You Deserve to Know

Chapter 35

35

NOW

Marcus answers the door wearing an apron and envelopes Aimee in a hug. “You doing okay?” He pulls back to look at her face. “Any word on Scott?”

Aimee shakes her head. “No. But we found his car. I’ll tell you about it inside.”

“Gwen all right?” Marcus asks, nodding across the cul-de-sac to where Gwen is still standing on the front stoop of her house.

Aimee turns to watch Gwen disappear inside. “Not exactly.”

Aimee follows Marcus into the brightly lit kitchen, where she is greeted by smells of garlic and butter.

“Shrimp and rice,” Marcus says. “I’ve made plenty if you want to take some home for the kids.”

“You’re sweet,” she says, suddenly exhausted. She hasn’t thought about dinner and is tempted by Marcus’s offer, but she doesn’t want to impose. “I don’t want to be any bother.”

“It’s no bother.” He pulls out a large Tupperware from a cabinet and begins scooping from a sheet pan. “I always make twice as much as we need, so we’ll have leftovers. Now tell me, what’s going on? Lisa said Scott was missing.”

She tells him an abbreviated version of the story—how Scott didn’t come home and how her client didn’t really live at the house that she claimed to. Aimee leaves out the part about Anton blackmailing Scott, out of a sense of protectiveness for Scott. Whatever Scott has done, she wants to hear his side of the story before she passes judgment. She knows other people will jump to the worst possible conclusion, even friends like Marcus.

“I wonder what’s up with this Cathy woman,” he says. “Do you think Scott is in some kind of danger?”

“I have no idea. I just hope the police can find him soon.” She looks at her watch. “I better give the kids a heads-up that it’s time to go. You know it takes them a while to transition.”

“I’ll do it,” Marcus says. He walks to the basement door, puts two fingers in his mouth, and lets out a shrill whistle. “Benji? Max? Your mom’s here.”

Cries of disappointment come up from the basement.

“This is a five-minute warning,” Marcus calls back and shuts the door.

“The whistle’s a pretty good trick,” Aimee says.

“My mom had an iron triangle she’d ring, and me and my brothers could hear that thing even if we were all the way down at the park.” He opens the fridge and pulls out lettuce and carrots. “I only get to cook dinner on days I work from home. I love to cook. In another life, I’m running my own restaurant.”

“Lucky for Lisa,” Aimee says dryly. Mentally exhausted, she doesn’t want to chitchat. She only wants to go home. “Is Noa down there, too?”

“She’s in my office, curled up with a book. My sister passed along my nephew’s Magic Treehouse collection when he outgrew them, and Noa found them.”

“That’s sweet,” Aimee says. “Is Lisa out?”

“Pilates.” Marcus takes a large knife and chops the head of lettuce. “She came here the other night, you know, Gwen did, pretty drunk. Making all kinds of crazy accusations.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“And you know what about?” Marcus stops chopping and looks at Aimee, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah.” Aimee nods.

“I wish she would just calm down and talk to us,” he says. “I think Anton’s death is affecting her. I mean, not just in the obvious ways.” He tosses the chopped lettuce into a wooden bowl and grabs the carrots. “If she had come and talked to me, I could have told her that Lisa and Anton bumped into each other in Tampa.”

“You knew about that?”

“Sure. Lisa told me as soon as she got back. They went out to some restaurant and got drunk, had fun. Anton was at some conference. She said there were some other writers there, too.”

“I think Gwen might be losing it a bit,” Aimee says, picking her words carefully. She doesn’t want to go into all the details about the secrets Gwen’s been keeping from her. Some of her earlier anger has subsided a bit. She’s not sure how she feels about Gwen right now. “It’s the stress of Anton’s death. Not just a death, but murder.”

On the way home to her house, the boys run ahead but Noa stays by her side. Aimee adjusts the warm Tupperware in her arms, thinking about what Marcus said. She doesn’t know what to believe. It seems crazy that Lisa and Anton might have been having an affair, yet Gwen was so sure. And Gwen was right about one thing—it was odd how upset Lisa got when she heard Noa had been spending time at Cathy’s. But it is impossible to figure out if that was just Lisa being Lisa, or if she might have known what Anton was up to. Aimee would need to ask her in person, to gauge her reaction, in order to know the truth.

“Mommy, Kai said that George and Rafi’s dad was murdered. But you said he died in a car accident.” Her tone is slightly accusatory.

“Well, he was hit by a car. That’s what I said.”

“Kai said there’s a killer on the loose.”

“He said what?” Aimee stops short.

“He said I should put a chair in front of my door so the killer doesn’t get in. But I think he was trying to scare me.”

“He shouldn’t have said that,” Aimee says. “I’ll say something to Lisa.”

“No! Don’t. Please, don’t say anything. Promise?”

Aimee sighs and continues walking. “Fine, I won’t. But I don’t want you to worry. No one is coming to hurt you. Did he tell the boys the same thing?”

Noa shakes her head. “No, just me. But was it an accident? Or was it on purpose?”

The boys have gone ahead inside the house and left the front door open. Aimee pauses on the stoop, unsure of what to say. Adults are supposed to have all the answers, but she has none. “We’re not sure. The police are trying to figure that out now. But I don’t want you to worry. You’re safe. Okay?”

Noa nods and then steps into the dark house. Aimee follows, moving from room to room and flipping on all the lights. In the kitchen, she cuts up some carrot sticks and apple slices, spoons the shrimp and rice onto plates, and calls everyone to dinner.

“Since Daddy’s not here, can we watch something with dinner?” Noa asks.

The boys instantly chime in, arguing about what show to watch. Aimee relents. She has little energy to enforce screen limits tonight. The kids grab their plates and drinks and head to the family room. Aimee sits at the kitchen table alone, staring out into the blackness of the backyard. The floodlights in Gwen’s yard go on and then off. Maybe she was letting Sababa out. Maybe it was a fox that activated the motion sensers. The distance to Gwen’s house is about thirty feet, but it feels a million miles away. How strange that they are each going through the suburban dinnertime ritual while both their husbands are gone.

Missing. Not gone. Scott will come back.

After dinner the kids drop their dishes in the sink and rush upstairs. Normally, she and Scott do the dishes together. Tidying up the kitchen is their chance to catch up at the end of the day. She thinks of his car, sitting in that barn. How did it get in there? Did he drive it in himself? Was he forced to? The not knowing is unbearable. She’s prioritized stability her whole life, and now she has to accept that she may not really know the person she thought she could count on.

Jon Block’s words come back to mock her.

It never ceases to amaze me. People can be married and sleep together in the same bed for decades and have no idea who the other person is.

Aimee goes upstairs and starts looking through Scott’s drawers. She is not searching for anything in particular, but hopes that some object might trigger a buried memory, activate some dormant knowledge. But Scott has no secrets in his sock drawer or tucked under his neatly folded sweaters. In his bedside table she finds a stack of cards from his recent birthday. One from her, homemade ones from the kids, and one in a yellow envelope, return address North Carolina, where his Aunt Kay lives. Aimee opens the card and reads it. It’s a standard Hallmark card—his aunt has signed her name and that’s all. She’s the only family Scott has left, a fact that now strikes her as meaningful. With her three stepbrothers, her dad, and Deb, Aimee has people. Holidays are always spent up in Baltimore, and since she married Scott, he has always gone along, happy to be part of a big boisterous family. She loved having him with her at these gatherings. He got along with everyone and, in an odd way, he made her feel like she belonged in her own family. But now she wonders about Aunt Kay.

Aimee glances at the clock; it’s only just after nine. Not too late to call. Not when it’s something important like this.

She’s nervous calling. She’s never had reason to pick up the phone and dial Scott’s aunt before. She only has the number in her phone because they were traveling through North Carolina a few years ago, and they stopped by and had a quick lunch with her.

Aunt Kay answers right away. They chat for a few minutes and Aimee is reminded that, despite how bright Kay is, she’s a mathematics instructor at a local community college, and she lacks many social graces.

“I’m actually calling because I have some difficult news.”

“I hope you don’t need money,” Kay says. “I don’t have any. In fact, I’ve taken in a boarder.”

“No, we don’t need money. It’s about Scott.”

“He’s not in trouble again, is he?”

Aimee’s heart gallops. “What do you mean, again?”

“Never mind, hurry up and tell me what you want. I have papers to grade.”

“Scott’s missing, Aunt Kay. The police are looking for him. I’m very worried about him.” She pauses, but Kay says nothing. “I think he was being blackmailed. Do you have any idea what that might be about?”

“I don’t want any trouble.” Aimee can hear papers shuffling in the background.

“Of course not,” Aimee says. “Neither do I.” What did Kay mean by that? It didn’t sound like simply the skittishness of an older woman who was used to a solitary life. There was an edge to her voice. Where was her concern for her nephew?

“I was happy to take him and help him finish high school, get him on his feet. I gave him a roof over his head and food to eat.”

“I know you did. And he was always very grateful.”

“But that’s the end of it for me. I’m not getting mixed up in anything. I wish you good luck, but I can’t be of any help. Please don’t call here again.”

Aimee gasps, unable to control her surprise. “Aunt Kay, you can’t mean that.”

“I do. And if I were you, I’d get myself a good lawyer.”