“You meansmotheringyou,” she said, and they both laughed.
“It’s true. She never allowed me to grow into a man. She was infantilizing me so she could control me.”
“That’s terrible,” Lisa cooed. “So selfish.”
“It is,” he said. “It really is. She liked that I couldn’t cook, or that I didn’t know how to do laundry. She’d complain, yeah, but it made her feel needed. She used to say that if it weren’t for her I’d never see a dentist or a doctor, and it’s true, but she cultivated that dependency. Because if I was allowed to really step up, to become independent, it might threaten her dominance. IfI didn’tneedher anymore, I might leave her. She became even more insecure whenThe Last Cyclamentook off. She insisted on going with me everywhere, to every appearance, every book signing. She was terrified that my success would make me realize I didn’t need her anymore. Because she knew, deep down, that she wasn’t enough.”
The words thrilled Lisa to her core. She could never get enough of this kind of talk. When he trash-talked Gwen, it more than made up for his immaturity and self-absorption. She tilted her head. “In what way wasn’t she enough?” Lisa asked, looking up at him.
“She’s just not a sensual person. She’s nothing like you. She won’t even make love with the lights on. Has to be pitch-black.”
He held her gaze for a moment, and the warmth exploded inside her. How she wished she could somehow secretly tape these conversations and show them to Gwen! But it had to be enough for now that Lisa knew.
“Not that she isn’t a good mother,” Anton conceded.
“She’s wonderful.”
“And very organized and efficient.”
“Responsible.”
“But a wife? A lover?” He shook his head. They took off their shoes at the top of a set of stairs that descended to the beach. Barefoot, they walked hand in hand, drunk not only on alcohol but on an exhilarating feeling of freedom. They had done what so many middle-aged people dreamed of, if only for a weekend—broken free of their roles. They weren’t young again, they were ageless. They existed outside of their contexts and so anything was possible. Later that night, after they’d had sex in Lisa’s hotel room, it was Anton who brought up approaching Scott for money.
“We’ll start small, maybe fifty thousand?”
Lisa almost choked. “That’s starting small?”
“You know how much Scott makes each year? He owns hisown company! What’s the point of doing this if we go lower? We only get a few bites at the apple, maybe only one. I estimate to start a new life, we’ll need two hundred.”
He had said one hundred before. He was getting greedy. But Lisa wasn’t about to rein him in.
40
NOW
After Detective Salazar leaves, Aimee packs the kids’ lunches. It’s only Wednesday, but this has been the longest week of her life. It feels like forever since Scott’s been gone. His absence feels like a dull ache, the kind of bone-deep hurt that makes the smallest act feel like a chore. She just wants him back safe. Whatever trouble he has gotten himself into, she will help him find his way out. She stuffs the boys’ lunch boxes into their backpacks, but there’s no room in Noa’s, thanks to all the wrappers and papers in there. If Aimee skips even one day of cleaning out her daughter’s backpack, this is what happens.
She empties the contents onto the kitchen counter, wipes out the inside with a wet cloth, and begins reloading it. In go her folders, her pencil pouch, her latest Warrior Cats book. Aimee picks up a small box wrapped in rubber bands. She’s never seen it before. She undoes the rubber bands, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Inside the box is a small brass key. In the chaos of the previous day, she forgot all about Noa’s box of purloined goodies, but here was a stark reminder.
Ignoring the problem is not going to make it disappear.
Holding the key in her hand, Aimee goes to the bottom of the stairs. “Noa? Noa, come down here, please.”
Noa races down the stairs. “What? Am I in trouble?”
Aimee opens her hand to reveal the key in her palm. “Can you explain how this got into your backpack?”
Noa’s gaze drops to her feet. “I was going to tell you,” she mumbles. “I found it.”
“At Cathy’s house?”
Noa nods.
“Honey, I found your box. Under your bed? You’ve taken a lot of things from Cathy’s house, haven’t you?”
Tears spring to her daughter’s eyes. “Please, Mommy. Don’t be mad. It was so shiny. It looked so old-fashionedy and I wanted it for my time-travel machine. I was going to put it back after I used it, I swear.”
Noa’s shoulders shake as full-throated sobs come from her small body.