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

by Alison Caiola

  “Yep,” I said. “All of them.”

  “Well, listen, I wanted to call because I felt so bad—real bad about what happened, and I wanted to apologize. Daisy, I had no idea—I mean Mike made it seem like, you know, you were…”

  “What—a SLUT??” I asked.

  “Well, like Karen, if you know what I mean.” He said, “I’m so sorry. You know, I like you, I really do. I wanna know if you would give me a chance to make it up to you,” he said.

  “Why should I?” I asked.

  “Because I’m really a nice guy, I really am,” he said.

  He sounded so sincere and so apologetic that I laughed. He quickly added, “And handsome, too!”

  “Well it’s good to hear that you aren’t self-centered,” I replied, laughing. Then he asked me out. I told him I have not spoken to Karen or had any desire to do so since that night. So if we went out, it would be just the two of us, and it had to be to a public place. He agreed pretty quickly. But I told him I would have to ask my parents.

  So I did ask my parents. They FINALLY said it was okay as long as I was home by ten o’clock. When I told Steve, he said no problem.

  So, Diary, he must have apologized one hundred times more that first night. And we had THE BEST time. We went to see the movie “MASH” on Main Street in Riverhead. Even though it was bloody, even gory sometimes, it was also really funny.

  We went to the little coffee shop up the block and had sodas and we split fries. We talked really seriously about the Vietnam War and about how we were both against it. And how we would watch the news and see these poor soldiers running and being shot to death. Some of them are Steve’s age. It’s so sad.

  At one point at the coffee shop he told me that I was a special girl and that he had never met anyone like me, as smart or funny or beautiful. My heart just about jumped into my throat, I was so nervous. But boy is he handsome and his eyes looked so honest. He also promised me that what happened would NEVER happen again. That we would take things really, really slow and he would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.

  I felt relieved and, Diary, I really like him so much!

  He took me home, gave me a kiss, AND walked me inside. He said goodnight to my Papa and Mama and they said they were impressed by how polite he was. Even Papa said we were being responsible because we got home before curfew time.

  We’ve been out a bunch of times since. Below are two pictures that I am taping here, so I will never forget. The first one is a picture of me and Steve one night when we drove with another couple, friends of his, into Greenwich Village, which is almost two and a half hours away! We went to a place called “Your Father’s Mustache.” They had long tables with red and white checkerboard tablecloths, and the guys drank Schlitz beer. We sang old songs and had the best time.

  The second picture is me. Steve and I were in a field and we were kissing. He looked down at me and said I should stay there, that he was going to get his camera. There were daisies all around. He took this picture of me and when it was developed, I thought I looked really pretty, don’t you? I even don’t mind my darn freckles.

  I think I love him, Diary, I really do! I think I have a boyfriend! Wait til Donna gets back, I can’t wait for her to meet him.

  Daisy xoxoxo

  PS. I don’t want to become a nun ANYMORE. I absolutely LOVE my life.

  SS & DE 4 EVER

  The initials are inside a big red heart that has an arrow going through it. I look down at the photos pasted to the bottom of the page. Mom looks so young and beautiful. In the first one, she is tan has a shag haircut, and is wearing a red halter top. On the back of her head is a My Father’s Mustache straw hat. Steve is just as my Mom described him: blonde hair, green eyes, and a mustache. Very cute!

  I wonder whatever happened to him. I gasp when I see the second picture. She is stunning. She is on her back on the grass and looking straight into the camera. Her dazzling blue eyes are magnificent. Her brown wavy hair is spread out, and bright yellow daisies look like they are almost woven into her hair. Her cheeks are slightly flushed. My eyes keep closing from fatigue, so I put the diary on the bedside table and turn off the light.

  There’s a noise in the bedroom, and I awake with a start. I look at the clock and it’s 2:30 a.m. I squint and see Jamie in the corner, getting undressed in the dark.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Babe, sorry I woke you, I was trying to be quiet. I knocked into something.”

  He walks over and I pat the bed next to me. He sits down and kisses me.

  “Lily, you look so beautiful. God, I missed you.”

  “How was your trip?”

  “It was cool. They bumped me up to first class.” He grins like a kid.

  “Great. Come into bed, spoon me.”

  He lies down next to me and I wiggle my backside so that we fit together perfectly. He puts his arm around me and kisses my neck, and I exhale for what feels like the first time in six days.

  It’s noon when we finally wake up. Jamie’s arm is still around me. It feels great to have him here. He opens his eyes and nuzzles my neck.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “Morning yourself.”

  We lie in bed for about an hour, talking about everything that has happened. Jamie keeps shaking his head in disbelief.

  “God, you’ve gone through so much. I can’t believe it. You know, I’m really proud at the way you’re handling everything. You really stepped up, Lil, really!” he says.

  “Thanks, honey,” I reply. “That means a lot to me. I have no choice, you know. My Mom’s been taking care of me all my life; now she needs help.”

  Jamie kisses me and then rolls on top of me, excited. I have really missed him and his body, and want to be close to him, to make love. But it feels so wrong to make love in my mother’s bed.

  “Jamie, I can’t do this in her bed. Let’s go to the guest room or the shower—just not here. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Babe, it’s not like she’s gonna come back here.”

  It is as if he threw a bucket of cold water on me. I jump out of bed. “Jamie, that’s an awful thing to say.” I start to cry.

  “Babe, don’t cry—shit, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.” He puts his arms around me and says, “It just came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. C’mon, let’s go to the guest room. I’m a jerk.” He takes my hand and leads me into the other room.

  Our lovemaking is different than usual; more tentative, and gentler. After the blowup we had in Malibu, it’s almost as if we have to get to know each other all over again. But there’s one constant about our relationship: sex with Jamie is always terrific. There’s no other way to explain it but that he just feels right. We fit together. It’s when we get out of bed that things sometimes end up getting twisted.

  We lie in bed together afterwards. I put my head on his chest and ask him about the shoot. I don’t want to talk about Nasty Natty. I don’t want even to think about her. But it’s like a balloon that keeps floating above us, no matter how hard I try not to see it.

  Jamie tells me how great things are going and how much he’s enjoying working with Peter and Bobby. He, too, is obviously trying to keep Natalie out of the conversation.

  “You know, babe, when things calm down here and you feel like you can get away, I want you to visit me, to see me work. I really do.”

  A feeling of gratitude washes over me. I kiss him, thank him. Any residual anxiety regarding our relationship and the Jamie Pain fades away.

  An hour later, I’m in the shower and thinking about what Jamie said about my Mom, how she probably wouldn’t be coming home. That was a shitty thing to say, and heartless. It feels familiar, somehow. As I let the water pour over my body, I try to remember when he had done or said something like that before.

  I remember. It was about two years ago when we were visiting a friend—Darlene Steiner. I had originally met her when I was a kid and she was my producer on
an ABC show in New York City. Mom and she became friends during shooting. Darlene and her family later moved to Malibu, but we always kept in touch. Years later, when we moved to LA, she was the one who insisted that we find a place in Santa Monica. We did just that—a condo on Ocean and Montana. Darlene was really helpful in recommending doctors, dentists, schools, stores—all the people and places you need to know when you move into a new neighborhood, especially one three thousand miles away.

  After Jamie and I were together and Mom was back on the farm, Darlene had us over for family get-togethers, barbecues, and birthday parties. One time, her parents were out from New York visiting her, and she asked us over for dinner.

  Her dad had been head of one of the unions back in the day and was a real rough guy. He adored his family and doted on his daughter, but was known for his no-nonsense approach to union business. By the time he and his wife came to dinner, he had been long retired and was getting old. They even feared that he may have started “losing it,” getting a bit senile.

  When Jamie walked into the kitchen, he saw Mr. Steiner looking into the refrigerator—just staring. As Jamie watched, Mr. Steiner grabbed a container of heavy cream and downed it, probably thinking it was regular milk.

  Jamie thought it was hysterical, and had to tell everyone he saw for the next few days how funny it was. I told him at that time that he was being insensitive and heartless. Sometimes, admittedly, he could be a real jackass.

  Getting dressed, I realize I didn’t get my period last night as I’d thought I would. When I spoke to Donna about it yesterday, she told me that it was very common to miss a period when you go through a traumatic event.

  I walk downstairs for breakfast. Jamie’s not in the kitchen. I see him through the window. He’s put out breakfast and coffee on the table in the backyard. I walk outside and take a deep breath of the crisp sea air. Although it’s September, it is still pretty warm out, a real Indian summer type of day. The sun is shining, and any tension I felt before ebbs away. I sit down and thank Jamie for making breakfast. He’s cooked his specialty: cheese and tomato omelet, home fries, and coffee.

  “After we finish, I’m going to call the hospital and see how things are going,” I say between bites. Breakfast is yummy, and it feels so good to be away from the hospital. “Hey, if we have time before they bring my mom back to her room; do you want to take the boat out for a quick sail?”

  “Absolutely, that’d be great,” he replies. “You sit; I’ll clean up the dishes and grab a shower.”

  I sit in the rocking chair on the porch and watch him clear the table.

  Shit, I realize I’d left my phone upstairs. I call to Jamie in the kitchen. “Babe, after your shower, can you bring my cell down for me?”

  “Sure,” he says over the clatter of dishes being washed. It feels good to have him take control.

  “I want to ring the hospital—can I borrow your phone?” I call to him.

  “You bet. I left it on the table.”

  I call the hospital. Gilda is back on duty. She tells me they took my mother for tests later than expected and that she probably wouldn’t be back in her room until around 6 p.m. I thank her.

  I force myself not to think of what the results of the tests might be. I need an escape. I close my eyes, lift my face to the sun, and soak in the warm rays. I become drowsy and allow myself to drift off.

  The phone rings. Just as I flip it open, I wake up fully, and realized it isn’t my phone—it’s Jamie’s—and it wasn’t a call, but a text.

  I look at the phone. The text message icon displays Natalie’s name. I click on it and read: Baby saw u on the news at the airport, now that u showed the world u r a good guy and boyfriend, plz come back. I booked us a suite at La Posada Spa Resort thru Monday. No work til Tuesday. I miss u! My arms and bed are empty w/o u. Love xo Natalie.

  I walk over to the hammock and lay down. My head is pounding.

  Mom always told me, “People will do what they want to do—always. If you don’t like how someone is acting or what they are doing, no matter how much you scream or cry, you won’t change them unless they really want to change.”

  It is there, on the hammock, on this beautiful Indian summer afternoon, that a door closes in my heart. I feel it. A physical wall goes up. It is over, right here and now. There will be no more screaming or yelling or begging. The person who loves me heart and soul and would do anything in the world for me is not here in this house. She is in the I.C.U. fighting for her life. And the person taking a shower upstairs now means nothing to me and doesn’t deserve a thing from me. Nothing.

  I feel empty. Emptier, I am sure, than Natalie’s bed will ever be. I close my eyes and wait. I don’t need to plot or to scheme. Things with Jamie will unravel organically—it is inevitable. I take some deep breaths and let everything go. I imagine that all my troubles and worries are right there in front of me. All the fears I have of being left alone, all my fears of Jamie cheating on me, all my fears of my mother dying or never coming out of this. I imagine it all.

  I then imagine that I clump all my fears together and roll them into a huge ball of fear, dark and angry. In my mind’s eye, I lift this ball high over my head and throw it into the Sound. As it hits the water, I hear a sizzle. The ball floats for a few minutes, and then sinks, lower and lower, until it hits a rock and dissipates. I give it all up and feel a peace come over me. It comforts me like a warm blanket of white calm, relief, and hope.

  I lie there on the hammock with my newfound sense of calm, and wait…

  I don’t have to wait too long. I hear the screen door open. I’m sure Jamie thinks I’m asleep, because he comes over and gently kisses me on the cheek. I open my eyes and smile.

  “What d’ya say, wanna go for a sail?” he asks. He looks so handsome and smells like vanilla soap.

  “Sorry, we can’t—I spoke with the hospital and I need to get over there soon.”

  “Well, I’ll come with you,” he says.

  I look at him and realize I’ve never really seen him before, not the real him.

  “That’ll be great, it really will,” I say. “They told me they’ve finally gotten rid of all the paparazzi.” I wait and there it is: a look of disappointment comes over his face.

  Jamie’s phone rings again, indicating the arrival of another text. Natty is certainly blowing up his phone.

  “Oh, Jamie, your phone rang, but I was sleeping and I was too lazy to get up and answer it,” I say innocently.

  He walks over to the table, picks the phone up, and reads the text.

  “SHIT!” he says loudly.

  “What’s up?” I ask. I know that what comes next will be a true test of Jamie Fleming’s acting skills.

  “That’s the assistant director, Fred. They need me back on set for a 5:00 a.m. call.”

  Pretty convincing—maybe not Oscar-worthy, but surely Golden Globe-winning.

  “Jamie, how can they do this to you? You just got here. Don’t they know I need you here?” I say, in a very Emmy-worthy performance. And what kind of simple idiot is Jamie? He knows I’m friends with the director and that I can easily find out the truth. What an asshole!

  “I know, babe, but what can I do? I have to go back—I’m the lead,” he says. He sounds so disappointed. Does he have tears in his eyes? I imagine him accepting the Academy Award for the category of BEST CHEATING BOYFRIEND IN A LEAD ROLE. I can hear his speech, which would be a different take on Sally Field’s unforgettable one: “Thank you—I love me—I really, really love me…”

  “Babe—did you hear what I said?” he asks. “I said I better try to change my ticket for later on today or tonight.”

  “Well, you’re probably best off if you head for the airport as soon as possible. I’ll call a car service. Why don’t you see when you can get a flight?”

  “Whoa, hey, hang on. It feels like you want me to leave.” He looks worried.

  “Of course not, but I don’t want you to have any problems with Harvey or the studio,�
�� I reply.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He walks over to me, kisses me, and says, “You’re the most wonderful and understanding woman. I’m really a lucky guy.”

  I get out of the hammock, “No, Jamie, I’m the lucky one. I want to thank you for coming. Your visit really means so much. Now you should probably get on the phone and try to change your flight.”

  I feel empowered, something I have never felt with Jamie before. I walk inside. I can’t get away from him fast enough. I stop in the living room and pick up the photo of my mother and me—the one where she is wearing the leather jacket—to bring to the hospital. Then I see a small photo of my mother and take it out of its frame. It shows her gardening. Whoever took the picture must have called her name and then snapped the pic. She looks a bit surprised, but beautiful and natural. The camera catches the light on her face almost as if it had been planned.

  I go upstairs to pick up my cell phone and the diary, which I plan to read to my Mom later. Maybe something it in will spark a reaction.

  I walk downstairs and see that Jamie looks excited. He says, “Babe, I got a flight out. It’s leaving in three hours—think I can make it?”

  “If you get your stuff and leave now.” In a few minutes, I plan to say goodbye forever to him.

  We kiss goodbye. It is the last kiss I will ever give him. I’ve wasted thousands of my kisses on him. I won’t waste another. He tells me he’ll call me from the airport right before he takes off.

  I wait ten minutes after his car pulls out of the driveway and head for the sailboat.

  I spend the next couple of hours drifting around the Sound, not going too far. There is hardly any wind, so I stay close to shore. The boat rocks back and forth. I let my mind go blank and my body soak up the stillness. A week earlier, if I had read the same text, it would have been a disaster of epic proportions. But now I have no fight left in me for Jamie. I have to muster up all my energy for the days ahead with Mom.

  Why hadn’t I realized sooner what a selfish tool he is? I get a knot in my stomach thinking about my mother and how she was right about him all along. How difficult it must have been for her, knowing that her only daughter was spending her precious time and energy—and oh yes, money—on him.