Sara Shepard - Heartless

“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 un typical Aria moment, she kind of wished he had.

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 sex 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.