Aimee taps out a number on her phone. “Hi, Detective Salazar, this is Aimee Stern. I know where Scott is. He’s at a house up near Frederick.” She recites the address and hangs up. “It was his voicemail.”
“I could tell.”
She turns to face Gwen, looking weary. “Did I do the right thing?”
Gwen reaches out and squeezes Aimee’s arm. “You did the right thing.”
“Then why do I feel so crappy? No, don’t answer that. I better go inside. The kids will be home soon.”
Gwen recognizes the urge to be alone when she sees it. She’s not going to stand in Aimee’s way. She doesn’t know what Aimee and Scott discussed when they were alone, but the fact that he didn’t come home with her says everything. The two women get out, and as Gwen starts to walk away, Aimee calls her name.
“Hey, do me a favor—don’t talk about this with anyone, okay? I mean, not yet. I know pretty soon it’s all anyone will want to talk about. But until then.”
“You got it.” She hands Aimee the keys. “And when all this is over, you and me are gonna go on a trip where no one knows us, right?”
Aimee gives a little nod, but Gwen feels her heart sink. This feels like the end of their friendship. She wants to believe that they have a solid enough foundation that they can get through this. After all, she is one of the few people who can really understand what Aimee is going through. She watches to make sure Aimee is safely inside before she turns to her own home. As soon as she enters her house, she realizes that she left Anton’s journal back in Frederick. She hesitates by the door, wondering if it matters, but decides to let it go. It is just one of the many things she’s going to have to learn to live without.
She finds Barb in the kitchen packing a cooler bag with snacks and drinks.
“What’s going on?” Gwen asks.
“I thought I would take the boys to Richmond tonight and keep them for the rest of the week. I’m going to be honest with you, Gwen. I don’t think it’s healthy for them to be here with you while you’re in this state.”
“And what state is that? Grieving?”
Barb purses her lips. “It’s that attitude I’m talking about. The boys can pick up on it. What they need now are reliable, strong, positive adults in their lives. Your father and I can help. I thought we’d keep them over the weekend and bring them back next week for the funeral.”
“The funeral?”
“It’s all set. I’ve arranged it for next Tuesday at Gawler’s. That will give Henri enough time to fly in from France. He’s coming in Monday and leaving Wednesday. I’ve got him a room at the Marriott here in Bethesda; he doesn’t drive anymore. This way he can walk to everything. There’s that French bakery, Toot de Sweet, nearby. I’m sure he’ll find their croissants passable.”
Gwen lets all this sink in. Normally her mother’s presumptiveness would rankle her. She hates Barb’s sense of entitlement over her life. But she has to admit that Barb has a point. She needs help. She’s barely holding on. “I guess so. I mean, thank you for dealing with all that. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re most welcome. I assume you’ll join us in Richmond. We could all use a little R&R.”
“Of course, did you think I was just going to let you take the boys again?”
Her mother looks up from her packing, clearly caught off guard. “Well, that’s settled, then.”
They decide that Barb will leave with the boys now, and Gwen will follow later in her own car, once she’s had a chance to pack up her things and get Sababa’s crate down from the attic. Her parents are very particular about the dog. They won’t let him stay in the house unattended without crating him. It’s one of the reasons Gwen visits so seldomly.
She stands at the door and sees them off, glad to have a few hours to herself to process what happened that afternoon.
Scott may not have murdered that boy back in California, but he is wanted for a felony all the same. And his mother, what a piece of work, she had that hard-edge look to her. How the hell did she ever convince Aimee that she was a retired schoolteacher, and a safe person to leave Noa with?
Gwen goes inside and grabs a vodka seltzer from the fridge.Just one, she tells herself. She needs it after the day she’s had. She doesn’t like to be too harsh on Aimee, but her friend has some serious lapses in judgment. Her husband is a wanted man, her babysitter a drug matriarch, and her close friend an adulterer.
The doorbell rings and she freezes.
“Hello!” a voice calls. She recognizes the nasal tone as belonging to Michelle J. She waits a few minutes until there is silence and then tiptoes to the front door to peer out. She can make out Michelle J.’s back as she turns the corner at the end of the cul-de-sac. When she opens the door, Gwen finds a basket the size of an infant’s bassinet filled with fruit—pineapples, strawberry kebabs, clusters of grapes. She brings it in and sets it in the kitchen, pushing aside the several overflowing vases of flowers that have been delivered in the past few days.
This will be dinner, she decides, and finishes off her vodka soda.
As she pops a grape in her mouth, she replays the afternoon. Why did Anton want money from Scott? Was he planning on using it to leave her? She has so many questions she wants to ask him but will never be able to.
Outside the sun has set, turning the kitchen windows black. She has always hated the way uncovered windows at night make her feel so lonely. Growing up, the Buckley dining room had three French doors that looked out on the side garden. At night, she ate with her family in tense silence under the glow of the overhead chandelier, staring into the flatness of those three glassdoors darkened by night. She felt like a specimen, easily observed by any passerby on the street, and it made her self-conscious and afraid. She gets up and draws the curtains.
She’d better start getting ready for Richmond.