Sunday at 11:52 A.M., Aria sat on her bed, staring at her red-painted fingernails. She felt slightly disoriented, as if she were forgetting something...something huge. Like those dreams she sometimes had where it was June, and she hadn't gone to math class the whole year and was going to flunk out.
And then she remembered. Toby was A. And today was Sunday. Her time was up.
It scared her to put a name and face to A's wrath—and that Ali and Spencer had been covering something up, something that could be really, really serious. Aria still had no idea how Toby had found out about Byron and Meredith, bit if Aria caught them together twice, others could have seen them together, too—including Toby.
She'd meant to tell Ella about everything last night. When Sean dropped her off at home, he asked repeatedly if he should come in with her. But Aria told him no—she had to do what she was going to do alone. The house had been dark and still, the only sound the groaning of the dishwasher on high-scrub mode. Aria had fumbled for the foyer lights, then tiptoed into the dark, empty kitchen. Usually, her mother was up at least until 1 or 2 A.M. on Saturday nights, doing Sudoku puzzles or having discussions with Byron at the table over decaf coffee. But the table was spotless; she could see dried sponge swirls on its surface.
Aria had bounded up to her parents' bedroom, wondering if Ella had fallen asleep early. Their door was wide open. The bed was unmade, but their was no one in it. The master bathroom was empty, too. Then Aria noticed that the Honda Civic her parents shared wasn't in the driveway.
So she waited at the foot of the steps for them to come home, anxiously checking her watch every thirty seconds as it ticked to midnight. Her parents were possibly the only people in the universe who didn't have cell phones, so she couldn't call them. That meant Toby couldn't call them, either...or had he found another way to get in touch?
And then...she'd woken up here, in her bed. Someone must have carried her in, and Aria, who slept like the dead, hadn't noticed a thing.
She listened to the sounds downstairs. Drawers opening and closing. The wood floor groaning under someone's feet. Pages of the newspaper turning. Were there two parents down there, or just one? She tiptoed down the stairs, a billion different scenarios going through her head. Then she saw them: tiny red droplets, all over the entrance hall floor. They made a trail from the kitchen straight to the front door.
It looked like blood.
Aria ran to the kitchen. Toby had told her mother, and Ella, in a rage, had killed Byron. Or Meredith. Or Toby. Or everyone. Or Mike had killed them. Or...or Byron had killed Ella. When she got to the kitchen, she stopped.
Ella was at the table alone. She wore a wine-colored blouse, high heels, and makeup, as if she were ready to go out somewhere. The New York Times was folded to the crossword puzzle, but instead of letters filling in the squares, the page was scribbled over in think, black ink. Ella stared straight ahead, sort of randomly toward the kitchen window, pushing the tines of a fork into the heel of her hand.
"Mom?" Aria croaked, stepping closer. Aria could see now that the blouse was wrinkled and her makeup looked smudged. It was almost like she'd slept in her clothes...or hadn't slept at all.
"Mom?" Aria asked again, her voice tinged with fear. Finally, her mother slowly looked over. Ella's eyes were heavy and swimming. She shoved the fork farther into her palm. Aria wanted to reach out and take it away, but she was afraid. She's never seen her mom like this. "What's going on?"
Ella swallowed. "Oh...you know."
Aria swallowed hard. "What's the...the red stuff in the hall?"
"Red stuff?" Ella asked soullessly. "Oh. Maybe it's paint. I threw out some art supplies this morning. I threw out a lot of stuff this morning."
"Mom." Aria could feel tears come to her eyes. "Is something wrong?"
Her mother looked up. Her movements were slow, like she was underwater. "You knew for almost four years."
Aria stopped breathing. "What?" she whispered.
"Are you friends with her?" Ella asked, still in the same, dead voice. "She's not that much older than you. And I heard you went to her yoga studio the other day."
"What?" Aria whispered. Yoga studio? "I don't know w-what you mean!"
"Of course you do." Ella gave her the saddest smile Aria had ever seen. "I got a letter. At first I didn't believe it, but I confronted your father. And to think I thought he was distant because of work."
"What?" Aria backed up. Spots formed in front of her eyes. "You got a letter? When? Who sent it?"
But by the cold, vacant way Ella looked at her, Aria knew exactly who'd sent it. A. Toby. And he'd told her everything.
Aria put her hands on her forehead. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I...I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid and—"
"Byron's gone," Ella said, almost flip. "He's with the girl." She let out a little snicker. "Maybe they're doing yoga together."
"I'm sure we could get him to come back." Aria choked on tears. "I mean, he has to, right? We're his family."
At that precise second, the cuckoo clock struck twelve. The clock had been a gift from Byron to Ella on their twentieth wedding anniversary last year in Iceland; Ella was really into it because it was rumored to have belonged to Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian painter who painted The Scream. She'd carefully carried it home with her on the plane, constantly peeling back the bubble wrap to make sure it was okay. Now, they had to listen to twelve chirps and see that stupid bird pop out of his wooden house twelve times. Each chirp sounded more and more accusatory. Instead of cuckoo, the bird singsonged, You knew. You knew. You knew.
"Oh, Aria," Ella scolded. "I don't think he's coming back."
"Where's the letter?" Aria asked, snot running down her face. "Can I see it? I don't know who would do this to us...who would ruin things like this."
Ella stared at her. Her eyes were teary and huge, too. "I threw the letter away. But it doesn't matter who sent it. What matters is that it's true."
"I'm so sorry." Aria kneeled next to her, drinking in the funny, familiar way her mom smelled—like turpentine, newspaper ink, sandalwood incense, and, strangely, scrambled eggs. She put her head on her mother's shoulder, but Ella shook her away. "Aria," she said sharply, standing up. "I can't be near you right now."
"What?" Aria cried.
Ella wasn't looking at her but instead was staring at her left hand, which, Aria abruptly noticed, didn't have a wedding ring on it anymore.
She pushed past Aria, floating, ghostlike, into the hall and tracking the red paint all the way up the stairs. "Wait!" Aria screamed, following her. She scrambled up the stairs but tripped over a muddy pair of Mike's lacrosse cleats, banged her knee, and slid two steps down. "Damn it," she spat, gripping the carpet with her fingernails. She pushed herself up and reached the landing, panting with rage. Her mother's bedroom door was closed. So was the door to the bathroom. Mike's bedroom door was open, except Mike wasn't there. Mike, Aria thought, her heart breaking all over again. Did he know?
Her cell phone started to ring. Dazed, she went into her bedroom to find it. Her brain felt wild. She was still panting. She almost wanted the call to be from A—Toby—just so she could chew him out. But it was just Spencer. Aria stared at the number, fuming. It didn't matter that Spencer wasn't A—she might as well be. If Spencer had turned in Toby back in seventh grade, he would never told Ella, and her family would be intact.
She snapped her phone open but didn't speak. She just sat there, taking deep, heaving breaths. "Aria?" Spencer called cautiously.
"I have nothing to say to you," Aria ground out. "You've ruined my life."
"I know," Spencer answered quietly. "It's just...Aria, I'm sorry. I didn't want to keep the Toby secret from you. But I didn't know what to do. Can't you see it from my perspective?"
"No," Aria said thickly. "You don't understand. You've ruined my life."
"Wait, what do you mean?" Spencer sounded worried. "What...what happened?"
Aria put her head in her hands. It was too exhausting to explain. And she could see things from Spencer's perspective. Of course she could. What Spencer was saying was hauntingly close to what Aria had said to Ella, three minutes ago. I didn't want to keep this from you. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you.
She sighed and wiped her nose. "Why are you calling?"
"Well..." Spencer paused. "Have you heard from Emily this morning?"
"No."
"Shit," Spencer whispered.
"What's the matter?" Aria sat up straighter. "I thought you said last night that you got a hold of her, and she was at home."
"Well, she was..." Aria heard Spencer swallow. "I'm sure it's nothing, but my mom was just driving by Emily's neighborhood, and there are three police cars in her driveway."