Mrs. DiLaurentis looked tormented. “Please?”
Ali chewed on the inside of her lip as she followed her mother down to the huge wood deck at the back of the house. Her mother had set up a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses with several sprigs of mint propped on the lip, an old tradition from when the girls were small. At their old house, wild mint had grown in the side yard; Ali and Courtney used to love picking it and pressing it close to their noses to inhale the fresh scent. They drank their lemonades like sophisticated ladies, pretending they were cocktails. She smiled at the memory and then, seconds later, coughed to conceal a small whimper.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked, pouring lemonade into her glass.
Ali shrugged and stared out at the lawn. It was immaculately green and manicured, thanks to weekly landscapers. Only the ugly hole at the back marred the pastoral scene. “Whatever.”
“Looking forward to your party?” Mrs. DiLaurentis asked.
“Uh-huh.” She took a sip of lemonade.
“Your dad set up the speakers on the deck. And the workers will be gone by then, but there’s going to be a big hole. Just make sure no one goes out there, okay? We don’t want anyone falling in.”
“Okay.” If she gave one-word answers, maybe her mom would leave her alone.
Mrs. DiLaurentis folded her hands. The sun streamed across her face, lighting up one cheek and casting the other in shadow. “You really seem like something’s bothering you.”
Ali slammed down her lemonade glass hard, the ice clinking. Was her mom that much of an idiot? Of course something was bothering her. Several somethings. And her mother knew exactly what those various things were.
She looked at the half-dug hole instead. “When are they going to finish that thing?” she asked sharply. “They’re taking forever. By the time they’re done, the opportunity to have fabulous summer parties will be over.”
Mrs. DiLaurentis didn’t glance toward the hole, her eyes still on Ali. “Do you have anyone to talk to, honey? About . . . things?”
Ali stared down at her flip-flops. “If you mean her, we were keeping that a secret, remember? I can’t talk to anyone.”
“Well, if you’d like to talk to your friends about it, that’s okay with us.”
Ali sucked in her stomach. “No, thanks.”
Mrs. DiLaurentis brushed an invisible mess of leaves off the surface of the patio table. “Perhaps a counselor, then. They can help.”
Ali glowered at her. “You’ve got the wrong twin. I’m not the crazy one. I don’t need a shrink.”
Mrs. DiLaurentis shut her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. But the way you reacted the other day when I said Courtney was coming home—you seemed very disturbed.”
Ali shifted her chair around so that she wasn’t facing her mother. “What do you expect? You just dropped it on me! Even Jason knew before I did! And I don’t want her home, Mom. It’s a terrible idea.”
“She’s part of the family. And sometimes, in families, you have to do things you don’t want to do.”
“And what happens if she tries to hurt me again?”
A car grumbled on the street. A mourning dove cooed from the trees. Mrs. DiLaurentis pursed her lips. “That won’t happen.”
The incident in the bathroom at the Preserve flashed in Ali’s mind. “How do you know?”
“I just do, okay?” Then Ali’s mom stared at the half-dug hole, then at the shrubs that separated their yard from the Hastingses’. “We should talk, too, about what you said to me. About . . . him.”
Ali stood and headed for the sliding door. “No, thanks.”
Mrs. DiLaurentis caught her arm. “It’s not what you think, Alison.”
Ali yanked the door open. “Yes, it is.”
“It isn’t, and you shouldn’t have confronted me with it. Now your father is asking questions. I’m not having an affair with anyone, and it was rude of you to say so.”
Ali’s head whipped up. All sounds—the swishing of the wind, the neighbor’s Weedwacker, the steady hum of the heating unit—seemed to cease all at once. “Are you seriously going to sit here and deny it?”
Mrs. DiLaurentis’s eyes darted back and forth, searching her face. “What do you think you saw, exactly?”
“I saw some guy touching your cheek at the mall. And I heard you,” Ali hissed. “I heard you talking to someone in a sugary voice—someone who wasn’t dad. It sounded like whoever it was knew about Courtney.”