Alone again, Leo tossed the magazine aside and rolled morosely onto his back again, wondering what to do.
He couldn’t tell his mother what had happened-that was for sure.
Nor could he tell the police, because they would tell Ma, and she would be devastated.
Why hadn’t he stopped to think about that before he agreed to meet his birth parents?
Because he was carried away by the fantasy, that was why.
Because he believed that he was actually going to meet them.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have fallen for such an obvious Internet hoax? You read about stuff like that all the time-on-line predators who preyed on teenagers.
He’d never thought it could happen to him, at his age. He’d never thought he could be so recklessly idiotic.
But how did she know about me? About the adoption?
You moron. How do you think?
People could find out anything on the Internet.
But that hadn’t occurred to him then. No, he had actually thought he was talking to his biological mother-not some fraud who had conned him with a picture of some woman who happened to look a lot like him.
What was she going to do to him when she drove him up to the boondocks on the pretense of taking him to meet his birth parents?
Rob him? Rape him?
What would have happened if he hadn’t gotten away? There he was, soaked to the skin in his good suit, pathetic, hitchhiking his way back to the Bronx, where he managed to get the subway home.
The whole time, he fought back tears, telling himself that he was a man, and men didn’t cry.
But once he got home, the floodgates opened. He couldn’t help it.
It was sick.
Sick, sick, sick, and he had fallen for it like a gullible little kid being offered a lollipop by some pervert.
No, he couldn’t tell the police. He couldn’t tell a soul.
He just wanted to forget that any of it had ever happened.
“Are you hungry?”
“Hmm?” Lindsay lifted her head from Wyatt’s chest. She had been on the verge of dozing again, more relaxed than she had been in days.
She felt as though she could lie here indefinitely in his arms, her head pressed against his chest so that she could hear the steady beating of his heart, seemingly in rhythm with the rain that dripped from the eaves outside the window.
“I can make us something,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’m starved.”
“So am I.”
“Come on, then.”
He pulled on a pair of shorts and gave her one of his T-shirts to wear. As she pulled it over her head, she was enveloped in the scent of him, and it was all she could do not to bury her nose in the fabric.
In the hall outside his bedroom, he flipped a wall switch.
Nothing happened. The hallway remained dark.
“A power line must be down somewhere,” he said. “That happens a lot when it storms like this.”
He took her hand and led her through the darkened house to the kitchen, where he lit several candles.
In the flickering light, he rummaged through the fridge and cupboards.
“I’ve got steaks, potatoes, and stuff for a salad,” he told her.
“You don’t have to make a big meal.”
“We’ve got to eat the stuff. It’ll go bad, and anyway, I’m leaving tomorrow for a week.”
She watched him assemble the ingredients on the counter, along with a large wooden cutting board and a couple of knives he removed from their special sleeves.
“I’ll chop the stuff for the salad,” she volunteered.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. That’s about all I know how to do.”
“What about your finger?”
“You know what they say. You’ve got to get right back up on the bike if you fall off.”
“I thought it was the horse.”
She grinned. “Whatever.”
They worked companionably in the candlelit kitchen, Wyatt seasoning the steaks and getting them under the gas broiler as she sliced and diced the vegetables.
“I can’t believe what a difference a great knife makes,” she commented. “I’ve got to get a couple of these. Where did you buy them?”
“In France,” he said. “They’re actually hard to find here.”
“I’ll make a note to pick some up the next time I go to Paris, then,” she said wryly, and he laughed.
“That’s not where you’re going on this trip tomorrow morning,” she asked, “is it?”
“No. Italy this time.”
“Do you travel to Europe a lot?”
He nodded and checked the steaks. “Have you ever been?”
“No,” she said. “I’d love to go, though, someday.”
“Maybe you can come with me.”
She clenched the knife handle, hoping he didn’t think she was hinting around.
“What do you think?” he asked, his back to her as he shook some kind of seasoning over the steaks.
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally, when what she really longed to do was give him a fervent yes.
There was no guarantee, really, that they were going to see each other after tonight.
And if their son didn’t want them to be a part of his life, there was really no logical reason to reconnect.
But there was nothing logical about what Lindsay was feeling right now. Nothing logical at all.
Wyatt watched Lindsay sleep, the room illuminated by the candles he had lit earlier. The power had been back on for some time, but he kept the candles burning downstairs as they ate, and up here in the bedroom, where they returned immediately afterward.
He had worn her out, he supposed, with a voracious appetite that couldn’t be sated by food. She’d been sleeping for a while now, her breath whisper soft, stirring the hair on his forearm as he held her.
He never wanted to let go, but he was going to have to. For a while, at least. It was past three a.m., and he had to pack for his business trip to Italy. A car was picking him up here in a little over an hour to take him down to JFK Airport.
If he could have canceled the trip, he would have, but he was handling a car for a new client who happened to be one of the most well-connected financiers in the world. He could probably retire on the eventual word of mouth this was going to generate.
He took one long, last look, relishing the sight of Lindsay, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He kissed them gently, then gingerly slipped his arm out from under her.
She stirred, opened her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
She blinked.
She doesn’t know where she is, he realized. She was looking at him as though she was wondering what he was doing there.
He smiled. “Remember me?”
“Definitely.” She stretched. “What time is it?”
“It’s the middle of the night. You don’t have to get up, but I do. I’ve got to leave for the airport. You can stay here and sleep, and I’ll arrange for you to be driven home in the morning…or whenever you want. You can stay here, use the pool…”
Wait for me to come home next week…
Please stay, Lindsay. Don’t ever leave.
She shook her head and sat up, running her fingers through her passion-tousled hair. “No, thanks-I mean, that’s so sweet of you, but I’ve got to go home.”
“Now?”
“When you leave.”
“If you want, my driver can drop you on the way to the airport.”
“That would be good-if it’s not a problem.”
“It’s not.” And that way, he would have another hour to spend with her. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough to last him until next weekend.
You’re assuming you’re going to see her again.
What if she doesn’t want to?
What if this is it?
“Lindsay,” he said, glancing at the clock, hating that he had to worry about the time, “we need to talk when I get back.”
“About Leo?”
She had actually said it.
Hearing their son’s name on her lips was bittersweet now.
“About Leo,” he echoed, “of course. And about…us.”
Us, like we, was a foreign word on Wyatt’s tongue. Yet it, as we had earlier, now managed to roll off with ease.
He held his breath, waiting for Lindsay to dispute it.
To tell him that there was no us.
She merely smiled.
It was a smile that spoke volumes, so that she didn’t have to.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” she told him simply.
And for the first time in his life, Wyatt found himself wholeheartedly looking forward to the rest of it.