20
NOW
Aimee sticks the shovel into the ground and gives it a satisfying thrust before lifting out another clump of dirt. More like clay, the kind used to make ceramics. The Washington area is notorious for it. Thick, water-logged, and heavy—only certain plants could thrive in this soil unless it was amended. But she’s planting one of those clay busters now, a false indigo that will grow four feet tall and just as wide. In the spring and summer, it will explode in loads of tiny purple flowers that attract bees. And the leaves will provide food for several types of butterflies, from wild indigo Duskywings to silver-spotted skippers.
Aimee stops and wipes her brow, sure she’s streaking dirt across her forehead. Manual labor usually distracts her, but it isn’t cutting it today. Her mind is muddled. She’s consumed with thoughts about friendship and all the people whose lives intersected with her own over the years. Her best friend from childhood would be a complete stranger if it weren’t for Facebook and Instagram and the yearly exchange of holiday cards. Others have come and gone, too. Friends she really liked, even loved at the time, and swore she would always stay in touch with. They were merely in the right place at the right time.
She thinks of the other moms in the neighborhood like work colleagues. Together, they are all in the business of raising kids and sending them to the local public school. And just like at any job, there are bound to be people you get along with more than others, but you try to be cordial to everyone to make the workplace pleasant.
But she considers Lisa and Gwen real friends. Their bonds arebased on mutual affection, not just shared school schedules. So why is she feeling this barrier between Gwen and herself? Yesterday at the house, there was that moment when Gwen seemed to imply that Scott was involved in Anton’s death. It was a flash of insight into Gwen’s psyche, and it occurred to Aimee that she really didn’t know the woman who lived next door to her that well at all. After all, she didn’t know that Anton had been a cheater. What else didn’t she know about her neighbors?
“You ready?” Tim asks, lugging over the large false indigo.
Together they set it into the hole.
“One down, two to go.”
She’s eating lunch in her truck when her phone alerts her that thanks to flooding in the cafeteria, school is letting out early. Aimee drives over to pick everyone up. Benji and Max run out, yelling about how they want to go to a friend’s house. The other boy’s mother, a woman named Janet that Aimee has spoken to a handful of times, stands on the sidewalk and waves. Aimee waves back, sending them on their way. But when she turns back, she sees Michelle J. marching over in her signature OBX baseball cap, her long hair trailing down her back in a scraggly ponytail.
“Hi, Aimee. I hope you don’t think this is forward, but we need to talk. I mean, I am just so devastated about what has happened to Anton.” She leans against the passenger side of Aimee’s truck and peers through the open window.
“Yes, it is terrible.” Aimee doesn’t want to get caught up in a conversation with Michelle J., whose mood swings are legendary. She once made their beloved mailman, Kenny, cry because he had misdelivered a package from Garnet Hill. Aimee spots Noa amid the crowd, a solitary figure weighed down by an immense backpack, and waves her over.
“Do the police think it was random?” Michelle J. cocks her head to one side. “I’m only asking because I run by Villain & Saint every morning at around five-thirty. It’s still dark. But I’vealways felt safe. I have to run, it’s a mental health issue for me. Stopping is not an option. I can’t tolerate antidepressants.”
“I didn’t realize,” Aimee says, unsure of how to respond to this confession.
“But is itsafe? I mean, have you heard anything? Just because you’re so close with Gwen, I thought if anyone would know it would be Aimee.”
Noa trudges toward the truck, staring at the ground. She inches closer to Michelle J. until the woman finally gets the message and moves back so Noa can climb in. Aimee watches her daughter do so without saying hello or even lifting her head and knows that it’s been a bad day. Aimee’s heart sinks.
Aimee looks past her daughter to Michelle J. “Wish I could be more help, but I’m afraid I know as much as you do.” She starts the engine and Michelle J. jumps back.
“Oh. I thought you’d know more. I’m surprised. Anyway, Michelle P. and Sara think we should send Gwen a fruit basket. What do you think? Would Gwen want a fruit basket?”
“That sounds great,” Aimee says as she pulls away, eager to put some distance between her and Michelle J. Drop-off and pickup have never been her favorite. There aren’t any other mothers that she knows of at the school who did manual labor for a living and she had felt excluded from certain mom cliques when she first moved here. She was never going to bond over mani-pedi sessions—there was no point; her nails were always a disaster. She always felt a little too unkempt for the working-mom crowd and too harried and career-oriented for the stay-at-home moms. Until she met Lisa, that is. They clicked right away.
Aimee takes one last look at the scene of parents and kids as she drives away. She doesn’t see Gwen anywhere, or George or Rafi, and wonders if they went to school today.
“Hey, sweetie. It looks like it’s you and me, kid, and you’re in luck. Guess where I’m headed to drop off a proposal?”
Noa looks up, a smile spreading across her face. “Cathy’s?”
“You got it. I can’t stay long, but at least you can have a quick visit with the kittens.”
Noa beams, and Aimee is glad to be able to deliver some good news. Fourth grade has been tough so far.This is a cusp year, the teacher said during the parent conference.We don’t hold their hands in fourth grade. They need to start taking more responsibility.The way these kittens have brightened up Noa’s days has her reconsidering her ban on a family pet. Maybe a hamster.
When they arrive at Cathy’s, Noa dashes out of the car and through the front door. Aimee grabs the manila envelope containing the preliminary sketches and plans she has come up with for Cathy’s front yard, and heads to the house.
“You can look at these whenever you get a chance and let me know what you think,” Aimee says, handing Cathy the envelope at the door. “I can put you on the schedule for mid-October, which is great for transplanting shrubs.”
“Thanks, I look forward to seeing what you’ve come up with.” Cathy adjusts her big glasses that give her an owlish look. “How is your friend doing?”
“As good as can be expected, I guess. In fact, I should probably head back there now. Let’s see if I can pry Noa away from those kittens.”
“She’s welcome to stay for the afternoon. I’m just sitting in the kitchen paying bills. She’s no bother when she’s here.”
Aimee hesitates, but Cathy seems genuine. Besides, Noa is always calmer and in a better mood after spending time here. “If you’re sure.”