Thirteen: That Mother-Daughter Bond.

That same Wednesday evening, Spencer boarded the Amtrack Acela bullet train at the 30th Street Station, settled into a plushy seat by the window, adjusted the belt of her gray wool wrap dress, and brushed a piece of dried grass off the pointy toe of her Loeffler Randall boots. She'd spent over an hour choosing her outfit, and hoped the dress said young fashionista, serious young woman, and I'm an awesome bio-daughter, really! It was a hard balance to strike.

The conductor, a gray-haired, kindly looking man in a jaunty blue Amtrak uniform, examined her ticket. "Going to New York?"

"Uh-huh." Spencer gulped.

"Business or pleasure?"

Spencer licked her lips. "I'm visiting my mom," she blurted.

The conductor smiled. An older woman across the aisle clucked approvingly. Spencer hoped none of her mother's friends or her father's business associates were coincidentally on this train. It wasn't like she wanted her parents to know what she was doing.

She'd tried to confront of her family about being adopted one last time before she left. Her dad was working from home, and Spencer had stood in the doorway of his office, watching as he read the New York Times on his computer. When she cleared her throat, Mrs. Hastings turned. His face softened. "Spencer?" he said, concern in his voice. It was as if he'd temporarily forgotten he was supposed to hate her.

Tons of words had welled in Spencer's head. She wanted to ask her dad if any of this could be real. She wanted to ask him if this was why they treated her like a shit a good deal of the time—because she wasn't really theirs. But then she lost her nerve.

Now her cell phone beeped. Spencer pulled it out of the front pocket of her tote. It was from Andrew. Want to come over?

An Amtrak train going in the other direction thundered past. Spencer opened a reply text. Having dinner with my family, sorry, she typed back. It wasn't a complete lie. She wanted to tell Andrew about Olivia, but she was afraid; if she told him, he'd be waiting in anticipation tonight, dying to know how her meeting had gone. But what if it went badly? What if Spencer and Olivia hated each other? She already felt vulnerable enough.

The train clickety-clacked on. A man in front of Spencer laid down a section of newspaper, and Spencer spied yet another story about Rosewood. Was Initial Investigation of DiLaurentis Disappearance Flawed? squeaked a headline. Is the DiLaurentis Family Hiding Something? said another.

Spencer pulled her Eugenia Kim hand-knitted newsboy cap over her eyes and slumped lower in her seat. These crazy news stories were relentless. Still, what if the cops who'd initially investigated Ali's disappearance over three years ago did miss something huge? She thought of Ian's IMs. They found out I knew. Do you see why I had to run? They hated me. You know that.

It was puzzling. First, Ian assumed he was IMing Melissa, not Spencer. So did Melissa know who hated Ian…and why? Had Ian shared his suspicions about Ali's murder with her? But if Melissa knew an alternate story about what happened to Ali the night she died, why hadn't she come forward with it?

Unless…someone was scaring Melissa into silence. Spencer had allied her sister repeatedly over the past forty-eight hours, eager to ask Melissa if there was anything more that she knew. But Melissa hadn't returned any of her calls.

The door that connected two train cars clattered open, and a woman in a navy business suit teetered down the aisle, carrying a cardboard container of burnt-smelling coffees and bottled waters. Spencer leaned her head against the window, watching the bare trees and weathered telephone poles slide by. And what did Ian mean when he wrote they hated me? Did it have anything to do with the picture message Emily had forwarded to Spencer about a half hour ago, the old photo of Ali, a partially concealed Naomi Zeigler, and Jenna Cavanaugh in Ali's yard? A's accompanying text implied that the photo was a clue…but to what? Okay, it was weird that Ali was hanging out with dorky Jenna Cavanaugh, but Jenna herself had told Aria that she and Ali were covert friends. And what did that have to do with Ian?

Only one incident of anyone hating Ian stuck out in Spencer's mind. When Spencer and the others sneaked into Ali's backyard to steal her Time Capsule piece, Jason DiLaurentis had stormed out of the house and frozen in the middle of the yard, glaring at Melissa and Ian, who went sitting at the edge of the hot tub. They'd just started dating—Spencer remembered how Melissa had agonized over choosing the perfect first-day-of-school bar and shoes a few days before, eager to impress her new boyfriend. After Ali ditched them and Spencer returned home, she heard the new couple whispering in the living room. "He'll get over it," Melissa was saying. "It's not him I'm worried about," Ian answered. Then he mumbled something Spencer didn't catch.

Were they talking about Jason…or someone else? From what Spencer understood, Jason and Melissa weren't really friends. They had some classes together—sometimes when Melissa was sick, Spencer had to go next door and collect her class assignments from Jason—but Jason was never part of the big clique that rented stretch Hummer limos for school formals or spent spring breaks in Cannes, Cabo San Lucas, or Martha's Vineyard. Jason ran around with some of the other soccer boys—they were famous for making up the "Not It" game that Ali, Spencer and the others played—but Ali's brother also seemed to need a lot of personal space. Half the time, Jason didn't even hang out with his family. The Hastings and the DiLaurentis families were both members of the Rosewood Country Club, and both faithfully attended the weekly Sunday jazz brunches…except for Jason, who faithfully didn't. Spencer recalled Ali mentioning that their parents let Jason go to their lake house in the Pocono Mountains alone on the weekends; was that where he was all those Sundays? Whatever the answer, the DiLaurentises didn't even seem to mind he was gone, going on about their brunch happily, savoring their eggs Benedict, drinking mimosas, and doting on Ali. It was almost as if they only had one child, not two.

Spencer shut her eyes, listening as the train blew its whistle. She was so tired of thinking about this. Maybe the farther away she got from Rosewood, the less everything would matter.

After a while, the train slowed. "Penn Station," the conductor called. Spencer grabbed her purse and stood, her knees quivering. This was really happening. She followed the line of passengers down the narrow aisle, onto the platform, and up the escalator to the main hall.

The station smelled like soft pretzels, beer, and perfume. An anonymous announcer blared over the PA system that the train to Boston had pulled into gate 14 East. A crush of people ran for 14 East at the same time, nearly knocking Spencer over. She looked around fretfully. How could she find Olivia in this crowd? How would Olivia know it was her? What on earth were they going to say to each other?

Somewhere in the throng of people, Spencer heard a familiar, high-pitched giggle. And then she considered the worst of the possibilities: What if Olivia didn't exist? What if this was some cruel joke orchestrated by A?

"Spencer?" cried a voice.

Spencer whirled around. A young blond woman in a gray J. Crew cashmere sweater and brown riding boots was walking toward her. She carried a petite snakeskin clutch and a large accordion folder stuffed with papers.

When Spencer raised her hand, the woman grinned. Spencer's heart stopped. The woman had the same broad smile Spencer saw whenever she looked in a mirror.

"I'm Olivia," the woman announced, taking Spencer;s hands. Even her fingers were similar to Spencer's, small and slender. And Olivia had her same green eyes and a familiar clear, mid-range voice. "I knew it was you as soon as you stepped off the train. I just knew it."

Spencer's eyes filled with giddy tears. Just like that, her fears began to melt away. Something about this seemed so…right.

"Come on." Olivia pulled Spencer toward one of the exits, skirting a bunch of NYPD officers and a shrug-sniffing dog. "I have lots of things planned for us."

Spencer beamed. It suddenly felt like her life was beginning.

It was an unusually warm January night, and the streets teemed with people. They took a cab to the West Village, where Olivia had just moved, and stopped into Diane von Furstenberg, once of Olivia's—and Spencer's—favorite stores. As they sifted through the racks, Spencer learned that Olivia was an art director at a new magazine dedicated to New York City nightlife. She was born and raised in New York City, and had gone to school NYU.

"I'm going to apply to NYU," Spencer chirped. Admittedly, it was her safety school—or it had been, back when she was first in the class.

"I loved it there," Olivia gushed. Then, she let out a small ooh of delight and pulled out a sage green sweaterdress. Spencer laughed—she'd just selected the same thing. Olivia blushed. "I always pick things that are this color green," she admitted.

"Because it matches out eyes," Spencer concluded.

"Exactly." Olivia gazed at Spencer gratefully. Her expression seemed to say, I'm so glad I found you.

After shopping, they strolled slowly up Fifth Avenue. Olivia told Spencer that she'd recently married a wealthy man named Morgan Frick in a private ceremony in the Hamptons. "We're leaving for a honeymoon to Paris tonight, in fact," she said. "I have to catch a helicopter to his plane later. It's at a private airport in Connecticut."

"Tonight?" Spencer stopped, surprised. "Where's your luggage?"

"Morgan's driver is bringing it to the airport," Olivia explained.

Spencer nodded, impressed. Morgan must be loaded if he had a private plane.

"That's why it was so important that we meet today," Olivia went on. "I'm going away for two weeks, and I couldn't stand the idea of putting it off until I get back."

Spencer nodded. She wasn't sure if she would've been able to bear the suspense for two extra weeks either.

The accordion file under Olivia's arm started to slip, and she stuck out her hip to catch it from spilling to the sidewalk. "Do you want me to take that for you?" Spencer asked. The folder would fit easily into Spencer's oversize tote.

"Would you?" Olivia pushed it toward her gratefully. "Thanks. It's driving me nuts. Morgan wanted me to bring the information about our new apartment so he could look it over."

They turned down a side street, passing a row of beautiful brownstones. The parlor levels were lit up in golden light, and Spencer locked eyes with a big calico cat lazing in one of the front bay windows. She and Olivia fell silent, the only sound their clicking heels on the sidewalk. Caps in conversation always made Spencer uneasy—she always worried that the awkwardness was some fault of hers—so she started to babble about her accomplishments. She'd scored a total of twelve goals this hockey season. She'd gotten the lead role in every school play since seventh grade. "And I have A's in almost all my classes," she boasted, and then realized her mistake. She winced and braced herself, certain of what was coming.

Olivia grinned. "That's fantastic, Spencer! I'm so impressed."

Spencer cautiously opened one eye. She'd expected Olivia to react the same way her mom would. "Almost all your classes?" she could practically hear Mrs. Hastings sneer. "Which classes do you not have an A in? And why are they just A's? Why aren't they A-pluses?" And then Spencer would feel like shit for the rest of the day.

But Olivia wasn't doing that. Who knew, if Olivia had kept Spencer, maybe she would've turned out differently. Maybe she wouldn't be so OCD about her grades or feel so inferior around other people, always desperate to prove that she was good enough, worthy enough, lovable enough. She would've never met Ali. Ali's murder would simply be another story in the newspaper.

"Why did you give me up?" Spencer blurted out.

Olivia stopped at the crosswalk, staring contemplatively at the tall buildings across the street. "We'll…I was eighteen when I had you. Far too young to have a baby—I'd just started college. I agonized about my decision. When I found out that a wealthy family in suburban Philadelphia was adopting you, I felt like that was the right choice. But I've always wondered about you."

The light changed. Spencer skirted around a woman walking a pug dressed in a white cable-knit sweater as they crossed. "Do my parents know who you are?"

Olivia shook her head. "I screened them on paper, but we didn't meet. I wanted everything to be anonymous, and so did they. I cried after I delivered you, though knowing I had to give you up." She smiled sadly, then touched Spencer's arm. "I know I can't make up for sixteen years in one visit, Spencer. But I've thought about you all your life." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry. That's cheesy, right?"

Spencer's eyes welled with tears. "No," she said quickly. "Not at all." How long had she been waiting for someone to say these things to her?

At the corner of Sixth Avenue and 12th Street, Olivia abruptly stopped. "There's my new apartment." She pointed to the top floor of a luxury apartment building. Beneath it was a quaint market and a home accessories store. A limp pulled up to the entrance, and a woman in a mink stole got out and whisked through the revolving doors.

"Can we go up?" Spencer squealed. The place seemed so glamorous, even from the outside.

Olivia checked the Rolex that dangled from her wrist. "I'm not sure we have enough time before our reservations. Next visit, though. I promise."

Spencer shrugged off her disappointment, not wanting Olivia to think she was bratty. Olivia hurried Spencer to a small, cozy restaurant a few blocks away. The room smelled of saffron, garlic, and mussels, and was packed with people. Spencer and Olivia sat down at a table, the candlelight flickering on their faces. Olivia immediately ordered a bottle of wine, instructing the waiter to pour some in Spencer's glass too. "A toast," she said, raising her glass to Spencer's. "To many more visits like this."

Spencer beamed and looked around. A young guy who looked a lot like Noel Kahn—except probably less puerile—was sitting at the bar. A girl in nut brown boots tucked into her jeans sat next to him, laughing. Next to them was a handsome older couple, the woman in a silvery poncho, the man in a narrow, pin-striped suit. A French pop song was playing over the speakers. Everything in New York seemed a billion times more fashionable than Rosewood. "I wish I could live here," she sighed.

Olivia tilted her head, her eyes lighting up. "I know. I wish you could too. But it must be so nice out in Pennsylvania. All that space and clean air." She touched Spencer's hand.

"Rosewood is nice." Spencer swirled her wine and weighed her words carefully. "But my family…isn't."

Olivia opened her mouth, a concerned look on her face. "They just don't care about me," Spencer clarified. "I'd give anything not to live there anymore. They wouldn't even miss me."

There was a peppery feeling in her nose that she always got when she was about to cry. She looked stubbornly into her lap, trying to harness her emotions.

Olivia stroked Spencer's arm. "I'd give anything for you to live here," she said. "But I have to confession to make. Morgan has a hard time trusting people—some close friends have used him for his money in the past, and now he's very careful about people he doesn't know. I haven't told him about you yet—he knew I gave up a baby when I was young, but he didn't know I was searching for you, I wanted to make sure this was real first."

Spencer nodded. She certainly understood why Olivia hadn't told Morgan they were meeting—it wasn't like she'd told people either.

"I'm going to tell him about you in Paris," Olivia added. "And once he meets you, I know he'll adore you."

Spencer bit off a crust of bread, considering her options. "If I moved here, I wouldn't even have to live with you guys," she sounded out. "I could get my own place."

Olivia got a hopeful look on her face. "Could you handle living on your own?"

Spencer shrugged. "Sure." Her parents were barely around these days; she was practically living on her own as it was.

"I would love to have you here," Olivia admitted, her eyes bright. "Just think—you could get a one-bedroom in the Village near us. I'm sure our Realtor, Michael, could find you something really special."

"I could start college next year, a year early," Spencer added, her excitement beginning to build. "I was thinking about doing that anyway." When she'd secretly dated Wren, Melissa's boyfriend, she'd considered applying to Penn early to get out of the house and be with him. In fact, she'd already spoken to the Rosewood Day administration about graduating as a junior. With all the AP classes she'd taken, she was more qualified.

Olivia breathed in, about to say something else, but then stopped, took a long sip of wine, and held out her palms, as if to say, Hold up. "I shouldn't be getting so excited," she said. "I'm supposed to be the responsible one here. You should stay with your family, Spencer. Let's stick to visits for now at least, okay?" She patted Spencer's hand, probably noting Spencer's disappointed look. "Don't worry. I've only just found you, and I don't want to lose you again."

After polishing off the bottle of wine and two orders of pasta puttanesca, they strolled to the helipad on the Hudson River, acting more like best friends than mother and daughter. When Spencer saw Olivia's helicopter waiting, she clutched her arm. "I'm going to miss you."

Olivia's bottom lip quivered. "I'll be back soon. And we'll make plans to do this again. Maybe a Madison Avenue shopping trip next time? You'll die over the Louboutin store."

"It's a deal." Spencer wrapped her arms around Olivia. She smelled like Narciso Rodriguez, one of Spencer's favorite perfumes. Olivia blew a kiss and boarded the helicopter. The propeller began to whirl, and Spencer pivoted and looked back at the city. Cabs zoomed up the West Side Highway. People jogged down the West Side path, even though it was past 10 P.M. Lights twinkled in the apartment windows. A party boat on the Hudson drifted by, guests dressed in elegant suits and gowns clearly visible on the deck.

She was dying to live here. Now she had a reason to.

The helicopter lifted off the ground. Olivia slid big headphones over her ears, leaned out the window, and waved enthusiastically at Spencer. "Bon voyage!" Spencer cried. When she hefted her bag higher on her shoulder, something poked her arm. Olivia's accordion folder.

She pulled it out and waved it over her head. "You forgot this!" But Olivia was saying something to the pilot, her eyes on the skyline. Spencer waved until the helicopter was a tiny dot on the horizon, finally lowering her arms and turning away. At least she had an excuse to see Olivia again.