looks like it.”
“Where’s your laptop?”
“In the kitchen. I need to—”
I don’t get a chance to finish before she darts to the back of the kitchen and opens my laptop. “What’s your password?”
I shrug. “That’s what I was trying to say. I haven’t been able to get on because I don’t know. Thank God my calendar is synched with my phone, but I brought it down today because I need to take it to the shop. I can’t access my files.”
“What have you tried?”
“All the usual passwords I’ve always used. Birthday, initials, HanHan, initials and birthday together.”
“What about your anniversary with Max?”
I lift my palms. “No go.”
“What about Nate? Or Nate Crane?”
“That’s not it.”
“You sure?”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “I tried this morning.”
“Or…” She taps on the keyboard for a minute then presses ENTER. The computer beeps at her and gives her the “Wrong Password” warning message. “Hmm.” She taps again.
“Let it go, Liz. I’ve tried.”
She hits ENTER and the computer brightens as my desktop appears.
“What was it?”
“‘Lost In Me.’” She forces a smile. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a seriously popular song.”
Maybe it’s not incriminating evidence, but it doesn’t look good either. “Go to my email first.”
She opens the email client and loads the “Sent” folder. A quick scroll through shows messages from me to several potential clients, vendors, future brides. When she pulls up my contact list, Nate’s name and email are listed, but a search for his email address gives us nothing from the history.
“Why would I have him in my contacts if I’ve never actually contacted him?”
“Let’s check the trash,” she says, moving the mouse to pull up the deleted messages. She looks at me. “Empty.”
My stomach churns, bile crawling up my throat. “I’ve never been good about clearing that stuff. Why would I do it here?”
“Because you were trying to hide something?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter.
A search of my Facebook profile yields similar results. Nate is in my friends list, but we can’t find any evidence of correspondence between us. Of course, if we’d been having an affair, I can’t believe I’d be stupid enough to flaunt it on Facebook. Hanna is in a secret mostly-just-about-sex relationship with Nate Crane. I’m pretty sure they don’t have that option yet.
I want to scream. “I wish I were the kind of girl who kept a diary.”
“What are you ladies doing?”
I jump at the question and turn to see Drew entering the kitchen from the back door. She’s gorgeous, a younger, more petite version of Cally’s dark hair and sultry curves. But she’s certainly not dressed to impress anyone in her torn-up old jeans and raggedy T-shirt.
“Drew! Good morning!”
“Eh. If you say so. Coffee?”
“Up front,” I say just as the bell at the front rings to let us know a customer came in. “And can you get that customer while you’re at it?”
“Sure. I’m great with the public,” she enthuses, with an eye roll thrown in for good measure.
I ignore her sarcasm. “Thanks, Drew,” I say, and watch her push through the swinging door to the front of the shop.
“Let’s think about this,” Lizzy says. “Maggie says you met Nate three months ago at a show in St. Louis. That’s also around the time you stopped trying to lose weight and started taking drastic measures to be sure you lost weight.”
“Drastic measures?” Maybe the anorexia I was secretly seeing Dr. Perkins for wasn’t much of a secret at all.
“You stopped eating, took your one-a-day workouts to two or three times a day. Drastic .That’s also when you started pulling away from me.”
The truth is that my anorexia is more believable to me than the idea of pulling away from Liz. “You think I did that because of Nate?”
“I didn’t say that. I just think something happened three months ago
“Where’s your laptop?”
“In the kitchen. I need to—”
I don’t get a chance to finish before she darts to the back of the kitchen and opens my laptop. “What’s your password?”
I shrug. “That’s what I was trying to say. I haven’t been able to get on because I don’t know. Thank God my calendar is synched with my phone, but I brought it down today because I need to take it to the shop. I can’t access my files.”
“What have you tried?”
“All the usual passwords I’ve always used. Birthday, initials, HanHan, initials and birthday together.”
“What about your anniversary with Max?”
I lift my palms. “No go.”
“What about Nate? Or Nate Crane?”
“That’s not it.”
“You sure?”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “I tried this morning.”
“Or…” She taps on the keyboard for a minute then presses ENTER. The computer beeps at her and gives her the “Wrong Password” warning message. “Hmm.” She taps again.
“Let it go, Liz. I’ve tried.”
She hits ENTER and the computer brightens as my desktop appears.
“What was it?”
“‘Lost In Me.’” She forces a smile. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a seriously popular song.”
Maybe it’s not incriminating evidence, but it doesn’t look good either. “Go to my email first.”
She opens the email client and loads the “Sent” folder. A quick scroll through shows messages from me to several potential clients, vendors, future brides. When she pulls up my contact list, Nate’s name and email are listed, but a search for his email address gives us nothing from the history.
“Why would I have him in my contacts if I’ve never actually contacted him?”
“Let’s check the trash,” she says, moving the mouse to pull up the deleted messages. She looks at me. “Empty.”
My stomach churns, bile crawling up my throat. “I’ve never been good about clearing that stuff. Why would I do it here?”
“Because you were trying to hide something?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter.
A search of my Facebook profile yields similar results. Nate is in my friends list, but we can’t find any evidence of correspondence between us. Of course, if we’d been having an affair, I can’t believe I’d be stupid enough to flaunt it on Facebook. Hanna is in a secret mostly-just-about-sex relationship with Nate Crane. I’m pretty sure they don’t have that option yet.
I want to scream. “I wish I were the kind of girl who kept a diary.”
“What are you ladies doing?”
I jump at the question and turn to see Drew entering the kitchen from the back door. She’s gorgeous, a younger, more petite version of Cally’s dark hair and sultry curves. But she’s certainly not dressed to impress anyone in her torn-up old jeans and raggedy T-shirt.
“Drew! Good morning!”
“Eh. If you say so. Coffee?”
“Up front,” I say just as the bell at the front rings to let us know a customer came in. “And can you get that customer while you’re at it?”
“Sure. I’m great with the public,” she enthuses, with an eye roll thrown in for good measure.
I ignore her sarcasm. “Thanks, Drew,” I say, and watch her push through the swinging door to the front of the shop.
“Let’s think about this,” Lizzy says. “Maggie says you met Nate three months ago at a show in St. Louis. That’s also around the time you stopped trying to lose weight and started taking drastic measures to be sure you lost weight.”
“Drastic measures?” Maybe the anorexia I was secretly seeing Dr. Perkins for wasn’t much of a secret at all.
“You stopped eating, took your one-a-day workouts to two or three times a day. Drastic .That’s also when you started pulling away from me.”
The truth is that my anorexia is more believable to me than the idea of pulling away from Liz. “You think I did that because of Nate?”
“I didn’t say that. I just think something happened three months ago
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