Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

Absorbed in wistful, futile fantasies, she never looked back.

She never saw the plump blond nanny abandon the baby buggy in the path.

She never saw her reach over to pick up the sunglasses Wyatt had dropped, tucking them into her pocket with a thoughtful smile.

Leo Cellamino’s cell phone rang just as he was walking past a group of old men playing checkers in the Thursday evening twilight outside a prewar apartment building off Queens Boulevard.

His first thought was that the caller would have to leave a message; he was carrying a large, flat white box that was already fifteen minutes late. How well he knew, after three years delivering pizzas for his Uncle Joe’s pizzeria, that hungry customers had low blood sugar; low blood sugar made a person irritable and impatient; and irritable, impatient people didn’t tip well, if at all.

Anyway, it was probably Sarah Rose. She had called his home number looking for him, and his mother said she’d given her his cell number, too.

Then Leo remembered that he had given Lindsay Farrell his cell phone number, too, the other morning when they spoke.

He immediately looked around for somewhere to set the pizza box.

Spotting no convenient resting places, he set it carefully on the ground at his feet and pulled his ringing cell phone from the pocket of his shirt.

The Caller ID window showed an unfamiliar Manhattan number.

“Hello?” he said eagerly, ignoring the disapproving stares from the old men.

“Leo, this is Lindsay Farrell.”

His mother.

“Hi.” His voice came out sounding strangled.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. There were just a few things I needed to do.”

Right. Like inform my father that I exist.

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to get back in touch this soon, if at all.

“That’s okay,” he told her, and took a step away from the glaring old men.

His foot nearly landed square in the middle of the pizza box on the ground; it was all he could do to keep it airborne and maintain his balance.

Good save. At least I didn’t squash the merchandise, he told himself, turning his back to the old guys and carefully straddling the box on the ground.

“Leo, I was wondering if you were going to be around this weekend at all. We’d…like to meet you. If that’s what you want.”

“We? You mean…?”

She cleared her throat. “Your, ah, father. And me.”

“Are you kidding? I would love that.”

He heard her exhale as if she’d been holding her breath.

It was only then that he realized, for the first time, that he wasn’t the only one who had a lot at stake.

Lindsay Farrell did as well.

And so did his father…whoever he was.

Heck, it didn’t even matter who he was.

What mattered was that he knew about Leo now…and he wanted to meet him.

“Wyatt, it’s Lindsay. I, um, got your message and I went ahead and set something up for this weekend in Connecticut, like you said. Saturday afternoon at your place, right? I hope that still works for you. I told him you were sending a car to pick him up…but really, you don’t have to send one for me. I’ll get myself up there, so don’t worry about-”

A second beep cut off her final word.

…me.

Oh, well. She doubted he was worried about her.

It wasn’t as if he had touched base with her these past few days, after she’d made her big revelation that morning in the park.

His reaction was pretty much what she expected.

He was shocked, angry, upset.

He’d made it obvious that he wasn’t interested in excuses, so she didn’t offer any. She offered nothing other than a heartfelt apology, several of them, all of which he brushed off.

Can you really blame him?

They had gone their separate ways, and she had at first thought she might never hear from him.

She supposed she probably deserved that, in the grand scheme of things…and she could accept it. She really could.

But where would that leave Leo?

Perhaps no better off, or worse off, than he’d been before.

After all, you can’t miss something you never had.

That’s bullshit, and you know it better than anyone, she told herself, hanging up the phone and heading into the bathroom.

There, she splashed some water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror.

She hadn’t realize how much she had missed Wyatt until she saw him again.

Until he left her there, in the park.

Somehow, Lindsay pulled herself together and went to her office. Somehow, she made it through that workday, and then another, and another.

She even made it through the long nights, untainted by further prank phone calls.

With the news of Haylie’s murder almost a week old by then, and the memory of the prank caller’s eerie voice fading as well, she was no longer as fearful about her own safety, or Leo’s.

In fact, she’d almost convinced herself when she woke up this morning that she should just let go of everything connected to the past: the reunion, Haylie, Jake, Leo…and yes, Wyatt, too. Especially Wyatt.

Then, tonight, she came home from work and found her message light blinking.

“Lindsay, it’s Wyatt…”

His voice-even a recorded version-stole her breath away.

“Listen, I’ve thought about it and I think we should meet him, if that’s what he wants. I’m assuming it is. I mean, that’s why people track down their birth parents, right?”

He made a sound, a bitter laugh, it sounded like.

He went on to instruct her to set up a meeting for Saturday at his house. It had to be Saturday, he said, because he was flying out first thing Sunday on business and wouldn’t be back for a week. He’d send separate town cars for her and for Leo at two o’clock, to transport them up to Connecticut, and he’d arrange for the cars to take them back later.

His instructions were businesslike, his tone void of emotion.

She recognized the air of detached efficiency; she herself adopted it whenever she was working, making arrangements for upcoming events.

But this wasn’t just an event, she told herself as she rummaged in a drawer for a tube of lipstick.

Saturday’s meeting loomed as a life-altering milestone.

You’d think he’d have exhibited a little more awareness of that.

Leo certainly had, when she’d called him minutes ago to spring it on him.

His voice had radiated enthusiasm, especially when she told him that his father was sending a car for him.

“Is he rich, then?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she lied.

She had discerned from Wyatt’s appearance, from what he told her about his business, and from what she knew about where he lived, that he was rich.

There-she plucked a soft pink lipstick from the drawer, bypassing the red one Isaac had once complimented her on when she wore it.

She was meeting him for a drink tonight, but she wasn’t trying to impress him. Not these days.

Wyatt was a different story, though. She’d taken great care with her appearance the morning they met. She wondered if he had done the same or if he always dressed so elegantly.

Maybe he did. He had to travel in fancy circles these days.

The money had changed Wyatt outwardly, but she could tell, even from the brief time they’d spent together, that it hadn’t changed him inwardly.

He hadn’t lost his sensitive core that had captivated her twenty years ago, would captivate her still, if he’d let her in.

He was going to…

She could tell. Before she dropped the news on him, his walls were coming down. He was making her laugh, trying to put her at ease…

Then I went and ruined everything.

Not that she’d had a choice. She had to tell him; that was why she’d contacted him. He wasn’t going to pretend they were merely catching up; he knew there was something on her mind.