Now, she knew that fighting too hard for a friendship could actually cause you to lose it. It was like that bookOf Mice and Men, the way that big guy petted the puppy too hard and killed it accidentally. She had held on to Ruth’s friendship too tightly and squeezed it to death. She had learned that you had to be subtle. Work back channels. Not be obvious. Lisa plastered a huge smile on her face.
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” Lisa said. “You’re going to love it here.”
4
NOW
Scott is in with the twins while Aimee goes into Noa’s room. They used to rotate, switch nights, but in the past few months, without either saying it out loud, it has become clear that Noa can’t go to sleep without Aimee.
Not won’t, but can’t.
Aimee begins by checking for nightmares in the closet, then spritzes lavender-scented water under the bed to get rid of monsters, and finishes by reciting a short prayer her mother used to say to her as a child.
If Aimee isn’t home, or is busy, Noa will simply refuse to turn off the light and go to sleep until she comes and performs these rituals. The psychologist they visited said it wasn’t unusual, but a sign of anxiety.
But what is their little girl anxious about?
Noa pulls the covers up to her chin, so just her little face sticks out, as Aimee finishes the prayer. “May the angel Michael be at your right, and the angel Gabriel be at your left.” Here she slides her hand under Noa’s pillow. “And in front of you the angel Uriel, and behind you the angel Raphael—” She stops short, pulling something hard from beneath the pillow.
“What’s this?” She examines the object. It’s a pen, black and heavy, not cheap, with the wordsLe Cannuwritten in gold. A heavy sensation settles on her heart. “Where is this from?”
“I found it.”
Aimee bites her lip. This isn’t the first time something of unknown provenance has shown up in Noa’s possession. “Honey, this is a really nice pen.” She turns it over in her hand. There’sno address or phone number. Whatever Le Cannu is, it’s fancy. “Where exactly did you find this?”
“At Lisa’s.” The words emerge as barely a whisper.
“Lisa’s, huh? You found it there?”
“She has so many pens.”
Aimee smiles and makes a show of examining the pen more closely. She weighs it in her hand. “It’s a cool pen, all right. But that doesn’t make it okay to take it. Remember how we talked about this? You know we’re going to have to give it back to her.”
Noa’s eyes fill with tears. “No, Mommy, don’t make me.” Noa rolls over and buries her head in the pillow.
Aimee rubs her daughter’s back. “Shhh. It’ll be fine. Lisa is very understanding.”
She hopes this is true. It’s just a pen, after all. But Lisa showed tonight how judgmental she can be. Kai seems like the easiest kid in the world. Last year, in fifth grade, he won the Community of Caring award. He probably never stole a pen in his life. So much of parenting was turning out to be luck.
Aimee slips the pen into her back pocket. “Don’t cry, honey. It’s going to be okay. People make mistakes, but when they do, they have to acknowledge them and make it right.” But Noa won’t turn around and look at her. Instead, she lets out a little growl. She’s embarrassed, Aimee thinks. She’s learned that pushing a topic of conversation when Noa needs to be alone usually leads to a meltdown.
Aimee stands up quietly, turns out the light, and leaves without a kiss or hug. Noa is so unlike her boys. Neither can stand it if Aimee is even a little annoyed with them. Neither can go to sleep without hugs and kisses. But Noa is stubborn.
As she walks to her sons’ room to kiss them goodnight, she knows it’s not the pen that’s bothering her, or even Lisa’s judgment. It’s that damn report. It’s the fear that something is wrong with Noa, that she’s wired in such a way that will make life hard. And Aimee doesn’t know if she is the right person to shepherdher through. There is Scott, of course, who is endlessly patient. But losing her mother at such a young age seared into Aimee’s soul the desire—no, theneed—to be there for her kids.
After kissing both boys goodnight, Aimee heads downstairs. She ducks her head into the living room, where Scott holds up a finger. He’s on a call, probably with one of his investors in Hawaii. He has been working on an algorithm-based software that can automate insulin dosing for diabetics and has partners around the globe. His work week is scattershot throughout every day, including weekends—a few hours here, a few hours there.
Aimee steps out onto the back patio to grab a few dishes that have been left behind from dinner. She is gathering them up when the sound of raised voices startles her. She freezes, realizing that she can hear Gwen and Anton arguing. They are close, separated from her by a tall hedge of euonymus. She has always wanted to remove the shrubs, not just because they are prone to a white powdery mildew, but because as the owner of a landscaping business whose focus is native plants, she feels a little guilty about them. Who is she to persuade clients to switch out their non-native plants and trees for native ones if she can’t be bothered to do it herself? The plan is to replace them with American hollies—evergreen, with berries that will be eaten by more than eighteen species of birds. But the thought of ripping out the eight-foot shrubs is daunting. And tonight, Aimee is grateful for their cover.
Anton’s and Gwen’s voices are strident but their words unintelligible. It’s always embarrassing to Aimee to witness other couples fighting. Overhearing Anton and Gwen argue makes her realize how little she knows about what really goes on inside her friends’ marriage. Or any couple’s, for that matter. And it makes her grateful for what she has with Scott. They rarely argue and have never had a big blowout. He’s never yelled at her or called her names. Nothing has ever been thrown in the heat ofanger. Aimee has never liked conflict, and she’s happy to be in a marriage free of one. Not that they don’t squabble or get on each other’s nerves, but nothing like what she is overhearing now. She wonders if Gwen and Anton are arguing about Anton’s behavior, how drunk he got this evening. Aimee recalls that cryptic comment:you deserve to know.
She starts to head back inside but stops at the door when Gwen’s voice, angry and shrill, cuts through the night air. Her words are as clear as the stars in the night sky.
“I’m not going to let you ruin my life, Anton.”
Aimee tiptoes back into her house, afraid to make any sound that might reveal her presence. Once inside, she shuts the door and locks it, as if slipping the bolt will keep the marital discord next door from seeping into her home. She stands there shaking. She has never heard Gwen speak like that. She could be sharp, sarcastic, but there was real rage in her voice just now.
Ruin her life?What could she have meant by that?