by Sara Shepard
The whole thing broke Emily’s heart. She knew, logically, that their tormenter wasn’t Her Ali, the girl she’d adored for years, spent lots of time with, and kissed in the DiLaurentis’s tree house at the end of seventh grade. But she couldn’t help but dwell on that moment last year when Real Ali had returned, impersonated Their Ali, and kissed Emily with such passion. She’d seemed so . . . genuine, not like a cold-hearted psycho.
“You know, you should probably sign up for a spot in the clean dorms now,” Mrs. Fields was saying as they drove up a hill past a large school playground. Several teenagers were sitting on the swings, smoking cigarettes. “I’d love to have this settled before your father and I go out of town on Wednesday.” Mr. and Mrs. Fields were taking a trip to Texas for Emily’s grandma and grandpa’s sixty-fifth wedding anniversary, leaving Emily alone in the house for the first time ever. “Want me to call the student living office tomorrow and ask?”
Emily groaned. “Mom, I don’t know if I want to—”
She trailed off, suddenly noticing where they were. SHIP LANE, said a green street sign. Up ahead was a very familiar little white ranch house with green shutters and a big front porch. It was on that very porch that she and her friends had left a certain baby carrier months earlier.
“Stop,” she blurted.
Mrs. Fields hit the brakes. “What’s wrong?”
Emily’s heart was pounding so fast she was sure her mother could hear each valve flapping open and closed. This house had appeared in Emily’s dreams almost every night, but she’d vowed never to drive by it again. It seemed extra-creepy that the GPS had guided them here, almost like the computer knew this house held painful memories. Or maybe, she thought with a shiver, it was someone else who knew, someone else who’d somehow programmed the GPS.
A.
Either way, now that she was here, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The dog bowl that said GOLDEN RETRIEVERS WELCOME was missing from the front porch, but the rocking chair was still there. The bushes in the front yard looked a little overgrown, like they hadn’t been pruned in a while. The windows were dark, and there were a bunch of wrapped newspapers on the lawn, a sure sign that the family was on vacation.
All kinds of memories flooded back to Emily, unbidden. She saw herself staggering off the plane from Jamaica, nauseated and dizzy and exhausted. She’d figured it was just because of something she’d eaten at the resort, but as time went on, the symptoms got worse. She could barely stay awake through class. She couldn’t keep food down. Certain things, like coffee, cheese, and flowers, smelled horrible.
Then, a week later, she’d been flipping through channels and caught the end of a True Life episode on MTV about kids who’d been pregnant in high school. A girl had felt sick for months but thought it was mono; by the time she’d taken a pregnancy test, she was already four months along. Watching it, a light had gone on in Emily’s brain. The next day, she’d driven to a drugstore a few towns away from Rosewood and bought an EPT test. Terrified her mom would find the evidence, she took the test in a dank, dark bathroom in the local park next door.
It was positive.
She’d spent the next few days in a horrified daze, feeling confused and lost. The father had to be Isaac, her one and only boyfriend of that year. But they’d only had sex once. She wasn’t even sure she liked guys. And what the hell were her parents going to say about this? They would never, ever forgive her.
When her head cleared, she’d begun to make plans: She would escape to Philly that summer and stay with her sister Carolyn, who was doing a summer program at Temple University. She’d wear baggy blazers and blouses to hide the weight gain until school was over. She’d see a doctor in the city and pay cash so her appointments wouldn’t show up on her parents’ insurance bill. She’d contact an adoption agency and make arrangements. And she had done all those things, which was how she’d met the Bakers, who lived in this very house.
After Emily called Rebecca, the adoption coordinator, and told her she’d made her choice, she took SEPTA to New Jersey to visit Derrick, her friend from Poseidon’s, the fish restaurant in Philly where she worked as a waitress. Derrick was the only friend she’d confided in all summer, his soft eyes and easy manner calming her down. He’d been her sounding board, her rock, and she’d told him almost everything about herself, from her ordeals with A to her crush on Maya St. Germain. Sometimes, Emily lamented that she was the one always dumping on him—she didn’t know much about him at all—but Derrick just shrugged and said his life was boring in comparison to hers.
Derrick was working as a gardener at a big house in Cherry Hill on the weekends and told Emily to meet him there. It was the kind of mansion with iron gates, a guest house in the back, and a long, winding driveway made of pretty blue paver stones instead of blacktop. Derrick said the owners wouldn’t mind if they talked in the gazebo, and that was where Emily told him her news. He’d listened patiently and hugged her tightly when she was done, which had brought tears to her eyes. Derrick was a godsend—he’d swooped in just when she needed him, listening to all of her problems.
As they were talking, the back door to the mansion, which looked out onto a lavish patio with a long, rectangular swimming pool, swung open, and a tall woman with short blond hair and a long, sloping nose stepped out. She noticed Emily immediately and looked her up and down, from her frizzy hair to her huge boobs to her enormous stomach. A small, tormented squeak escaped from her mouth. She crossed the patio and approached Emily, staring at her with such a sad expression it made Emily’s heart break.
“How far along are you?” she asked softly.
Emily flinched. Since she was a teenager, most people averted their eyes from her pregnancy like it was a huge tumor. It was strange to hear someone sound so genuinely interested. “Um, about seven-and-a-half months.”
The woman had tears in her eyes. “That’s so precious. Are you feeling well?”
“I guess.” Emily glanced cautiously at Derrick, but he just bit his lower lip.
The woman thrust out her hand. “I’m Gayle. This is my home.”
“I’m, uh, Heather,” Emily answered. It was the fake name she’d given everyone that summer, except for Derrick. Heather was even on her name tag at the restaurant. The skinny, pre-pregnant Emily was all over the Internet, connected to the Alison DiLaurentis story, and Emily could just picture an item about her illicit pregnancy on a local gossip blog, followed by a horrified call from her parents.
“You’re so lucky,” Gayle murmured, staring lovingly at Emily’s belly. She almost looked like she wanted to reach out and touch it. Then, Gayle’s smile suddenly wobbled into a frown, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, God,” she blurted, then turned around and ran crookedly into the house, slamming the door hard.
Emily and Derrick were silent for a while, listening to the sounds of a Weedwacker next door. “Did I do something to upset her?” Emily asked worriedly. The woman seemed so fragile.
Derrick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t worry about it.”
And so Emily hadn’t worried about it. Little did she know she would be promising her baby to Gayle only a few short weeks later . . . and then going back on her word.
The furious messages Gayle left the day Emily placed the baby on the Bakers’ doorstep flashed through her mind. I’ll hunt you down. I’ll find you. Luckily, Gayle never had.
“Emily, honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Fields asked, shattering Emily’s thoughts.
Emily clamped down hard on the inside of her cheek. “Uh, I know the girl who lives here,” she floundered, feeling her cheeks turn hot. “I thought I saw her at the window, but I guess not. We can go now.”
Mrs. Fields peered at the yard. “Goodness, their lawn looks terrible,” she murmured. “They’ll never sell this house with all those weeds.”
Emily squinted. “What do you mean, sell the house?”
“It’s for sale. See?”
She pointed at a sign in the front yard. FOR SALE, it said, w
ith a picture of the realtor and a phone number. Starbursts at the top right-hand corner said QUICK TURNAROUND! and OWNERS RELOCATED! and BUY THIS NOW! There was also an announcement that an open house would be held the following Saturday from noon till four o’clock.
A sick feeling rushed through Emily’s body. Just knowing that this house was here, that her baby was nearby, had made her feel comforted and relieved—she could close her eyes and picture where her baby was at all times. But the Bakers weren’t on vacation—they’d moved.
Her baby was gone.
5
THE THINGS YOU DISCOVER IN THE PRODUCE SECTION . . .
The following day, the bell rang in Art History class, and all twenty-two students stood en masse. “Read chapter eight for tomorrow!” Mrs. Kittinger called after them.
Aria shoved her books into her backpack and followed the herd out the door. As soon as she was in the hallway, she glanced at her cell phone, which had been blinking for the last hour. New Google alert for Tabitha Clark, said the screen.
Her stomach twisted. She’d been tracking Tabitha-related news, reading accounts of bereft friends, grieving relatives, and angry parents protesting drunken spring break trips. Today, there was a story in a newspaper. The headline read FATHER OF DECEASED SPRING BREAK TEEN TO SUE JAMAICAN RESORT THAT SERVED HIS DAUGHTER ALCOHOL.
She clicked on the link. There was a picture of Tabitha’s father, Kenneth Clark, a tall, bespectacled man who was a captain of industry. He wanted to crack down on teenage drinking and punish bars that served underage drinkers. “I’d be curious to know what her blood-alcohol level was when she died,” he said. There was also a quote from Graham Pratt, who’d been Tabitha’s boyfriend when she died. “I think it’s very possible The Cliffs resort served her, even though she was visibly drunk.”
Whoa. What if Tabitha’s family and friends somehow found out Tabitha hadn’t died from an alcohol overdose? Aria’s throat felt dry, and her heart started to pound. It was hard enough getting through the day without thinking about the innocent girl falling to her death—she hardly slept some nights, and she wasn’t eating much. But if Tabitha’s father found out, if the police linked it to them, if Aria’s friends’ lives were ruined because of something she technically did . . . well, she wouldn’t know how to go on.
“Aria?”
Aria whirled around and saw Emily behind her. She was wearing a Rosewood swim-team parka, skinny black jeans, and had a curious look on her round, pleasant, freckled face.
“Um, hi.” Aria slipped the phone into her pocket. There was no use showing this to Emily and getting her worried over what was probably nothing. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you were going to Hanna’s dad’s town hall meeting on Tuesday.” Emily moved out of the way as some guys on the crew team shouldered past. “She asked if I’d be there.”
“Yep.” Aria had already told Hanna she’d attend her dad’s political events. “Want to sit together?”
“That would be nice.” Emily gave Aria a small, watery smile that Aria recognized instantly. Back when they were part of Ali’s clique, Aria had dubbed it Emily’s Eeyore smile. She’d seen it on Emily’s face a lot after Their Ali disappeared.
“What’s the matter, Em?” Aria said softly.
Emily stared at her gray New Balance sneakers. Behind her, a bunch of sophomore boys shoved each other playfully. Kirsten Cullen gazed into the trophy case glass, fixing her lipstick. “I drove by that house on Ship Lane yesterday,” Emily finally said.
Aria blinked, remembering Ship Lane’s significance. “How did it go?”
Emily swallowed hard. “There was a FOR SALE sign on the lawn, and the house looked empty. They moved.” Her jaw trembled like she was going to cry.
“Oh, Em.” Aria wrapped her arms around her friend. Words couldn’t describe how shocked she’d felt last summer when Emily told her she was pregnant. She’d called Aria out of the blue and begged her not to tell the others. I’ve got it under control, she’d said. I’ve picked out a family for the baby once it’s born. I just had to tell someone.
“I wish I knew why they left,” Emily murmured.
“It makes sense, don’t you think?” Aria asked. “I mean, they suddenly had a baby. It probably looked strange to the neighbors. Maybe they moved to avoid questions.”
Emily considered this. “Where do you think they went?”
“Why don’t we try to find out?” Aria suggested. “Maybe the realtor knows.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “The FOR SALE sign did say there’s an open house this weekend.”
“If you want company, I’ll go with you,” Aria offered.
“Really?” Emily looked relieved.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” Emily threw her arms around Aria again and squeezed her tight. Aria squeezed back, grateful that they were close again. They’d spent so much time avoiding each other, shying away from the secrets they shared, but it hadn’t done them much good. It was better to fight A together. Plus, Aria missed having good friends.
Aria’s cell phone rang, and Emily broke away, saying she had to get to class. As she drifted down the hall, Aria looked at the screen and frowned. Call from Meredith. It was unusual for her father’s fiancée to be calling her.
“Aria?” Meredith said when Aria answered. “Oh my God, I’m so glad I caught you.” In the background, Meredith and Byron’s toddler, Lola, was wailing. There were also sounds of banging pots and shattering dishes. “I really need your help,” she went on. “I want to re-create this amazing pasta dish we had at an Italian restaurant in Philly for your dad tonight, but I just went to Fresh Fields, and they’re out of tatsoi. The Fresh Fields in Bryn Mawr has it, but I can’t go right now—Lola’s super-fussy and I don’t want to make it worse by lugging her out in public. Can you go for me after school?”
Aria slumped against the wall and stared absently at a poster reminding seniors to sign up for shore excursions on the upcoming Eco Cruise. “Can’t you make it tomorrow?” Bryn Mawr wasn’t exactly close.
“I really need it tonight.”
“Why?” Aria asked. “Does Byron have visiting professors in town or something?”
Meredith made an uncomfortable noise at the back of her throat. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
Now Aria was curious. “Seriously. What’s the occasion?”
Another long pause. Meredith sighed. “Okay, it’s the anniversary of our first kiss.”
Nausea rippled through Aria’s gut. “Oh,” she said nastily. Her parents had still been married when Byron and Meredith had their first kiss.
“You asked!” Meredith protested. “I didn’t want to tell you!”
Aria shoved her free hand into her blazer pocket. If Meredith really wanted to keep it from her, then why had she called up Aria in the first place?
“Aria?” Meredith’s voice rang through the phone. “Are you there? Look, I’m sorry I told you. But I really do need your help. Can you do this for me just this once?”
Lola started to wail even louder in the background, and Aria shut her eyes. Even though she didn’t support this anniversary, the more stressed out Meredith was, the more Lola would suffer. Saying no would probably get back to Byron, too, and she’d never hear the end of it.
“Fine,” she said as the second bell rang. “Except you have to tell me what tatsoi is.”
A few hours later, Aria pulled into Fresh Fields in Bryn Mawr. The town was about ten miles away, had a small liberal-arts college, an art house theater that produced avant-garde plays, and an old inn that with a sign that said GEORGE WASHINGTON SLEPT HERE. The cars in the grocery store’s parking lot were covered with bumper stickers beseeching people to SAVE THE WHALES, GO GREEN, LIVE IN PEACE, and KILL YOUR TELEVISION.
After passing through the grocery store’s automatic doors and between at least thirty barrels of olives, she headed to the greens section of the produce department. Apparently, tatsoi was like spinach. Why Meredith couldn�
��t have just used spinach for the stupid let’s-celebrate-our-affair dinner was beyond her.
The whole thing still made Aria squeamish. She’d been the one who caught Byron and Meredith kissing in a back alley in seventh grade. Byron had begged her not to say anything to Ella, and even though Aria wanted to tell, she’d thought that by keeping her dad’s secret, her parents would stay together.
For a long time, Their Ali was the only one who knew about her dad’s dalliances, and Aria had wished she didn’t. Ali used to tease her about it all the time, asking if Byron had had affairs with other girls, too. When Ali disappeared, Aria had been partly relieved—at least she couldn’t taunt her about the secret anymore. But it was lonely keeping the secret to herself, too. She’d tried to bury it deep, telling herself she was making a sacrifice for her family. In the end, though, her sacrifice didn’t matter. A had revealed the affair to Ella, and her parents had separated.
Aria passed a hanging scale and touched it lightly with her fingertips. Maybe this wasn’t worth dwelling on. It wasn’t like Ella and Byron were the perfect couple, anyway, even long before Meredith. They were nothing like, say, Noel’s parents. Nothing like what Aria wanted her and Noel to be.
She passed a bunch of bulbous, dark-purple eggplants and huge, fragrant bins of Thai basil and apple mint, and sampled a bite of sautéed Swiss chard from a woman in a Fresh Fields apron. At the end of the aisle, there was a small bin full of greens marked TATSOI. Aria grabbed a plastic bag from the dispenser and started to fill it up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman by the heirloom tomatoes. She wore a swirled-print, Pucci-style dress, and had tanned skin, bushy eyebrows, and lots of makeup. There was something about her that reminded Aria of Noel’s father. This woman could be his sister.
As Aria moved closer, considering asking the woman where she got her dress—Ella would love it—the woman pivoted, revealing more of her face. Something suddenly soured inside Aria, and she ducked around the corner. After a moment, she snuck another peek at the woman’s face and gasped.
