Chapter 16
16
NOW
Gwen stands before her immense walk-in closet, unable to move. The Sunday afternoon is almost gone and she’s still in the same sweatpants and T-shirt she’s been wearing for more than twenty-four hours. Streaked with coffee, stained with tears.
Aimee texted her to come over, and when she didn’t respond, Lisa called.
“Come to Aimee’s around four, or we’re coming to get you.”
She knew Lisa wasn’t joking, and she didn’t want her neighbor to come over and find her like this. So Gwen forced herself to shower. To blow-dry her hair. Even to apply a little makeup—concealer to hide her circles, even darker than usual, some blush and highlighter to bring a little glow to her sallow skin.
She needs her friends. She can’t stand being in this house right now with the boys gone. Everywhere she looks, memories of Anton confront her. In the living room, it’s the leather club chair he sat in to read his students’ work. In the bedroom, his reading glasses perch atop his half-read copy of Crime and Punishment on the nightstand. And on so many surfaces, little scraps of paper with unintelligible scrawling. He owned dozens of small notebooks yet often found himself without one, so he would rip off corners of whatever was at hand—bills, the backs of receipts—and jot down flashes of inspiration. Snippets, he called them, but when Gwen read them, they never made any sense to her.
Golden fears
Boy wears blue shirt
Gwen stares at her neatly folded clothes on the shelves, the precisely hung garments. Everything in her custom closet is light in color—cream and oatmeal and beige. This is her signature look—it goes with her blond hair and the image she tries to project. Airy, neutral, sophisticated. It seems ridiculous now to put on these clothes. She wants something dark to match her mood, but she has no black or navy or gray. The best she comes up with is jeans and a taupe sweater that seems to accentuate the purple circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could conceal.
The distance between her front door and Aimee’s is about forty feet, but it feels like miles. Out on the street she feels vulnerable, as if people are watching her from the safety of their homes. Everyone must know by now that Anton was murdered. A few neighbors dropped off flowers, or bags of ready-to-eat food from Balducci’s. But there must be talk. Gossip. Leaving the house feels like a mistake, and she hesitates at the bottom of Aimee’s walkway. She entertains the thought of turning around, sending a text, but the front door swings open and Aimee is standing there.
“Come in, come in.” Aimee ushers her inside. Gwen follows her into the living room, where Lisa is sitting. Lisa springs up and gives her a hug. She smells like vanilla and musk. Aimee leaves the room to make tea while Lisa peppers her with questions about the boys and how long they are staying at Barb’s. The more concern Lisa shows, the colder Gwen becomes. She can’t help it. There’s something about Lisa’s warmth and enthusiasm that has always felt forced to Gwen, like an act she’s putting on. She’s seen Lisa smile enthusiastically, laugh and joke, and then the moment she doesn’t think anyone is looking, her face turns to stone. But she has Aimee completely snowed.
Aimee comes back with tea.
“Where is everyone?” Gwen asks.
“Scott took the kids to Norwood,” Aimee says. “Even Noa.”
“The police came by our house today,” Lisa says. “Asked Marcus and me about Friday night. I wish we could have been more helpful. They asked if we had a doorbell camera, which we don’t, although now I think we should get one. You have one, Aimee. Did the police ask to see the footage?”
Gwen looks at Aimee, who shifts, visibly uncomfortable. “Yes. I’m sure they’re asking everyone.”
“Is there anything on it?” Gwen asks.
Aimee looks down at her hands and spins her wedding ring.
“Aimee,” Gwen says, the skin on her neck prickling. “What was on it?”
Aimee glances up at her and then looks away. “Well, Anton came to our house Friday night. Late. After I had gone to bed.”
“What? You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t have a chance, and honestly, with everything going on, it didn’t seem that important.”
Gwen’s breath catches in her throat. “How could that not be important? You might have been the last person to see him. And you didn’t tell me?” The room falls quiet, the only sound the revving of a leaf blower from somewhere nearby. Aimee and Lisa exchange a glance, which infuriates Gwen. She knows that look. She’s given that look. It happens in trios when one person is acting badly. But how is she acting badly? Her husband was murdered, and her friend is withholding important information. Gwen sinks into herself. She feels more alone with her friends than she did when she was by herself at her house. She doesn’t understand how Aimee can’t see that she’s done something wrong. “You should have told me.”
“I am truly sorry,” Aimee says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or hold anything back from you.”
“We’re on your side,” Lisa says. “We’re not against you.”
Gwen brings the steaming tea to her face and inhales. Lisa is the bonus that comes along with friendship with Aimee, whether she wants it or not, and there doesn’t seem to be any room for negotiation. If she kept Lisa at arm’s length, she could tolerate her, but she has never trusted her. She is one of those women who is always on high alert, looking for slights or insults, or opportunities to compete. At the beginning of the summer when Gwen mentioned that she wanted to enroll the boys in the local swim team, Lisa regaled her with Kai’s swimming triumphs. “Just like you, all I wanted was something for him to do in the summer, maybe learn how to swim. One thing leads to another and now two years later, I’m driving all over the place taking him to regionals here, and state finals there. Who would have guessed he would be a champion swimmer!”
“I know you’re not against me,” Gwen says. “I don’t think that. I hate being blindsided by information.” She tries to smile and smooth things over. They don’t know what she’s discovered in Anton’s study, and she’s not going to tell them. She worries that if she starts talking about that, she might accidentally divulge Anton’s other secret. “What did Anton want?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him,” Aimee says. “Scott was the one who answered the door.”
“Well, what did he say to Scott?”
“I don’t think anything important. Scott was on his way out to meet a friend for a drink. He said Anton seemed—” She stopped, a guilty look on her face. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“I need you to stop trying to protect me, stop trying to be so nice, and just tell me,” Gwen says. She knows her tone is harsh, her words direct, but she doesn’t care at this point.
Aimee nods. “All right. Scott said that Anton seemed really drunk and he walked him back to your place. That’s all.”
“Where was Scott going for a drink?”
Aimee pauses, unable to meet her eye. “Bethesda.”
“Aimee?”
“Fine. Villain & Saint.”
Gwen feels like she’s been punched in the throat. She gasps for air. Lisa rushes over, taking the tea from her and patting her on the back. Gwen’s mind is racing now, galloping off into dark territory. Would Anton have been foolish enough to confront Scott? He was so drunk on Friday, willing to spill his secrets to assuage his conscience. But even he would not have been that stupid. And even if he did talk to Scott, did confess everything, would that be enough reason for Scott to kill him? It’s crazy. She’s going insane with this train of thought.
“I’m fine now, thanks,” Gwen says, pushing Lisa off her. She needs space. Lisa is smothering her.
“You okay? We don’t need to talk about this. We don’t want to upset you,” Lisa says.
“Maybe we should talk about something else,” Aimee says.
Gwen examines her friend, her auburn waves pulled into a ponytail, her freckled, makeup-free face, her brows furrowed in concern. Is she really that clueless, or is she hiding something?
“I’m not upset, I just think it’s very weird that Scott went to Villain & Saint the same night. Did he see Anton there?”
“No, of course not. He was meeting a friend.”
“You’re telling me you don’t think that’s odd?”
Aimee bristles. “It’s the nearest bar.”
“We all go there,” Lisa says. “Everyone in the neighborhood. I know for a fact that Liz and Dave Muhlbaum were at Villain & Saint on Friday night. So was Michelle J.” She lets out a little shudder. Of all the Michelles in the neighborhood, Michelle J. is the craziest.
“Yeah, but—” Gwen starts and then stops. If Aimee knew something, she wouldn’t be able to hide it. She’s the worst card player Gwen has ever met. Every time they play Pitch, she can always tell if Aimee has the jack because she starts wiggling in her seat, smiling. There is no way she is keeping any secrets. But that doesn’t mean Scott isn’t. “But Anton came here. He came here to talk to Scott. And we’re supposed to believe they both ended up at Villain & Saint separately?”
Aimee stiffens. “I don’t see where you’re going with this. I feel like you’re saying that Scott had something to do with Anton’s death—”
“I’m not saying that,” Gwen says. But isn’t she?
“Well, he didn’t. For the record.”
“Fine.”
Aimee forces a laugh. “I mean, this is Scott we’re talking about. I think I know my husband.”
“Of course you do.”
“So then what’s your problem, Gwen?”
Aimee glares at her like a cornered cat, challenging her. She’s never seen this side of Aimee before. She’s not willing to even consider Scott as anything less than perfect. Gwen knows that feeling well. How you can’t let even the sliver of a doubt in, or it might crack your whole facade of perfection wide open. She smiles ingratiatingly at Aimee. The ideal friend, the forgiving wife, the selfless mother. Would her role-playing ever end?
A car door slams outside and Aimee stands. “I think Scott’s home with the kids,” she says.
“I better get going, too,” Lisa says, putting her mug down. “I promised to make spaghetti and meatballs.”
The three of them are in the foyer getting their shoes on when Aimee snaps her fingers. “Wait, hold on, Lisa. I have something of yours.” Aimee disappears and comes back holding a pen.
“What is that?” Lisa looks up from where she is kneeling, adjusting the laces on her sneakers.
“A pen. Apparently Noa, uh, borrowed it from you.” Aimee flashes a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Aimee, isn’t she a little old to be engaging in that kind of stuff?” Lisa asks, looking up from her crouching position. “I mean, I know that kids steal, but they grow out of it by her age. It’s not normal.”
“Oh, leave her alone, it’s a freaking pen.” Gwen takes the pen from Aimee. It’s hefty, not a cheap one. She turns it over and reads the gold lettering: Le Cannu. For a moment she can’t breathe. That was the name she couldn’t remember. The restaurant with the outrageous bill.
Do you begrudge me a dinner on a work trip?
Lisa takes the pen from Gwen’s hand and for a fraction of a second, the two make eye contact.
In that moment, Gwen realizes who her husband’s been sleeping with.