Page 63

WHEN SHANE MILLER is half an hour late, I text him.

I’m at the café. Are you running behind?

Just as I hit send, the door opens, and I startle in my seat. But it’s not Shane who enters. It’s a young couple, pierced and tattooed, engaged in a lively conversation about a drag show they recently attended. I settle into my chair and check my phone. There’s no response from Shane. A flutter of panic travels from belly to chest, but I inhale deeply to calm myself. Given the hour that Shane called last night, he probably considers this early morning. He’s slept in, that’s all it is. I’ll wait.

Fifteen more minutes pass. And then another fifteen. I begin to wonder if I got the day wrong. Or the meeting time. I touch my cup of cold coffee and realize I’ve been here a full hour. I decide to call him. Panic clutches my throat when I hear Shane’s curt voicemail greeting. Where the hell is he? Not only does he have the information I so desperately need, but he also has my laptop. Even if my writing career is dead in the water, I still want my computer back.

Next, I dial Janine. She recommended Shane. She can tell me if this flaky behavior is to be expected. Did he have some sort of hacker emergency? Is that even a thing? Is it possible I’ve been scammed? But Janine doesn’t answer, either. She’s probably too busy prom-dress shopping with Grace or getting mother-daughter pedicures before the festivities. I hang up without leaving a message.

I stay for another hour because I don’t know what else to do. If I knew where Shane lived, I would go there and confront him, but of course he hadn’t divulged that information. I google him on my phone but, not surprisingly, nothing comes up for this specific Shane Miller. Feeling guilty for hogging the table, I buy an enormous muffin and pick at it though my stomach feels even worse than when I arrived. I call and text him again and again. Finally, at one o’clock, I give up.

As I walk back to my car, my head spins. Was Shane Miller playing me all along? Was this all an elaborate ruse to get my laptop? But if he was a scammer, wouldn’t he have asked for the money up front? And Janine had recommended him. It’s not like I found him in an Instagram ad promoting his hacking skills. But now I recall that Janine didn’t use Shane to find her troll. She said that the police found her tormentor after he threatened her daughter. Janine had done a story on Shane when he was a teen. Maybe now he’s gone to the dark side?

There’s a quaint Italian grocery store near my parking spot, and I duck inside. If I’ve been scammed, at least I can stuff myself with cheese and pasta to dull the pain. Since Liza moved in with Adrian, I’ve existed on peanut butter toast and takeout, and my nutrition is suffering. I should stock up on some real food.

I grab a plastic basket and wander the aisles. There’s an excellent selection of olive oils, exotic vinegars, and decadent pasta sauces. My stomach rumbles. Despite my lack of appetite, my body is craving sustenance. I grab a jar of tomato sauce, some marinated olives, and move around the corner to the pasta aisle. The narrow passage is partially blocked by a stock boy and a rolling cart full of boxes of orecchiette. As I approach, the young man turns toward me. It’s Liza’s boyfriend.

I’d forgotten that Wyatt lives in this area, commutes across town to his posh boys’ school. While most of the pupils there probably have generous allowances, Wyatt’s family is blue collar. He knows the value of hard work. We are alone on the aisle, practically face-to-face. Avoidance is not an option.

“Hi, Wyatt.”

“Uh… hi, Camryn.” He’s clearly uncomfortable. “What are you doing over here?”

“I was meeting someone for coffee,” I explain. I feel forced to make small talk before I can hurry on my way. “So… are you done your exams?”

“I have one more on Friday.”

“You must be excited to graduate.”

“Yeah.”

Wyatt must know that I’ve been banned from my daughter’s grad festivities, but it feels odd not to comment. “I’m sure you and Liza will have fun at prom next week,” I say, wrapping up this awkward exchange.

“Liza and I broke up.”

I tilt back on my heels, shocked. “What? When?”

“Last week,” he says, eyes drifting to the pasta cart.

I can’t believe Liza didn’t tell me. It must have happened after the viral video that drove Liza out of my home and made her stop talking to me.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” And I’m sincere. “I’m sure that’s sad for both of you.”

He shrugs but his face darkens. “I guess. But Liza’s changed a lot.”

“How has she changed?”

“She’s got a bunch of new friends. She’s different around them.”

Liza had said Wyatt was controlling. That he didn’t like the girls she was going to travel with. “Who Liza chooses to spend her time with is really none of your concern,” I say tartly. “I’d advise you not to try to control your next girlfriend’s personal relationships.”

Wyatt’s eyes widen slightly at the attack, but he composes himself. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew these girls.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Tell me, Wyatt. What do you mean?”

“I have to work,” he says.

He turns back to his pasta boxes, and I am dismissed.