The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction)

by Alison Caiola

  The first kind of reaction I hear comes from those who live under a rock and haven’t heard the news. Initially they’re delighted to hear from me, but then they gasp and lapse into tears and anguish. Inevitably they recount the story of the last time they were either with my mother or spoke to her. The second type of reaction I receive usually comes from those who have heard the news. We skip the initial delight part and jump right into the gasp, tears, and anguish. I don’t want to be heartless (do I?); it is simply too painful to continue.

  The phone rings and I hesitate for a minute. I don’t recognize the number or the area code. Maybe it’s Jamie…

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Lily, it’s Theresa. I just got your message. Pete’s here too—we just heard the news—it’s all over the TV this morning. We’re sick to death worrying. What the hell’s happening?” Theresa sounds borderline hysterical.

  I tell her everything. By this time I have the whole story down to four sentences—tops.

  “Holy shit!” is all Theresa can say. I hear Pete in the background asking what’s going on.

  She says, “Daisy’s in a coma” as she breaks down and cries.

  Pete grabs the phone and says, “Lil, oh my God, honey—are you okay?”

  “I’m hanging in there—I told Theresa we’ll know more after the test. I’ll call and let you guys know what the results are.”

  “Did you speak to Jamie?” he asks.

  I feel my face getting red. “No, Pete. It’s early yet. I figured I’d let him sleep before I call him.” I lie.

  “Well, I’ll talk to him on set later—I’m sure he’ll wanna fly out. I’ll see what we can do to change the shooting schedule. I’ll talk to Harvey, too,” he says.

  “Uh, Pete…speak to Jamie first. Don’t try to change his schedule until you’ve discussed this with him.”

  “Sure, sure. Listen, I gotta jump in the shower, I’m due on set in an hour. Call us as soon as you know something new. And take care of yourself, Lil. Let me put Theresa back on.”

  “Me again,” she says. She isn’t crying anymore, thank goodness.

  “Theresa, Pete asked if I had spoken to Jamie. I didn’t want to go into it with him, but Jamie and I kinda got into a fight after the party Sunday night. It was pretty bad. He left without saying goodbye and I haven’t spoken to him since.”

  “Ah… I see. Hold on, let me walk into the other room.” I hear a door open and close. “About ‘Nasty Natty’—the fight you two had—right?” she asks. I smile. Theresa makes up nicknames for everyone. And they are always so spot-on.

  “That’s right. So … how are things going there?”

  “You mean, are they fucking?”

  That’s exactly what I mean.

  She continues, “Honey, you have a shitload on your plate over there. Don’t worry about what’s going on here.”

  “THERESA! I need to know.”

  “Lily, I really can’t tell. They’re both very cautious around me, as you can imagine. My gut says, it’s certainly questionable at best—let’s just put it that way.”

  “All right, Theresa. Thanks. I’ll call you when they get the results back.” I feel like crying and want to get off the phone before I do.

  “Lily, don’t worry about Jamie, whether he is or is not—one way or another—let it play out. Right now—be in the moment with Daisy.”

  I tell her that I’ll try and then I hang up. (What the hell does “questionable at best” mean?)

  I hear a sizzling noise and look over at the stove. I’d completely forgotten about the water, which is now boiling over the pot, spilling onto the stove and all over the counter and floor.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I grab a towel and wipe up the spill. I pull the pot off the stove, forgetting how hot the handles can get, and burn three fingers on my right hand—bad.

  It is all too much for me. I turn on the faucet, put my hand under the cold water, kick the cabinet under the sink, hard, and start sobbing.

  The phone rings. I assumed it’s the hospital calling.

  I hold one hand under the faucet. Since I don’t want to take it out of the water, I stretch my left hand over to the table and flick my cell phone with the tips of my fingers, trying to push it closer to me, but it falls on the floor.

  “Damn,” I shout. I take my right hand from under the faucet, and the stinging pain immediately returns.

  “Ouch.” I pick up the cell and answer it. “Shit, ouch, shit—hello?” I stick my hand back under the water. Ah—relief.

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too good.” It’s Jamie!

  I am stunned and stammer, “I… I just burned myself. I’m okay.” I don’t know what else to say. Truthfully, despite the info Theresa gave me, and despite everything that has happened between Jamie and me, I am really, really happy to hear his voice. Tears well up in my eyes.

  “Babe, I heard about Daisy,” Jamie says. Just those five words, that’s all it takes for me to open up. I tell him about everything. I don’t leave anything out.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I had a night shoot, came back to the hotel and crashed. I just woke up and saw it on the news. They showed her car, babe.”

  “You’re kidding. Is it bad?”

  “It’s more than bad, Lil. It’s a crushed pile of metal. You can’t even tell the color or make—”

  “Enough,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Jamie, can you come here… to be with me, I mean?”

  “Oh.” I can tell I’ve caught him off guard. “I don’t know, we just started shooting, and…”

  “Do you have any days off ?” I sound pathetic.

  “Hold on, let me check the schedule.”

  I hear him walk across the room. Then I hear him shuffling papers. Did he actually say let me check my schedule? I’m not asking him out to a damned lunch at The Ivy—I am asking the man who supposedly loves me to be by my side, to support me during the most horrific time of my life.

  “Let me see…well, it says that I have off Saturday and Sunday. My call time for tomorrow should be pretty early, and I only have two scenes…”

  The knots in my stomach dissipate, and my face cools. I wait to hear what we both know I’m waiting to hear.

  “Shit, tomorrow night we’re supposed go to this thing. You know, some of the cast are invited to a party they’re throwing for us…”

  There it is, another defining moment in our relationship. I’m about to ready to hang up on him when he says, “But I’ll see if I can get out of it and get a flight out tomorrow, late afternoon.”

  I’m relieved. I have a temporary respite from another emotional upheaval—for at least a few minutes.

  “Listen, Lil, about the other night—”

  Oh no. Not now. Please, dear God in heaven, don’t let him do this now, and on the phone no less.

  I interrupt him. “Jamie, can we just forget it for now? I don’t think I can deal.” I start to cry.

  He lowers his voice. “No problem, babe—it’s just that we have to talk about it sometime soon.” I hear someone say something in the background—a woman’s voice. He covers the phone with his hand.

  “Who’s there with you, Jamie?” I ask suspiciously. (Didn’t he tell me he was in his hotel room and just woke up?)

  “Some of the guys in the cast just came by. We’re heading out to grab breakfast. So I’ll give you a shout later to let you know about my flight, okay?”

  I don’t believe him. My suspicions kick in again like a pile of dead leaves that furiously swirls with the gust of a strong breeze.

  “Bye, Lily. Take care, huh?”

  “Wait,” I say, but it’s too late; he’s already off the line. I throw the phone on the floor and scream for the second time today. I know it was Nasty Natty in the background. Then, I go there. Every woman knows where there is. You travel first class, nonstop, throttle down, full speed ahead, and jump to the worst-case scenario!

 
Jamie and Natalie, working together, going through their steamy love scenes on set and then taking it off set, into his hotel room. I see it all—Jamie and Natalie in the throes of passion, naked, sweaty…aaargh! I have to stop. With all the shit falling down around me here, this is unbearable to think about. In my heart of hearts, I know it was Natalie in the background coaxing him to “come clean” with me. Now my head and my hand are throbbing.

  Why am I doing this to myself ? Why can’t I just tell him to go fuck himself and fuck Nasty Natty—I don’t give a damn. But in all honesty, the bottom line is—I do. I love Jamie and am not ready to give him up. Not to her, not to anyone. Mom would have a shit fit if she knew what was happening.

  A wave of shame washes over me. Why am I letting him do this to me? What kind of woman am I? A weak one, that’s what kind. I am certainly not in Daisy’s category, not even close. I am weak and pathetic. And just when I don’t think I can feel any worse, I take it one step further. I imagine Jamie and Natalie together, after he hung up the phone, laughing at my stupidity. (Craaash, did you hear that? It was me hitting rock bottom.)

  I walk slowly up the stairs and go into the bathroom to get an Advil, find some burn cream, and a grab a Band-Aid. I look and feel like the walking wounded.

  The phone rings again. Shit, shit, shit. I drop the Advil and run downstairs to get the phone, which is still on the kitchen floor.

  “Hello?” I answer, out of breath.

  “Lily Lockwood?”

  “Yes, who’s this?” I try to catch my breath. I stick my hand under the cold water again to relieve the pain.

  “It’s Dr. Niptau. We have the results of your mother’s angiogram and feel it is necessary to proceed and repair the damaged vessels as soon as possible,” he tells me.

  “What? When?” I ask, confused. Dr. Grippi made it seem like this wasn’t going to happen for hours.

  “We’re taking her in to surgery in about thirty minutes.”

  I arrive at the hospital within forty-five minutes. The Advil has finally kicked in, but my stomach is still upset and my burned fingers scream with pain.

  My mother has already been taken into the operating room. I tell Gilda that I’m going to the chapel and would appreciate it if she would please call me if the doctor finishes the surgery before I come back up.

  “Will do,” she says, and hugs me.

  I thank her and head for the elevator. I text Tommy and Fernando that I’m back at the hospital, and that Mom is in surgery.

  I wait for the elevator, which takes forever to arrive. The doors open and it’s packed. Should I wait for the next one? The elevators are so slow, it may take forever. I keep my head down and squeeze into the already over-packed car. The door closes and the elevator makes a chortling sound with an abrupt shake and quick drop, then it descends.

  That’s when the whispers from the rear of the elevator start. I hear “accident…not going to make it…”

  I want to turn around and tell them all to shut the fuck up. But I don’t. The elevator finally reaches the lobby. I get out and head to the chapel. I push open its heavy door and walk in, looking around. I am totally surprised. I expected it to be like a mini-church, with an alter and pews. But instead, it is very Zen. It has carpeted, emerald-colored banquettes, dim lighting, and a small fountain in the corner. Mom would approve.

  I sit down and breathe deeply—close my eyes and start to pray.

  “Heavenly Father, I know I already prayed to you earlier today. As far as I know—and I certainly don’t know much about this religious stuff—there isn’t a maximum number of prayers per day that a person is allowed. So here goes. Dear Lord, things are going pretty quickly here—which I guess you know, since you’re all-knowing. But dear Lord, I pray that you give Dr. Niptau the skills he needs to perform my mother’s surgery successfully. Please help him to find and operate on any vessels that are causing her problems and to easily find those that may cause her problems in the future. Please lessen the pressure in her head so that it gets back to normal—and please give me my mother back.”

  I start crying. I am an emotional mess. I lay down on the banquette and continue to pray. “Lord, if you can’t give her back to me exactly as she was before the accident, that’s okay. Don’t get me wrong, it certainly wouldn’t be my first choice—but if you can get her conscious, we’ll do the rest. How’s that sound? We can work together—Amen.”

  That was awful. I really fall short, even with this praying thing. How does a person manage to screw up praying, for Chrissake? I look at the ceiling. “No offense, Lord.” I make the sign of the cross and close my eyes.

  I drift into a light sleep and wake up when my phone vibrates. I am disoriented and there are tears streaming down my face. Tommy texts me that he and Fernando have arrived at the hospital and are parking the car.

  I can’t shake the dream I just had—or maybe experienced is a better word, since the dream felt so incredibly real.

  I don’t remember ever having a dream that real before. I remember every detail—every word—color—every smell.

  I open my large purse to find a pen and paper to write it all down. I find a pen, but the only paper I can locate is the back of my used airline ticket. I begin to write.

  In the beginning of the dream, I am sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the farmhouse, quietly watching the Sound. It is springtime, because I see tulips and crocuses and a few small rabbits darting through the yard. The lilac tree is in full bloom and smells delicious. I remember thinking I have to tell this to Mom, because she loves lilacs. I take a deep breath and smile. I feel so at peace and so completely happy. It feels as if the air is infused with electrons of happiness. That’s the only way I can explain it. I hear a baby cry inside the house. The crying gets louder and louder, but I find that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get up off the rocking chair. My Grams comes out of the house with a large glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. She hands it to me and kisses the top of my head.

  “Grams, there’s a baby crying inside and I can’t get to it. I can’t get up.” I try again, but I can’t move. It’s as if a powerful force has pinned me to the chair.

  “Lily, sweetheart, please don’t worry. Your mother is inside and will take care of everything.” Gram’s face is glowing and she looks so alive. I even smell her rose-scented perfume.

  “No, Grams, you don’t understand,” I cry. “Mom was in a terrible accident. She isn’t inside the house, she’s in surgery.”

  I heard the front screen door open. I turn around and there is my mother! She looks gorgeous and about ten years younger and is holding an adorable baby. She walks out laughing.

  “Lily of the Valley, whose daughter are you? You are such a worrywart! What do I always tell you? Have faith in God and have faith in the kindness of strangers. I’m perfectly fine.”

  I look at the baby she’s holding and ask, “Whose baby is that, Mom? She’s beautiful.”

  Mom sits next to me and smiles. “Silly girl, she’s for me.”

  That’s when I woke up. I read over what I wrote and shake my head. While I was having the dream, I felt like I understood exactly what everything meant. Now, rereading it, it simply seems bizarre, like it has no real meaning at all. I take out my mother’s diary from my purse, open it up, and put the ticket in the middle.

  My phone buzzes again. It’s Tommy, texting me that they are in the hospital lobby. He wants to know what floor the I.C.U. is on. I text back that they should go straight to the back of the lobby, make a right, and go to the chapel.

  Within a few minutes, the door opens and Tommy and Fernando walk in. (Let me make a correction: Tommy and Fernando never just walk into a room. They explode into a room, and the whole vibration of the place kicks up ten notches!)

  Tommy looks as if he’s stepped out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement. He is wearing a sage-colored cashmere sweater and tweed pants. His refined good looks could easily land him on the cover of any fashion magazine instead of in an offi
ce as a top editor at one of New York’s large publishing houses.

  Fernando, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. Everything about him, from the top of his head to the toes on his feet, screams FABULOUS! And he is just that. He’s younger than his partner, and also handsome—but in a more rugged, younger, Antonio Banderas sort of way. He’s 6’3” with shoulder-length straight-brown hair. He’s also an incredibly gifted makeup artist who has recently garnered much media and industry attention. A month ago, he was named Top Makeup Artist in the Country by Allure magazine. I would bet my very bottom dollar that my mother had something to do with his being in the running. She always does that sort of thing—promotes her friends and loved ones. She does it quietly, behind the scenes, and then feigns surprise when she learns they are up for a special industry nod. She always thinks of others that way.

  About eight years ago, I booked the movie Agean Paradise, which filmed for six weeks in Mykonos. Fernando and Tommy had been dating about four months or so when I got the movie. From the beginning, we knew just how important this new relationship was to Tommy. He had gotten off to a rocky start with Fernando, but was really hoping this was the one.

  Mom, Tommy, Ferny, and I were out for dinner about four weeks before Mom and I were set to leave for Greece. The guys were so happy for me. Fernando made us promise to take tons of pictures and email them to him. He told us it had always been a dream of his to spend time on a gorgeous Greek island. Since he was just starting out as a makeup artist, he figured it would be years before he could afford to travel. Mom and I promised we’d take lots of photos and email them.