“And when exactly did you see him last?”
“He drove off around sixP.M.” Aimee looks at the mess in her kitchen from dinner. It already feels like he’s been gone for ages.
“Does your husband suffer from any mental health issues, meaning, are you concerned he may cause harm to himself?”
“What? No. Absolutely not.”
“What about medical conditions—epilepsy, diabetes, heart condition?”
“No. He’s very healthy.”
The woman takes down the make and model of Scott’s car, along with the license plate. “I will file this and we will let you know if anything hits on his car,” she says. “Feel free to call our missing persons department tomorrow to follow up.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Listen, most people who are reported missing show up on their own.”
Aimee hangs up and gets to work cleaning the kitchen. A week ago, she was preoccupied with the stress of daily life—ordering plants, making payroll, arranging checkups for the twins, and Noa’s psychological report. Now all she can think about is what has happened to Scott, and whether his not coming home is connected to the money he said he was scammed out of. He was going to answer all her questions tonight, tell her everything, and then—poof—he’s gone.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Aimee wakes at the slightest sound, thinking it might be Scott coming home, but it never is. When her alarm goes off in the morning, she sighs. At least the long night is over. She puts her hand on Scott’s side of the bed, as if she can divine some information about what has happened to him by laying her palm flat on the mattress. But no answers come to her. Scott is missing and she has no idea why.
She goes downstairs with the faintest flutter of hope that she will find him in the kitchen, but he’s not there. Scott never came home. He didn’t sneak into the house in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness and crash on the sofa. She checks her phone. Nothing. No text. No voicemail.
Panic swells within her anew. She is surer than ever that something has happened. Scott would never put her through this kind of worry. She doesn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts;she can hear the kids are up. The morning is a blur. When Noa asks where Dad is, Aimee tells her he had to leave early for work. Noa accepts this answer without question. And why not? It’s been the case so many times before. Aimee wishes it were true, that Scott had come home late and left for work early. As soon as the kids leave for school, she will call the police again.
She walks the three kids to the bus stop, her thoughts far away from their chatter. Noa finds a spot under a tree, takes out her Warrior Cats book, and begins reading. The boys run off to find their friends and Aimee steps back from the crowd slightly so that she is close enough to keep an eye on things, but just far enough away to discourage anyone from talking to her. She takes out her phone to check her email. Several consultation requests from new clients have come in, and she needs to respond. She likes to get back to people within twenty-four hours, but with everything going on in the past few days, she hasn’t had a chance.
“Aimee? Yoo-hoo, Aimee!” Gabby from around the corner rushes up, her son dawdling behind. “I’m so glad I caught up with you.”
Aimee feels her body tense up. She normally enjoys Gabby’s company at the bus stop. But this morning the thought of dealing with the woman’s high-octane energy exhausts her. In addition to working as a fundraiser at the headquarters for the American Cancer Society in D.C., Gabby runs the school’s PTA Listserv, organizes the twice-yearly neighborhood yard sales, and coaches girls’ soccer.
“Hey, Gabby.”
“Aimee, oh my gosh, how awful. I am devastated.” She looks around to make sure her child is not in earshot, and when she spots him a few yards away with a cluster of boys, she turns back. “Anton killed,” she stage-whispers, “right here in our own neighborhood. Who would do such a thing? What is this world coming to? Gwen, you, those poor kids. What can I do? How can I help? Say the word.”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can really do right now except cooperate with the police.”
“The police, of course. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have the police arrested anyone? I keep looking online and there’s nothing. It must be someone from D.C., or farther out in the county. There’s more and more of that, you know, outsiders coming into Bethesda to rob people and commit, you know…”
“I haven’t heard that it was a robbery.”
“Homicide,” Gabby mouths silently and then nods at Aimee. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since it happened. And I know I’m not the only one.”
Aimee makes a noncommittal grunt. She has no patience for this, not today, not while Scott is still unaccounted for. She wants to shake Gabby’s shoulders and screamI don’t care if you can’t sleep. My husband is missing.
“You’re so close with the Khourys,” Gabby says. “And we all feel terrible for Gwen. But at the same time, we’re victims, too, in our own way. We all feel very unsafe right now. I was talking with a few other moms, and we need some answers. We’re thinking of asking a Montgomery County police officer to come and give a talk about safety. What do you think?”
Aimee narrows her eyes. “About which part?”
“Should we invite Gwen? Is that rude? I don’t want her to feel excluded, but at the same time, I’m sure she has a lot on her plate.”
Aimee laughs before she can stop herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“This isn’t funny, Aimee. A man was killed. In East Bethesda, no less.”
“No, you’re right. It’s not funny.” Aimee glances at Gwen’s house, wondering if she’s home. Her car is out front. After she calls the police about Scott, she vows to check on her later. “I think giving Gwen a wide berth on your public safety campaign is probably a good idea right now. I don’t think that’s going to help her heal.”
“I do want to help her. Really. I could organize a meal delivery train, you know, do dinners on different nights.”
