by Sara Shepard
Aria blinked, caught off guard. She thought of Noel’s two brothers, Erik and Preston. They were constant fixtures at the Kahns’ house parties, even though they were both in college. “I don’t understand.”
“My brother Jared.” Noel rolled the top catalogue tightly in his hands. “He was a lot older. My parents don’t talk about him much anymore.”
Aria clutched the edge of the worn table. Noel had had another brother? “How did it happen?”
“Well, my parents were out,” Noel explained. “Jared was babysitting me. We were playing Myst, this computer game, but then it got late and I started dozing off. Jared seemed reluctant to put me to bed, but he finally did. When I woke up a while later, something just felt . . . weird. The house was too quiet or something. So I got up and walked to the end of the hall. Jared’s door was closed, and I knocked, but he didn’t answer. So I just went in. And . . .” Noel shrugged and unfurled the catalogue. It flopped open to a page showing a blond, smiling baby in a red bouncy chair. “There he was.”
Having no idea what to say, she touched Noel’s hand. He didn’t pull away.
“He’d . . . you know. Hung himself.” Noel closed his eyes. “I didn’t really understand what I was seeing at first. I thought he was just playing or whatever, maybe punishing me because I hadn’t stayed up to play Myst with him longer. My parents came home then and I don’t remember anything after that.”
“God,” Aria whispered.
“He was going to Cornell the following year.” Noel’s voice cracked. “He was an all-star basketball player. His life seemed . . . awesome. My parents didn’t see it coming either. Neither did my brothers or his girlfriend. No one did.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aria whispered. She felt like an insensitive, sanctimonious ass. Who knew Noel had such an awful secret? And here she thought he’d been just pulling a stupid prank on her. “Have you ever been able to talk to him at seances?”
Noel fiddled with the frog-shaped saltshaker in the middle of the table. “Not really. But I keep trying. And I talk to him at the cemetery a lot. That seems to help.”
Aria made a face. “I’ve tried to do that with Ali, but I always feel so weird. Like I’m talking to myself.”
“I don’t think so,” Noel said. “I think she’s listening.”
The vacuum cleaner groaned to life, vibrating the ceiling above them. Aria and Noel sat still for a moment, listening. Noel’s piercing green eyes met hers. “Can you keep this to yourself? You’re kind of the only person who knows.”
“Of course,” Aria said quickly, studying Noel. He didn’t seem mad that she’d forced this out of him at all.
When she looked down, she realized that her hand was still touching his. She pulled it away fast, suddenly feeling very flustered. Noel was still staring at her. Aria’s heart began to pound. She fidgeted nervously with the antique silver chain around her neck. Noel moved closer and closer until she could feel his breath on her neck. It smelled like black licorice, one of Aria’s favorite candies. She held her breath, waiting.
But then, as if awakening from a dream, Noel jerked back, grabbed his glass from the table, and stood. “I guess I’ll go find Mike now. See ya.”
Giving her a little wave, he ducked through the archway and into the hall. Aria pressed her cool glass of water to her forehead. For a moment there, she’d thought Noel was going to kiss her. And in a very untypical Aria moment, she kind of wished he had.
Chapter 14 Even Good Girls have Secrets
Early that same Wednesday evening, Emily crunched across the fields behind Lucy’s house, carrying a bucket of water to the animals in the barn. The wind whipped across her face, making her eyes water. A couple of houses in the distance already had their lanterns lit, and a horse and buggy clopped up the dirt path toward the road, the reflective, triangular sign on its back glowing.
“Thanks,” Lucy called, catching up to Emily. She carried a bucket of water too. “After this, all we have to do is clean the floors of Mary’s house for her wedding ceremony on Saturday.”
“Okay,” Emily said. She didn’t dare ask why Mary was having her wedding in her house instead of the church. It was probably just some Amish thing she was supposed to know.
Their day had been jam-packed with early-morning farm chores, hours at the one-room schoolhouse reading Bible passages and helping the younger kids learn the alphabet, and then helping Lucy’s mom prepare dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Zook, Lucy’s parents, looked classic National Geographic Amish—Lucy’s father had a big, bushy, gray, moustacheless beard and wore a black hat, and her mother had a stern, makeupless face and rarely smiled. Still, they seemed gentle and kind enough—and they didn’t suspect Emily was faking. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything. But amid all that activity, Emily had still looked for clues about Ali everywhere they went. But no one had uttered a name even close to one that sounded like Alison or talked of the missing girl from Rosewood.
Most likely, A had just taken out a map of the U.S. and blindly picked any old place to ship Emily off to, eager to get her out of Rosewood. And Emily had fallen for it. Emily had tried to turn her phone back on this morning to see if A had written her again, but the battery had died. Her return bus ticket was for Friday afternoon, but she was considering leaving early. What was the point in staying here if she wasn’t going to find any answers?
But a big part of Emily didn’t want to believe that A was truly evil. A had given them all kinds of clues—maybe they’d just put the puzzle together incorrectly. What else had A told them that pointed to where Ali might be now . . . or where she’d been all along? As Emily stood on the porch, the chilly wind sneaking down her collar, she saw a dark-haired girl carrying a bucket of water into a barn across the field. From this distance, the girl looked a lot like Jenna Cavanaugh.
Jenna. Could she be the answer? A had sent Emily an old photo of Jenna, Ali, and the back of an anonymous blond girl—probably Naomi Zeigler—standing in Ali’s yard. One of these things doesn’t belong, said A’s accompanying note. Figure it out quickly ... or else.
A had also tipped off Emily that Jenna and Jason DiLaurentis were arguing at Jenna’s window. Emily had seen the fight with her own eyes, though she had no idea what it could’ve been about. Why would A show her these things? Why would A say that Jenna didn’t belong? Was A simply pointing out that Jenna and Ali were closer than everyone thought? Jenna and Ali had co-conspired in getting rid of Toby for good; perhaps Ali had confided in Jenna that she’d planned to run away. Perhaps Jenna had even helped her.
Emily and Lucy walked down the front steps and across the field to Mary’s parents’ house. A buggy was parked in the gravel lot, and there were an old-fashioned seesaw and tire swing near the front porch, crusted over with snow. Before they started up the porch, Lucy gave Emily a sidelong glance. “Thanks for everything, by the way. You’ve been a huge help.”
“No problem,” Emily said.
Lucy leaned against the porch railing, looking like she wasn’t finished. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her eyes looked even greener in the dying, slanted light. “Why are you really here?”
Emily’s heart shot to her throat. There was a clattering sound from inside the house. “W-what do you mean?” she stammered. Had Lucy found her out?
“I’ve been trying to figure it out. What did you do?”
“Do?”
“You were obviously sent here because we’re a more traditional community.” Lucy smoothed her long wool coat under her butt and sat down on the wooden porch steps. “This is to get back on a virtuous path again, right? I’m guessing something happened to you. If you need to unburden yourself, you can tell me. I won’t say anything.”
Despite the air being bitingly cold, Emily’s palms began to sweat. Isaac’s bedroom appeared in her mind. She winced at the thought of them naked under Isaac’s covers, giggling. It seemed like so, so long ago, almost like it happened to a different person. All her life, she’d figured her first time having s
ex would be special and meaningful, something she’d treasure for the rest of her life. Instead, it had been an awful mistake.
“It was this thing with a guy,” she admitted.
“I thought it might be something like that.” Lucy picked at a splintered plank on the steps. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Emily watched Lucy’s face. She seemed genuinely sincere, not prying or judgmental. She sank down on the porch next to her. “I thought we were in love. It was so great at first. But then . . .”
“What happened?” Lucy asked.
“It just didn’t work.” Tears came to Emily’s eyes. “He didn’t really know me at all. I didn’t know him, either.”
“Did your parents disapprove?” Lucy goaded, blinking her long lashes.
Emily sniffed sarcastically. “No, actually, his parents didn’t approve.” She didn’t even have to lie about that part.
Lucy bit one of her small, crescent-shaped fingernails. The door to the house opened, and an older, stern-faced woman stuck her head out, scowled at them, and then disappeared back into the house. A lemony smell of cleaning solution wafted out. Inside, the women were chattering in Pennsylvania Dutch, which sounded a lot like German.
“I’m kind of in a situation like that too,” Lucy whispered.
Emily cocked her head, intrigued. Something crystallized in her mind. “Is it the guy I saw running out of your house the other day?”
Lucy slid her gaze to the right. Two older Amish women walked up the steps and into the house, smiling politely at the two of them. After they passed, Emily touched Lucy’s arm. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“He lives in Hershey,” Lucy said in almost a whisper. “I met him when I was buying fabric for my mom. My parents would kill me if they knew I was still talking to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s English,” Lucy said in an uh-duh voice. English was the Amish term for regular, modern-living people. “And anyway, they already lost one daughter. They can’t lose me, too.”
Emily watched Lucy’s face, trying to figure out what she meant. Lucy’s eyes were fixed on the iced-over pond across the street. A couple of ducks were nestled at the bank, quacking irritably. When she turned back to Emily, her lips were trembling. “You asked me yesterday where my sister Leah was. She went away during rumspringa.”
Emily nodded. According to the Amish Wikipedia entries she’d read, rumspringa was a time when Amish teenagers could leave their homes and experience things Emily took for granted, like wearing normal clothes, working, and driving cars. After a while, they could either choose to return to the Amish faith or leave it forever. She was pretty sure if they chose not to be Amish, they could never see their families again.
“And . . . well, she never came back,” Lucy admitted. “One day, she was writing my parents letters, telling them what she was doing. The next . . . nothing. No correspondence. No word of her. She was just . . . gone.”
Emily pressed her hands into the hard, worn slats on the porch. “What happened to her?”
Lucy scrunched up her shoulders. “I don’t know. She had this boyfriend, this guy who was part of our community. They had dated for years, since they were both about thirteen, but I always thought there was something weird about him. He just seemed . . . well, he certainly wasn’t worthy of her. I was so happy when he decided to leave the community forever after rumspringa. But he wanted Leah to come with him too—he begged her, in fact. But she had always said no.” Lucy flicked a piece of dried mud off her black boots. “My parents figured Leah died in an accident, or maybe of natural causes. But I always wondered . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They used to fight. Sometimes it got pretty intense.”
A gust of wind pulled a strand of dark hair from Lucy’s bun. Emily shivered.
“We got the police involved. They searched for her but came up with nothing. They told us that people ran away all the time, and that there was nothing we could do. We even got a private investigator—we thought that she maybe just ran away and wanted nothing to do with us. Even that would’ve been fine—at least it meant she was alive. For a long time, we were sure Leah was out there, but one day my parents just gave up. They said they needed closure. I was the only one who still hoped.”
“I understand,” Emily whispered. “I’ve lost someone too. But people come back. Amazing things happen.”
Lucy turned away, gazing across the field at a big, cylindrical grain silo. “It’s been almost four years since she left. Maybe my parents are right. Maybe Leah’s really gone.”
“You can’t give up!” Emily cried. “It hasn’t been that long!”
A farm dog with patchy brown fur and no collar trotted up to the porch, sniffed Lucy’s hand, and then settled by her feet. “I guess anything’s possible,” Lucy mused. “But maybe I’m just being silly. There’s time to keep hope alive and a time to let go.” She gestured down the road to the little cemetery behind the church. “We have a gravestone for her there. We had a funeral and everything. I haven’t gone in there since, though.”
Tears began to spill down her cheeks. Lucy’s chin wobbled, and a small squeak emerged from the back of her throat. Leaning over her thighs, she took deep, shuddering breaths. The farm dog stared at Lucy worriedly. Emily placed her hand on Lucy’s back. “It’s okay.”
Lucy nodded. “It’s so hard.” She lifted her head. The tip of her nose was bright red. She gave Emily a sad, wry smile. “Pastor Adam is always bugging me to talk about this to someone. This is the first time I’ve admitted aloud that Leah could be dead. I haven’t wanted to believe it.”
There was a huge lump in Emily’s throat. She didn’t want Lucy to believe it either—she wanted Lucy to have the same kind of hope that Emily did about Ali. But because Emily didn’t know Leah personally, because she wasn’t Ali, Emily could be more realistic about what might have happened. People who disappear don’t usually come home. Lucy’s parents were probably right that Leah was dead.
A single bright star appeared on the horizon. Ever since Emily was little, she’d wish on the first evening star, recite the “Star Light, Star Bright” rhyme, and make a wish. After Ali vanished, all of Emily’s wishes on the star were about bringing Ali back safe and sound. But if Emily looked at her own life as objectively as she could look at Lucy’s family, what would she come to realize about what had happened to Ali? Was she just being silly too? Maybe the doctors were right—maybe the girl in the woods had simply been a figment of her imagination. And maybe Wilden wasn’t lying, either—maybe there really was a DNA report at the police station that matched Ali’s. Maybe Emily had just become so fanatical about Ali being alive that she’d twisted around all the facts to meet her needs, to prove that Ali was still out there. And now she’d come all the way to Amish country to pursue a lead that probably didn’t even exist. A few minutes ago, she’d even entertained the idea that sweet, innocent Jenna Cavanaugh could’ve helped smuggle Ali out of Rosewood. Maybe she needed to let go too, just like Lucy and her family did about Leah. Maybe it would be the only way she’d be able to move on with her life.
From inside the house, there was a bonging, clanging sound of a pot hitting the floor. Then there were more crashes as dishes shattered. A woman squealed, sounding a little like a cow. Emily sneaked a peek at Lucy, trying not to laugh. One corner of Lucy’s lip curled up. Emily covered her mouth and let out a snort. Suddenly, both girls exploded into giggles. The same stern woman stuck her head out the door and glared at them again. That just made them laugh harder.
Emily reached over and touched Lucy’s hand, overcome with warmth and gratitude. In a parallel, Amish universe, she and Lucy would probably be good friends. “Thank you,” Emily said.
Lucy looked surprised. “What for?”
But Lucy obviously didn’t get it. A might have sent Emily to Amish Country to find Ali, but what Emily had found instead was peace.
Chapter 15 Facebook Friends
Spencer and Andrew
sat on the couch in the Hastingses’ finished basement, blissfully snuggling and flipping through the TV channels. Things had returned to normal with Andrew—better than normal, their fight of last week long forgotten. They’d sent each other flirty Twitters during study hall, and when Andrew had arrived at her house, he’d presented her with a J. Crew gift box. Inside was a brand-new, winter white cashmere V-neck, an exact match to Spencer’s favorite sweater, which had been ruined in the fire. Spencer had made a passing reference to the sweater on the phone with Andrew Monday. Andrew had even guessed her correct size.
She lingered on CNN, which had switched from a stock market report to a breaking news story about something that wasn’t really breaking news at all. Waitingfor Proof, the caption said. There was an interior shot of Steam, Rosewood Day’s espresso bar. This footage must have been taken only a few hours earlier, because the chalkboard said WEDNESDAY SPECIAL: HAZELNUT ICE CREAM SMOOTHIE. CROWDS of students in navy blue blazers stood in line for lattes and hot chocolate. Kirsten Cullen was talking to James Freed. Jenna Cavanaugh lingered hauntingly in the doorway, her service dog panting. In the corner, Spencer spied Hanna’s stepsister-to-be, Kate Randall, flanked by Naomi Zeigler and Riley Wolfe. Hanna wasn’t with them; Spencer had heard Hanna had abruptly left for Singapore. Emily was gone, too, on a trip to Boston. It seemed odd that Emily was staying out of the limelight—she’d been so adamant that the police look for Ali—but it was also good.
“The DNA results for the body that was found in the DiLaurentises’ backyard are due in any day now,” said a voice-over. “Let’s get the reaction of Alison’s old classmates.”
Spencer flipped channels fast. The last thing she wanted to hear was some random girl who hadn’t known Ali pontificate about what a tragedy this was. Andrew squeezed her hand comfortingly and shook his head.