Page 67 of The Missing Half

I was so sure.

I pack everything back up and put the box where it was, then turn to the laptop, closed on the desk. I open it and tap the power button, chanting a silent prayer that it isn’t locked. But it is, the empty password box staring back at me like a challenge. I hesitate for a moment before remembering the sticky notes. I sort through them again, finding all the slips of paper with the random lines of writing—letters, numbers, and punctuation combined. Total, there are what appear to be five passwords, but maddeningly, not a single one is labeled. I flip over the pieces of paper. All blank. I wonder how manyfailed attempts I have before the computer locks me out.

I type in the first one, a long line of meaningless characters. I double-check it before hitting the sign-in button, but when I do, the password box shakes back and forth. A technological chastisement. I grab the next sticky note, type the digits into the little box, but again, it shakes its disapproval. The next one is the same. There’s the obvious possibility that none of these are right, but there’s nothing I can think to do but keep trying.

Finally, on my fourth attempt, the screen suddenly brightens. I let out a sigh of relief.

Jenna’s desktop photo, one of those default images of a waterfall, is the backdrop to an internet window with a handful of open tabs. One is for her email, and I skim through the recent messages, though nothing catches my eye. Another is the website of some car repair shop, another is her Facebook page. I scan her profile, but don’t see any unusual-looking posts, and when I click on her message inbox and glance over the last few exchanges, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

I run a frustrated, jittery hand through my hair. It has to be here.

I look around the screen for any other open tabs and find a little minimized one in the bottom right corner. I click on it, and when it expands, the first thing I see, to my utter surprise, is my name.

Slowly, the rest of the box’s content registers: On the left is a list of phone contacts. On the right is a message thread—Jenna’s texts.My name is the second on the list, sandwiched between two I don’t recognize, Shawna Jackson and Amy Miller, then Mom. Beneath each of these is a preview of the text thread in smaller, lighter font.What’s going on?the line under my name reads.Are you okay??It’s from the night she didn’t show up at my dad’s, a little over a week, and a lifetime, ago.

I’m about to read her most recent conversation with Shawna when I spot two words beneath Amy Miller’s name, and my heart jumps into my throat. I click on their thread and it appears on theright. I skim the last message to Jenna from Amy, but out of context it makes no sense, so I scroll to the top of the conversation. The whole thread is relatively short, and I’m at the start within seconds.

Wed, Aug 14 at 10:09a.m.

Jenna:Hey Amy, this is Jenna Connor. Just wanted to reach out via text like you asked. Do you have any time to meet up this week to talk about Jules? I’d really appreciate it.

Amy:Lemme get back to you

Thu, Aug 15 at 1:14p.m.

Jenna:Hi, checking back in. Do you have any time to meet up this week? Can talk over the phone if it’s easier.

Amy:Sorry. Been super busy. Yes, phone’s better.

Jenna:No problem. Can you talk now?

Amy:Nows not great

Jenna:Name a day and time and I’ll make it work.

Fri, Aug 16 at 9:58a.m.

Jenna:Hey, Amy, I’m sorry to keep bugging you, but this is my sister and I know you guys were close for a while when you were working together at Harry’s. I just have a few questions. It would mean so much to me if we could talk.

Amy:Sorry sorry! Lifes been crazy. Maybe you could text me your questions? At work and can’t talk on phone

I imagine Jenna flaring with frustration as she read this. But she wouldn’t let on. She’d take what she could get.

Jenna:Sure, np

Jenna:Before she started at Harry’s, Jules went through a weird spell. She got quiet, stopped going out, quit her job and moved across town. Did she ever mention any of that to you?

Amy:Yes. Not at first, but when we got close she did

Jenna:Did she tell you why?

Jenna:Amy? You there?

Amy:Sorry. I assumed you knew

Jenna:Knew what?

Jenna:???

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