not sure who decided it was a good idea to give first graders homework. She doesn’t remember getting homework when she was in first grade, but she may have just blocked it out. Academics weren’t her strong suit.
Normally she would be happy to be doing busywork. Watching the recycle pile grow larger usually filled her with a sense of accomplishment. But not tonight. Tonight, her nerves are jangly and she is jumpy. She needs to figure out what she’s going to say to Scott. She’s been going over various approaches in her mind all day, but nothing seems right. If she confronts him about Jon Block outright, he might shut down, or turn the tables on her, accuse her of spying. She feels justified in what she did, but she doesn’t want to derail the conversation. So how to bring it up without putting him on the defensive right away? She hasn’t figured that out yet.
You deserve to know.
Anton’s drunk rambling barges into her thoughts. What had he meant by that? Maybe he was trying to tell her somethingabout Scott. Maybe he was trying to tell her that her husband had hired a private detective. Then why did he show up here later that night? None of it made sense.
She gets up, her arms filled with papers, and heads to the recycling bin. The kitchen smells like ginger and garlic.
“Dinner in five,” Scott says.
After depositing the papers, Aimee goes to the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner!” she calls. “Wash hands!”
As she waits at the bottom of the stairs, her mind wanders back to afternoon tea with Lisa and Gwen. She had been tempted at first to confide in them about what she had learned when she followed Scott, but she is relieved she didn’t. Gwen seemed to be losing her grip, not that she blamed her. But for a moment there, this afternoon, it almost felt like Gwen thought Scott had killed Anton. It was crazy. Scott might be hiding something—in fact, it was obvious he was—but the idea that he could murder someone was absurd. Aimee could only imagine how Gwen would have freaked out if she told her Scott had been sneaking around and had hired a private investigator.
She can’t shake the feeling that this is all connected, although she can’t piece together how. Scott is the only person who can help her do that.
She has to make it through dinner first. At the table, she’s too distracted by her thoughts to referee Noa and Benji when they get into a spat over elbow room. Scott tells Noa she can stand as she eats, something Aimee normally prohibits, but Aimee doesn’t make a fuss tonight.
She broods about the upcoming confrontation—neither she nor Scott is a fan of difficult conversations. Scott usually makes a joke to avoid discussing anything serious. Just as she learned to avoid speaking of her mother’s death with her father, Aimee has learned to tiptoe around topics with Scott. It is the opposite at work. She can be direct, even blunt, with her crew. But the stakes are so much higher with Scott. She wouldn’t do anythingthat would risk her losing him, so she’s learned to avoid delicate topics.
They both have the same sore subject—family.
His wasn’t a happy one. Like her, he grew up as an only child, but unlike her, he wasn’t raised in middle-class comfort with loving parents. His dad died when he was so young that Scott barely remembers him, and his mother wasn’t stable. He ended up moving in with his aunt during his senior year of high school.
But those conflict-avoidant skills they both honed to help them get through the traumas of childhood aren’t helping them now.
It isn’t until after dinner has been eaten, the dishes cleaned, the kids bathed and put to bed, that Aimee has a chance to talk to Scott. He’s in the kitchen, taking inventory of the fridge and getting ready for the big shopping of the week.
“Can we talk for a second?” Aimee sits at the counter.
Scott turns his body from the open refrigerator. “Now? I want to get to Giant soon. It’s getting late.”
“Well, I need five minutes.”
“All right.” He shuts the fridge and leans against it. “What’s up? You okay?”
No, she thinks,I’m not okay. She tells herself not to be scared, that his explanation will illuminate everything. She delivers the line she has practiced, one she hopes will allow him to tell the truth without getting too defensive.
“I feel like you are holding something back from me, like something is going on,” she says.
Scott scratches his head. “Not sure what you mean.”
He’s not going to make this easy for her. “Who was that friend that you met? At the bar?”
“I told you. A guy I met at the gym.”
This lie stings. Aimee knows she has to push through, but she’s never been a pusher. She has no choice.
“I followed you to Tatte.”
He straightens up, on alert. “You did what?”
“I followed you, and I saw you meet a man. And then I spoke to him. I met him. He gave me his—”
“Hold on—you followed me to Tatte? And you’re just telling me this now?”
“Why did you hire a private investigator, Scott? You need to tell me the truth.”