Sara Shepard - Unbelievable

Aria gave Shakespeare’s head another bobble. Her head felt like an overstuffed suitcase. Too much had happened in the last day for her to process things. And her emotions were all mixed up. She felt terrible that Mona had died. She felt freaked out and weirdly wounded that Jenna’s accident hadn’t really been an accident—that Jenna and Ali had set it up all along. And after all this time, the killer was Ian…. The newscaster made a sympathetic, relieved face and said, “Finally, the whole community of Rosewood can put this horrible story behind them”—something everyone had been saying all morning. Aria burst into tears. She didn’t feel resolved at all.

Byron looked over at her. “What is it?”

Aria shook her head, unable to explain. She cupped the bobblehead in her hands, letting the tears drip on top of Shakespeare’s plastic head.

Byron let out a frustrated sigh. “I realize this is overwhelming. You had a stalker. And you never talked about it to us. You should have. We should talk about it now.”

“I’m sorry.” Aria shook her head. “I can’t.”

“But we need to,” Byron urged. “It’s important you get this out.”

“Byron!” Meredith hissed sharply. “Jesus!”

“What?” Byron asked, raising his arms in surrender.

Meredith jumped up, placing herself between Aria and her father. “You and your discussions,” Meredith scolded. “Hasn’t Aria been through enough these last few weeks? Just give her some space!”

Byron shrugged, looking cowed. Aria’s mouth fell open. She met Meredith’s eyes, and Meredith smiled. There was an understanding glimmer in her eye that seemed to say, I get what you’re going through. And I know it’s not easy. Aria stared at the pink spiderweb tattoo on Meredith’s wrist. She thought about how eager she had been to find out something damaging about Meredith, and here Meredith was, sticking up for her.

Byron’s cell phone vibrated, scooting across the scuffed coffee table. He stared at the screen, frowning, then picked it up. “Ella?” His voice cracked.

Aria tensed. Byron’s eyebrows knitted together. “Yes…she’s here.” He passed the phone to Aria. “Your mother wants to talk to you.”

Meredith cleared her throat awkwardly, standing up and drifting toward the bathroom. Aria stared at the phone as if it were a piece of putrefied shark, which someone in Iceland had once dared her to eat. After all, the Vikings used to eat it. She put the phone tentatively to her ear. “Ella?”

“Aria, are you all right?” Ella’s voice cried from the other end.

“I’m…fine,” Aria said. “I don’t know. I guess. I’m not hurt or anything.”

There was a long silence. Aria pulled out her father’s little antenna and pushed it back in again.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Ella gushed. “I had no idea you were going through this. Why didn’t you tell us someone was threatening you?”

“Because…” Aria wandered into her tiny bedroom off Meredith’s studio and picked up Pigtunia, her pig puppet. Explaining A to Mike had been hard. But now that it was over, and Aria didn’t have to worry about A’s retaliation, she realized the real reason didn’t matter. “Because you guys were caught up in your own stuff.” She sank onto her lumpy twin bed, and the bedsprings let out a mooing groan. “But… I’m sorry, Ella. For everything. It was terrible of me not to say anything about Byron for all that time.”

Ella paused. Aria snapped on the tiny TV that sat in the windowsill. The same press conference images emerged on the screen. “I get why you didn’t,” Ella finally said. “I should’ve understood that. I was just angry, that’s all.” She sighed. “My relationship with your dad hadn’t been good for a long time. Iceland stalled the inevitable—we both knew this was coming.”

“Okay,” Aria said softly, running her hands up and down Pigtunia’s pink fur.

Ella sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, and I miss you.”

An enormous, egg-shaped lump formed in Aria’s throat. She stared up at the cockroaches Meredith had painted on the ceiling. “I miss you too.”

“Your room is here if you want it,” her mother said.

Aria hugged Pigtunia to her chest. “Thanks,” she whispered, and clapped the phone shut. How long had she been waiting to hear that? What a relief it would be to sleep in her own bed again, with its normal mattress and soft, downy pillows. To be among all her knitting projects and books and her brother and Ella. But what about Byron? Aria listened to him coughing in the other room. “Do you need a Kleenex?” Meredith called from the bathroom, sounding concerned. She thought about the card Meredith had made for Byron and pinned up on the fridge. It was a cartoon elephant saying, Just stamping by to say I hope you have a great day! It seemed the kind of thing that Byron—or Aria—would do.

Maybe Aria had been overreacting. Maybe Aria could convince Byron to buy a comfier bed for this little room. Maybe she could sleep here every once in a while.

Maybe.

Aria glanced at the TV screen. The press conference on Ian had just ended, and everyone stood to leave. As the camera swung wide, Aria noticed a blond girl with a familiar heart-shaped face. Ali? Aria sat up. She rubbed her eyes until they hurt. The camera panned over the crowd again, and she realized the blond woman was at least thirty. Aria was obviously hallucinating from lack of sleep.

She wandered back into the living room, Pigtunia still in her hand. Byron opened his arms and Aria slid into them. Her dad patted Pigtunia absentmindedly on the head as they sat there, watching the press conference aftermath on TV.

Meredith emerged from the bathroom, her face a bit green. Byron slid his arm from Aria’s shoulders. “You still feeling sick?”

Meredith nodded. “I am.” There was an anxious look on her face, as if she had a secret she needed to spill. She raised her eyes to both of them, the corners of her lips spreading into a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. Because…I’m pregnant.”

Later that evening, after the police had finished raiding the Vanderwaal mansion, Wilden arrived at the Hastingses’ house to ask Melissa a few final questions. He was sitting on their leather living room couch now, his eyes puffy and tired. Everyone looked tired, actually—except for Spencer’s mother, who wore a crisp Marc Jacobs shirtdress. She and Spencer’s father were standing on the far side of the room, as if their daughters were covered in bacteria.

Melissa’s voice was monotone. “I didn’t tell you the truth about that night,” she admitted. “Ian and I had been drinking, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, he wasn’t there. Then I fell asleep again and he was there when I woke.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before?” Spencer’s father demanded.

Melissa shook her head. “I went to Prague that next morning. At that point, I’m not sure anyone really knew Alison was missing. When I got back and everyone was frantic…well, I just never thought Ian would be capable of something like that.” She picked at the hem on her pale yellow Juicy hoodie. “I suspected they’d hooked up all those years ago, but I didn’t think it was serious. I didn’t think Alison had given him an ultimatum .” Like everyone else, Melissa had learned of Ian’s motives. “I mean, she was in seventh grade. ”

Melissa glanced at Wilden. “When you started asking questions this week about where Ian and I were, I started to wonder if maybe I should’ve said something years ago. But I still didn’t think it was possible. And I didn’t say anything then because…because I thought I’d somehow get in trouble for concealing the truth. And, I mean, I couldn’t have that. What would people think of me?”