Most Likely to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  “I know—congratulations! Where’s Tina?” Lindsay looked around for Aurora’s daughter. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “She couldn’t come at the last minute. Poor thing. She was absolutely wiped out after all the shopping we did today. Neither of us are used to so much walking, but it really did Tina in. When you’re pregnant, you’re pretty much exhausted through the whole first trimester,” she added unnecessarily.

  How well Lindsay knew that.

  She remembered how hard it was to get out of bed for school when her alarm went off on weekday mornings as their senior year dragged on, and the numbing fatigue that often nearly caused her to fall asleep in class.

  But of course, Aurora didn’t know about any of that.

  And she appeared to feel sorry for poor, childless Lindsay now, as they waited for their table. She sounded almost apologetic as she chatted about her impending grandchild.

  They were seated more quickly than Lindsay expected, thanks to changing their existing reservation from three people to two. She had been prepared to slip a big tip to someone if necessary to secure a good table, but they landed one anyway.

  “Look at this place!” Aurora marveled, spreading her napkin in her lap and gazing at the portraits that lined the walls of the large main-floor dining room. “I’ve always wanted to eat here. Is the food good?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Lindsay, who favored out-of-the-way restaurants in the Village and Tribeca.

  “You must eat out all the time, though,” Aurora said a little wistfully, “living here in Manhattan, being in your business.”

  “I do eat out a lot,” she said just as wistfully, imagining Aurora presiding over cozy family dinners in a suburban kitchen back in Oregon.

  She wondered what it would be like to be married to someone you had loved for all those years, to have a family and grow old with him…

  Could there be anything more precious in the whole wide world?

  No, there couldn’t.

  Lindsay just hoped Aurora knew how lucky she was.

  Grimly, she cast aside the thought of Wyatt and Leo. Again.

  They’d been haunting her all day, but she had already decided she wasn’t going to let tomorrow’s looming confrontation intrude upon her evening with Aurora.

  They ordered white wine, chatted amiably, and studied their menus.

  “What do you think prix fixe is?” Aurora asked, pronouncing the French phrase as if it rhymed.

  When Lindsay gently corrected her, hoping she wouldn’t be embarrassed, Aurora burst out laughing at herself.

  “Do you think anybody overheard me?” she asked, sneaking a peek at the diners occupying adjacent tables.

  Lindsay took a quick look around. “Nah.” They were mostly older couples and families of tourists, all engrossed in conversations of their own. A large blond woman was dining solo at the next table over and had her back to them, but who cared if she, or anyone else, had been privy to Aurora’s gaffe?

  “God, I’m such a bumpkin. I don’t know how you managed to move here and fit in so well, Lindsay.”

  “I’ve been here twenty years, and you are not a bumpkin. You’re a sweetheart who happens not to speak French.”

  Aurora grinned. “Or who tries, and ends up talking about pricks in a fancy restaurant.”

  Yes, she really was a breath of fresh air, Lindsay thought, glad she had made time to meet her old friend. As she nibbled her smoked salmon appetizer, she found that she didn’t even have to do much talking, as was always the case in Aurora’s company.

  Aurora munched and chatted her way through her tomato-basil-mozzarella salad, talking animatedly about her family. Then, as they sipped their Merlot, waiting for the entrees to arrive, she changed the subject to the upcoming reunion—and Haylie’s death.

  “I heard about it from Kristen,” Lindsay said, twirling the stem of her glass back and forth in her fingers. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Nobody can. Eddie told me when I called home this morning that they arrested someone last night,” Aurora said unexpectedly.

  Lindsay lowered her goblet. “Who was it?”

  “Do you remember Louie Blake?”

  She shook her head. “Should I? Did he go to school with us?”

  “No!” Aurora wrinkled her nose. “Please, he’s got to be in his late forties, at least. He’s a bum, basically. He’s been hanging around the streets for years, getting into trouble. I guess you must have been gone by the time he showed up, though.”

  “He killed Haylie?” Lindsay asked, relieved not just that they had someone in custody but that it was no one connected to high school, or Jake.

  “They think so. He was caught trying to use one of her credit cards at a liquor store, and they found out that he had a bunch of stuff he must have stolen from her apartment.”

  “Poor Haylie.”

  “I know…I feel guilty that I didn’t go after her with Kristen the night she freaked out and ran out of the reunion meeting. Not that Kristen managed to catch up with her and calm her down anyway. Did she tell you what happened?”

  “Kristen? She just said that Haylie was still really upset over Ian and Jake after all these years.”

  “Right. She made a big scene, accusing us all of ridiculous things, and took off. It was awful. And I feel so sorry for her, really. I mean, felt.”

  They were both silent as they realized, again, that they could only refer to Haylie in past tense from now on.

  Aurora added, “She never got over what happened to Ian.”

  “I know. Poor Haylie.”

  “What about you, Lindsay?”

  “What about me?”

  “Did you ever get over what happened to Jake?”

  About to sip her wine, Lindsay found herself taking a gulp instead. She looked around, wishing the waiter would show up with their meals.

  “I don’t like to talk about that, really, Aurora,” she said. “It was so traumatic.”

  “Of course it was. God, I’m so sorry I even brought it up. I guess I just wanted to know that you were okay. You know, that you had moved on. Because you moved away right after and you never really came back, and I figured that was why.”

  Right. That was probably what everyone thought, that she had left for New York because she was distraught over Jake’s murder. And who would blame her?

  They were broken up, but she was still widely regarded as the bereaved girlfriend, much to Kristen’s dismay—and barely concealed resentment.

  “It was hard to get over what happened,” she told Aurora now. “But you move on, you know? You have to get on with your life.”

  “I know.” Aurora reached over and squeezed her hand. “I didn’t mean to drag all that out tonight, Linds. Let’s talk about something more upbeat.”

  Lindsay forced a smile. “Good idea. And I have just the topic. I got those Jersey Boys tickets you and Tina wanted. A matinee tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Ooh!” Aurora hugged her across the table. “You’re the best, Lindsay. How can I ever repay you?”

  “You don’t have to. What are friends for?”

  “This is Lindsay. I’m not in; please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Wyatt disconnected the call in the midst of the answering machine’s beep.

  A message?

  What was he supposed to say?

  If you don’t know, then why did you call her?

  That was a good question.

  He didn’t know the answer. He had simply found himself walking restlessly around the house with his cell phone in hand; her number was programmed into it.

  He still didn’t even know why he had done that. Why not just keep it jotted on a slip of paper tucked into the kitchen drawer where he kept stray business cards and receipts and order numbers? That was what he did with most women’s phone numbers. Very few were eventually programmed into his phone. And those he did program in were always eventually removed.

  Alliso
n’s was the most recent.

  He hadn’t heard from her since she’d moved out; he didn’t expect to.

  As for Lindsay…

  After tomorrow, he wouldn’t be in touch with her again. There would be no reason to.

  In fact, if he had any way of meeting his son without her present, he would have arranged to do so.

  Oh, come on, Wyatt, who are you kidding?

  You don’t need her here tomorrow. You could have just gotten the kid’s contact info from her and met him on your own.

  So why didn’t he?

  Why had he gone ahead and arranged this little family reunion?

  Anyone would be furious with Lindsay for what she’d done.

  And he was. Absolutely.

  But there was a part of him, deep down, that was also, maybe, just a little…

  Grateful.

  If she had come to him, pregnant, twenty years ago, what would he have done?

  He knew exactly what he’d have done.

  He’d have convinced her to have the baby and marry him.

  He was in love with her; knowing she was carrying his child would have put him over the moon.

  And she would have either walked away from him—again—had the baby, and given it up just as she wound up doing…

  Or she would have married him, and they would have tried to raise their son together.

  Tried.

  There wasn’t a doubt in Wyatt’s mind that if they had married and become parents at eighteen, they couldn’t have made it work. The odds would have been stacked tremendously against them. Yes, he’d loved Lindsay back then, but was he really equipped to be a husband and father?

  Not in the least.

  So, being Catholic, they would have ended up either bitterly married, merely sticking it out, as his parents had…

  Or divorced, and riddled with guilt—Catholic and otherwise. And their son would have come from a broken home—which he does anyway, Wyatt reminded himself. But still, that wasn’t Wyatt’s fault. It was some other man who had walked out on his wife and kid.

  My kid.

  Every single time he thought of it—the miraculous fact that he had a son—his stomach was consumed by a flurry of Christmas-morning butterflies.

  Yes, Lindsay’s decision had denied him the option of being a part of his son’s life until now…

  But she had also denied him the chance to screw it up. And he would have.

  Back then, he was ill equipped, emotionally and financially, for the responsibility.

  Now?

  Bring it on.

  He was more than ready. He was going to wholeheartedly support his son emotionally and financially, give him whatever he needed—hell, whatever he wanted. He was going to spoil the kid rotten if he felt like it, and there was no reason not to.

  What about Lindsay, though? a nagging voice intruded. What are you going to do about her?

  He was going to try to forgive her for what she had done, knowing, intellectually, that it was probably the wisest, most selfless decision she could have made in her situation.

  That was the mature and logical thing to do.

  Then he was going to maturely and logically move on. Try to forget her.

  Right. Just like he had before.

  And look how well that turned out.

  All she had to do was call and you went running to her, no questions asked. All she had to do was look at you and twenty years fell away, and you were like a teenaged boy with a one-track mind again.

  Yes, and now you’re calling her number and hanging up. Perfect.

  With a scowl, Wyatt tossed his cell phone onto the granite countertop and headed up to his gym to work out—and thus, work her out of his system—so that he could get a good night’s sleep in preparation for what lay ahead tomorrow.

  Forty-Fourth Street was bright with neon lights and packed with people when Lindsay and Aurora emerged from Sardi’s after a long, leisurely meal. They’d had dessert at the table followed by after-dinner drinks in the upstairs bar. The time flew by, and the conversation flowed.

  Now it was getting late, and the post-theater crowd packed the sidewalks.

  “Uh-oh—it’s going to be hard for me to get a cab back to the hotel, isn’t it?” Aurora observed, gazing at the street clogged with honking taxis, town cars, and limousines. They were forced to creep along far more slowly than the pedestrians who moved along the sidewalks.

  “It won’t be hard to get a cab. It will be impossible,” Lindsay replied. “But you’re staying right at the Grand Hyatt next to Grand Central Station, aren’t you? It’s an easy walk from here. Just a few blocks.”

  “Ha, that’s what the doorman said when he told me I could walk here. I didn’t know he meant a few of those really long, long crosstown blocks,” Aurora said ruefully. “I thought he meant the short uptown-downtown kind. I can’t make it back.”

  “Sure you can. It won’t be so bad. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

  “Is it on your way home?”

  “More or less,” Lindsay told her.

  Aurora seemed to consider her offer, but only for a minute.

  “No, thanks, my feet are killing me. I did way too much walking today. I can take the subway instead.”

  “The subway?” Lindsay asked dubiously, wondering if her friend could possibly negotiate the complicated network of train lines that ran beneath the city streets.

  Then again, if she got on right here at Times Square, she’d only have to take the crosstown shuttle two stops to Grand Central and walk right upstairs to her hotel. Or she could take the number seven train, which traveled the same route before heading beneath the East River out to Queens.

  Queens.

  That made Lindsay think of Leo. And Wyatt. Again.

  This time, she couldn’t seem to push them back out of her head.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride the subway,” Aurora said cheerfully as they made their way across Broadway toward the station. “I’ve seen it in so many movies and TV shows. I can’t believe I actually get to ride it.”

  Lindsay grinned at her friend’s giddy enthusiasm. She remembered feeling the same way when she first moved to New York. Not right away, though. She didn’t get out into the city until after the baby had been born and she had gone on to college, getting on with her life.

  “Where do I get my token?” Aurora asked as they descended from the noisy neon glare of the street to the dank depths of the station below.

  “We don’t use those anymore. We use Metrocards,” Lindsay told her. “I’ll help you get one before I go.”

  “You’re not taking the subway home too?”

  “No, I’m going to walk,” she said, anxious to be alone with her thoughts now that the evening with Aurora was drawing to a close.

  Yes, it was time to try to prepare herself for what she faced tomorrow.

  Standing beneath a large wall map, pretending to be studying the network of subway lines, she watched Lindsay remove a fare card from the automated machine and hand it to Aurora.

  Then Lindsay pointed at the row of turnstiles, obviously explaining how to get through them, then find her way down the stairs to the right track.

  The place was a zoo even at this hour of the night. And she herself was intimidated. There were so many different numbered and lettered lines coming through this station that she couldn’t imagine how people figured out where they were going. She wondered how Aurora was ever going to find her way back to the hotel.

  Lindsay was obviously not planning on accompanying her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be giving such a detailed explanation. She kept emphatically indicating the overhead sign, as if trying to make sure Aurora understood exactly where she was supposed to go.

  Finally, they both seemed satisfied, and they exchanged a long, tight hug.

  She found herself feeling resentful, watching them.

  They looked as though they cared so much about each other, even after all these years.

  They never car
ed about me that way. They pretended to, like everyone else did, but they didn’t really care.

  Nobody did. Not even Jake.

  And toward the end, he didn’t even bother to pretend anymore.

  Fury bubbled up inside her, and it took her a moment to realize that Lindsay had disappeared.

  She looked around, trying to spot her in the crowd. No sign of her.

  There, though, was Aurora, about to go through the turnstile, poking her fare card into the slot.

  Ah, the turnstile failed to open.

  Momentarily amused, she forgot to look for Lindsay. Instead, she watched Aurora bang on the turnstile, then kick it.

  Still it didn’t open.

  Aurora whirled around abruptly, as if hoping to find Lindsay still standing there.

  Oh my God…

  Shocked, she found herself locking eyes with Aurora despite the throng of people that bustled between them.

  She sees me!

  Relax, you’re wearing your disguise.

  Yes, she was…but it didn’t seem to matter. There was no mistaking the flicker of recognition, then shock, in Aurora’s gaze.

  Then a uniformed MTA officer materialized at Aurora’s side to check the turnstile, and she seized the opportunity to duck behind a nearby signpost.

  Oh my God.

  She definitely saw me.

  Now what?

  Peering out from behind the sign, she watched as the officer leaned in and did something to the turnstile. It immediately opened.

  Aurora faltered, glancing over her shoulder.

  She’s looking for me.

  The officer was gesturing impatiently for Aurora to hurry up and go through the turnstile, and several impatient locals waited behind her for their turns.

  Helplessly, Aurora slipped through the turnstile with one last backward glance.

  She still doesn’t see me…

  No, but she did. She definitely did.

  And you know exactly what you need to do about that.

  What on earth was she doing here, in New York, of all places? Aurora wondered uneasily as she waited on the packed, cavernous platform for the next subway train to pull into the station.

  Still unsettled by the unexpectedly familiar—yet unfamiliar—person she’d glimpsed upstairs, she tried somewhat unsuccessfully to ignore the hordes of strangers surrounding her down here.