Chapter 48
48
NOW
Aimee is sitting on her bed, detangling Noa’s hair, when the whoop of a police siren startles her. Red lights coming from the street outside bounce off the walls of the room. Her body quivers. She can’t handle any more bad news today. She still hasn’t processed what Scott told her this afternoon.
“What is that?” Noa asks.
“Hold on, sweetie.” She pats Noa’s head and goes to the window. Peering out, she can see two police cars arriving, followed by an ambulance. They pull up haphazardly, taking up much of the cul-de-sac, but it is obvious they are heading to Gwen’s house. The relief she feels is slight.
“What’s going on?” Noa appears beside her. She cups her hands around her eyes and presses them to the window. Max and Benji rush in, yelling about the sirens. They join their sister at the window.
“Is it Santa?” Benji asks, breathless.
“It’s not Christmas.” Noa looks up at Aimee. “Right, Mom? It’s not Santa, is it?”
Every year around the holidays, the local fire station sends a truck through the neighborhood with someone dressed as Santa. Kids and parents gather outside their homes to wave as he rides by.
“No, it’s not Santa.” She tells them to stay by the window and keep watch, that she’ll be right back. Aimee grabs a fleece and slips on her sneakers. It’s a clear night, with a hint of a breeze and the cooler weather to come. Stepping into the street feels like stepping onto a movie set of action and bright lights. People rush about, confident of where they should go and what to do. She looks around to see if any of the other residents are here, but there’s no one. Then she sees her older neighbor Paola on the other side of the ambulance.
As Aimee walks over, she sees Detective Salazar emerge from the chaos and approach Paola.
“Hi, Detective,” Aimee says, aware she might be interrupting. “Did you get my message?”
“Ms. Stern. Hi. Yes, I did.” He shoots a look at Paola, who is peering at him wide-eyed from behind immense glasses. Aimee interprets his glance as a question— Do you want to discuss this in front of her?
Beyond niceties at this point, Aimee pushes on. “And? Did you find Scott?”
He grimaces. “We have been unable to locate your husband. But we have a few leads. We can discuss it later. Right now, we have to deal with this.”
Chastened, Aimee lapses into silence. What did she think he would say? She had hoped against hope that Scott would be there when the police arrived, that he would have changed his mind. She would be willing to forgive him eventually—she knew that in her heart—but only if he was willing to do the work. But instead he had run. Her chest tightens with the realization that it’s over for them. He’s not coming home.
“What happened here?” Paola asks.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Salazar says. “There was some sort of struggle inside, and Lisa Greco-King is dead.”
Aimee digs her nails into the palms of her hands. This can’t be happening. The block is cursed , she thinks. One by one its residents are being picked off.
“Dead?” Paola gasps. “Who did this? A burglar? Maybe it was the one who lives there, with the long blond hair.”
“We’re still figuring things out,” he says, uncertainty in his voice. “Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary tonight?”
“Tonight? No, all was quiet tonight,” Paola says.
“No, nothing,” Aimee says.
“And do you have any idea where Lisa’s husband is?” Salazar asks.
“Yes,” Paola says. “He took the boy to some sports event. I saw them leave several hours ago.”
“Thank you.” Salazar nods. “I better get inside. I’ll be in touch.”
She watches the detective duck under the yellow caution tape hung between two trees in Gwen’s front yard and disappear into the house. She is struck by her lack of desire to check on Gwen. All she wants to do is retreat. She decides right then to pack the kids up and go to her father’s house for the weekend. Get far away from Nassau Court.
“Tonight was quiet,” Paola says quietly, as if to herself. “But things happen in the quiet, too.”
Aimee turns to her. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I see things. I may be old, but I see things.”
“Like what?” Aimee asks.
“I see the Italian one go to that one’s house during the day.” She points at Gwen’s place. “When everyone else is gone.” Paola clucks her tongue. “Not so nice.”
Within an hour, Aimee has packed the kids and several suitcases and is on 95 North heading to Baltimore. She’s grateful that the kids are absorbed in their screens and can ride in silence. Her body is tired and her mind exhausted. She doesn’t want to think anymore. She wants to stop her brain from chewing over the day’s events, coming up with different ideas and angles, none of them satisfactory. There is no satisfactory answer. Scott is gone. Lisa is dead. And if she is to believe what Paola was implying, Lisa was sleeping with Anton, after all. She turns on the music, finds an ’80s channel on SiriusXM, and tries to lose herself in the familiar melodies of Echo & the Bunnymen.
Deb is waiting for them when she pulls up and immediately commandeers the kids, offering them homemade cookies and a tour of the obstacle course her brother built behind the house. The kids run off, enchanted by the hundreds of fairy lights that hang from the trees in the backyard. She envies their innocence. At some point she will have to destroy it with the news about their father, but not tonight.
“I’ve got the kids,” Deb says. “Why don’t you go on in. Your dad’s in the living room.”
Aimee walks though the familiar kitchen, past the worn farm table she sat at for so many years, and into the living room. Her father is seated in his favorite chair, a book open in his lap—no doubt about World War II—and a tumbler of scotch on the table beside him.
She sits in the matching armchair across from him and watches his face as he removes his glasses and looks up, seeing that it’s her.
“Aimee. What a wonderful surprise.” Then he frowns. “I don’t suppose you’ve got good news about Scott, have you?”
“If you pour me one of those,” she says, pointing to the glass next to him, “I’ll tell you all about it.”