You Deserve to Know

Chapter 10

10

NOW

Aimee is drawing on every last ounce of patience to assuage her client, who is upset because she has learned she will have to net the blueberry bushes in the summer.

“But netting will destroy the aesthetic.” The woman crosses her arms over her chest. In leggings and a fleece with the crest of a local private school embroidered over the chest, her blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, she looks like an average suburban mom. And while Aimee is not intimidated, she knows these Washington moms can be vicious. She will have to thread the needle between accommodating her demands and setting boundaries so this woman doesn’t walk all over her.

“Well, you can leave the bushes unnetted,” Aimee says. Her tone is gentle, considering she went over these details with the woman and her husband a few weeks ago. “But the birds will pick most of the berries. Birds love blueberries.”

“But I didn’t plant them for the birds.” The woman narrows her eyes. “I planted them for the antioxidants. You told me this would be an edible hedge.”

“And it will be!” Aimee’s chipper response does nothing to wipe the scowl off the woman’s face. “But for about one month out of the year, you will have to net them. Don’t worry, they make very unobtrusive green netting. You won’t even notice it.”

“I feel duped. I really do.” The woman shakes her head, looking at Tim nearby as if he might confirm this, but Tim is looking at his phone, trying to ignore the whole thing. Aimee feels jealous. Being the boss means having a lot of these conversations.

“I mean, what do farms do?” the woman asks.

“They use netting.” Aimee employs the same voice she uses with her kids when they are on the verge of spiraling into a tantrum. “Or walk-in cages.”

“Cages? Oh no.” The woman shakes her head. “I don’t want my front yard to look like a factory.”

Behind her, Tim lets out a quiet chuckle. Aimee tries to keep her face neutral.

“Well, then you can let the birds have the berries. That would be very environmentally conscientious of you. And you’ll probably be able to get a handful of berries.”

“I have to say I am really disappointed. I thought a bird, maybe two.” She exhales. “But birds ? Plural? This is really unacceptable.”

Aimee looks at the thousand dollars’ worth of mature blueberry bushes that need to go into the ground today. What she’d really like to do is tell this woman to suck it. That her friend’s husband was just murdered. That she should be back at her house now, comforting that friend. Instead, she digs deep, trying to channel her father, who never lost his patience with a customer. “How about we put in one or two very elegant bespoke netting boxes on the ones closest to the house.” She points to the end of the trench that Tim dug. “We’ll paint them green, you’ll hardly even notice them, and leave the rest of the bushes for the birds? That way, from the street you won’t notice the box, the greenery will hide it, but you’ll have one or two bushes right near your kitchen door so you can pop out in the morning and have fresh blueberries with breakfast?”

“Netting boxes, huh?” The woman nods as if imagining those fresh blueberries in her yogurt. “How many blueberries are we talking?”

“Pounds. When these mature, you’re looking at three to nine pounds each year. Each.”

“Really? Wow. I had no idea. Two bushes should be plenty. All right, go ahead, put them in.”

Finally, she and Tim can get to work. She is grateful for the physical labor—it’s always been a way for her to work off any bad energy, ever since she was a child helping at her dad’s nursery. In the years after her mother’s death, the nursery was a refuge from the home she no longer recognized without her mother there. And then Deb moved in, making her feel even more uncomfortable. Aimee sprinkles soil acidifier into the trench and hauls a four-foot bush into it.

But even with the task at hand, her mind keeps looping back to what happened this morning. Anton is dead. She’ll need to clear some time to help Gwen. She knows Gwen has a sister, but they aren’t close. She thinks she’s the closest friend Gwen has. She can organize a meal train, get the other moms in the neighborhood to help out. She won’t let Gwen go through this alone.

Aimee steps back to see if her spacing is correct, that the bush has enough room to spread out. She wants it to blend into the bushes that will be planted next to it, but at the same time they all need enough room to avoid becoming entangled in each other’s limbs, which can spread disease. She adjusts one bush that is lilting to the left, trying to focus, but a horrible thought pops into her head. Scott was involved in Anton’s death. Aimee’s body stiffens. Where did that come from? She banishes the thought, attributing it to the stress of everything going on. Scott could never be involved in anything as sordid as a murder. He’ll explain everything later , she reassures herself.

After she and Tim have finished the job, she heads back to Cathy’s to grab Noa. She texts Cathy once she’s outside her house and then waits in the truck, going through her missed messages. Her phone is blowing up with the news about Anton. Random groups texts, like one among parents in Noa’s class about bringing in hand sanitizer and tissues to school, have been repurposed to spread the news. Her feed is filled with wild stories and speculation—a robbery, a drug deal gone wrong, gang activity.

She just wants to get home and have a face-to-face conversation with Scott. They communicate best in person. On the phone he might be distracted, looking at a screen while he is talking. Over text she could never figure out his tone. She needs to be looking at his face, his body language, when he explains everything about last night.

Noa jumps in the truck. “It was so cool, Mom. They are getting so big. And they’re brave, too. Miles tried to leave the closet.”

“Miles, huh? He’s the adventurous one?” Aimee turns back toward Bethesda. “We’re going to grab Ledo’s for everyone—all three families.”

“Mommy, I don’t like that pizza. I only like Da Marco.”

Aimee sighs. Ledo’s is closer, and cheaper. But Noa is underweight. In the second percentile for her age. At the last visit, the pediatrician admonished her and Scott to get food into Noa any way possible. Don’t worry about a balanced diet right now , she said. Noa needs to gain weight .

Aimee has seen her daughter skip meals too many times. Deb told her that Noa will eat when she is hungry, but it is turning out not to be the case. The pediatrician said if she didn’t gain weight, they would have to go to an eating specialist. “Da Marco’s it is.”

They pick up enough pies for all three families, along with a few salads, and head back to the house. Noa offers to run down to Lisa’s and get all the boys while Aimee pulls out plates, cups, and napkins, preparing for everyone to show up at once. She lifts a box lid and inhales the scent of tomato, cheese, and basil. After all that physical work, she’s starving. She pulls out a slice and starts eating while standing at the counter. With her other hand, she texts Gwen.

Pizza if you’re interested.

Then she deletes it. Too casual. This isn’t a typical Saturday night. Aimee tries calling instead, but it goes straight to voicemail.

What should she do? Everything she thinks of sounds too vapid to say to someone whose husband has just been murdered. Anton’s death has opened a gulf between her and Gwen, and she doesn’t like it. The kids burst through the door yelling for pizza, with Lisa and Marcus trailing behind them. Marcus hoists a six-pack of beer. “Scott here?”

“He’s on his way home. Kids, wash hands!” Aimee directs the kids to the downstairs bathroom. It’s then she realizes Gwen’s kids are not here.

“Where are George and Rafi?”

“They’re probably with Barb. Gwen’s mom.” Lisa stops putting slices on plates and faces Aimee. “I spoke to her earlier today. I didn’t mean to be the one to break the news to her, but I just assumed she knew.”

“When did you speak to her mom?”

Lisa’s hands flutter to her neck. “Oh, I saw she was texting the boys. Well, Rafi. But he had taken his watch off to go on the trampoline. And I thought it might be urgent, so I called her.”

Aimee searches Lisa’s face for any sign that she realizes she may have crossed a boundary. But Lisa’s face, perfectly made-up as always, cheeks and lips ever so slightly plumped by filler, reveals nothing of the sort. “I’m sure you were trying to help,” Aimee says. She’s always had a soft spot for Lisa’s clumsy attempts at intimacy. She’s seen how hard it is for her to blend in with the other moms in the neighborhood.

“Oh, I was! Absolutely. Anyway, she said she was going to come up and grab the boys. Take them back to Virginia for a few days.”

“Without Gwen?”

“I didn’t ask. How is Gwen doing?” Lisa says. “I can’t imagine how she feels right now.”

Aimee takes a few slices and puts them on a platter. “I’m going to take this over there now. She was in shock this morning. Can you keep the fort down? I won’t be long, and Scott will be back soon.”

“I can come with you,” Lisa says. “Marcus can watch the kids.”

“I think it’s better if it’s just me. For now.”

“Oh. Fine. Sure. I’ll stay here. Whatever you need, Aimee.”

Aimee is just pulling the front door closed behind her when Scott pulls up in his car. She stops in the street and waits for him to get out.

“Is that for me?” he asks as he approaches. “Nice of you to come greet me.”

“Ha ha.” She pulls the pizza out of his reach. “This is for Gwen. Lisa and Marcus are inside with all the kids.”

“Are you annoyed about something?”

“I don’t know. I just, I’m feeling weird, Scott. You went out last night—where did you go? Make me understand this.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “It’s no big deal. I went for a drink. That’s all.”

“A drink?”

He mimes bringing a glass to his mouth. “You know, a drink? Why is that so hard to believe? You were asleep, I wasn’t tired, I was feeling kind of restless, so I went out.”

“Where did you go?”

“Downtown Bethesda.”

“Where?”

“What is this, the third degree?” He shifts his messenger bag, restless. “I went to Villain & Saint. See, this is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you would give me a hard time.”

“Wait, Villain & Saint? With Anton?”

“Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

“That’s where he was found. In the alley behind Villain & Saint.”

Scott frowns. “That’s crazy. I didn’t see him there. I left Anton on his front stoop.”

“What were you doing there?”

“It was Friday night. I had a long week. I wanted to get out of the house. I don’t go to bed at ten like you. I was antsy, so I went and had a glass of whiskey. Is that a crime?”

“No. It’s not a crime.”

“Now I’m going inside to eat. I’m starving. And I hope Marcus brought beer.”

“He did.”

“Go check on Gwen. You can continue grilling me later if you want.” He gives her a kiss on the top of her head before walking to the house. But she is not mollified. Her heart thumps in her chest as she turns toward Gwen’s house. Scott doesn’t go out to bars after she goes to bed. That’s not his thing, so why is he pretending it is? And the first time he does, it just so happens to be the night that Anton is murdered. It doesn’t add up. Scott is being evasive. She believes him that he didn’t see Anton at the bar, that didn’t seem like a lie. But he’s keeping something back. After all these years, she can tell when he isn’t being completely honest with her. No, it’s not a crime to go to a bar and have a drink. But if he hasn’t done anything wrong, why is he acting so guilty?