“Oh, my name is Celia. Mum is doing fine. I’ve been making sure she is turned frequently and I am attending to her wounds.”
“Great. Has the doctor come by yet?” I ask.
“Not yet, miss, but I can call you when he does,” Celia says.
“Do me a favor; please ask him to call me when the results come in. I’ll be at the hospital later,” I say. “Oh, and Celia, can you make sure to speak to my mother and read to her, please?”
“What shall I read her?” she asks.
I think for a minute. “Please go down to the gift shop and buy any fashion or entertainment magazines you can find and read them to her. I’ll reimburse you when I see you.”
I peek into the bathroom to see if anything has appeared on the wand. I’m too far away to see. I don’t want to move closer, for fear of jinxing it.
“Yes, I can do that, ma’am, no problem,” Celia replies.
I thank her, and hang up. I stand by the bathroom door. I am too afraid to go in and too nervous to walk away. I’m frozen. I will gather all my strength, walk over to that tiny wand, and read the results. I inch my way over, stop, turn around, and stand outside the bathroom. This is ridiculous; I take a deep breath and walk right over to it.
HOLY CRAP, I can’t believe my eyes! There’s a blue + in the results window. I stare at it. Maybe the light in the bathroom isn’t bright enough. Maybe I’m just not seeing it clearly. Yeah, that’s it. I take the wand to the bedroom window and hold it up to the light. The few steps to the window doesn’t change the results. The + sign is as clear as day. I am definitely pregnant.
I stare at the wand for a good ten minutes. This whole thing feels like something out of a bad soap opera. I take the wand and go downstairs to the kitchen. I place it on the counter while I make coffee and cereal. I stare at it while I eat breakfast.
The damned thing doesn’t change.
I close my eyes and pray, “Dear God, listen, I know I haven’t been one of your best-case religious scenarios up to this point. But I can change. I just need a couple of things from you. Here’s the deal. Forget Jamie. I know I’ve prayed to you about him before—but he’s history. I took care of him without your help, thank you very much. Now, Mom—she needs to come to and be herself again. And third, dear God, see this wand—you have to change the positive into a negative. You usually change negatives into positives. This is your chance to be a lot more creative. Now I know you’ve done some incredible things. Take the Red Sea—you parted it. That was big. And how about bringing your son back to life? Huge! I only need two small favors. I need my mother back, and I need not to be pregnant. Amen.” I count to ten and open my eyes. I look at the wand. The + is darker and seems even brighter than before.
“Great, thanks. Thanks for nothing!”
I walk outside and sit in the rocking chair. How can I have a baby? I still feel like a child myself! As a knee-jerk reaction, I grab for my phone to call my mother. I put it down. Daisy will not be on the other end.
The last time I thought I was pregnant, I waited for what seemed like forever for Jamie to come back home from Savon with the home pregnancy test. I was lying on the couch in Malibu, debating whether to call my mother. I knew she would have an opinion, a strong one, and, I was certain, a loud one. She always did. Did I want to go through the whole “Lily, how could you be so careless” diatribe that would be her immediate reaction? I decided that getting it off my chest and onto hers would be worth the annoyance of her immediate tirade. I knew that after Daisy had blown off steam, she would go full throttle with great advice. I called her. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, and took a deep breath.
“Hi, baby girl,” she replied. Strange she would call me that.
“Mom, can you talk?” I asked, knowing that the best way to talk to her was to be direct and fast. Anything less made her crazy.
“Sure, just making lunch, what’s up?” I heard plates rattling in the background.
“I may be pregnant,” I said, direct and fast. I heard plates crash to the floor. Maybe too direct and too fast.
She paused and said, “How late are you?”
“Just a few days. Jamie’s going to Savon to get a pregnancy test.” I waited for her to say what was surely to come.
“Well, it would probably be best to take the test and then see what’s what,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Okay, I thought to myself, who are you and what did you do to my mother?
“Well, if I am …” I said, and waited for her to finish the sentence for me.
“If you are, what are your options?” she asked.
“I guess I can either have an abortion or have the baby. What do you think?” I asked, and held my breath waiting for the answer.
“You and Jamie will have to discuss it and see if you’re ready for the commitment. And if not, you have choices,” she said.
I was really worried. I thought for a second that maybe she’d been abducted by aliens and that they’d left a Stepford Mother in her place.
She sighed and said, “Lily, you have to be an adult, and make adult decisions.”
“Okay, Mom—what’s up with you?” I said, feeling panic set in. “You’re worrying me now. I asked your opinion and you’re telling me it’s up to me? What kind of answer is that?”
She laughed and said, “Lily, that’s the answer. You and Jamie need to discuss it. Listen, some people don’t have the luxury of having a partner to discuss this with. Jamie, whether I think he’s for you or not—and for the record, I adamantly don’t—is your partner.”
Well, I thought to myself, at least she said that. Had she told me she thought Jamie was a perfect choice for a husband, I would’ve gotten on the next plane to New York to check on her mental competency.
“Well, I guess that’s what I’m gonna do then,” I said timidly, wondering if my mother had stopped caring for me. “Do you want me to call you after I’ve taken the test?”
And that was the whole strange conversation. When I called to tell her I wasn’t pregnant, I expected her to berate me and tell me to use this as a lesson for the future. But I got none of that. She just sighed again and said, “Okay, thanks for calling.”
So I suppose that would be her answer to me now. Only, I don’t have a partner to discuss things with—not really. I have to figure it out for myself, which is almost as scary as being pregnant. I can’t tell Jamie now. I’m sure he would use my pregnancy to get back with me. That’s the last thing I need. I don’t know much, but what I do know is that we’re done. Having his baby, or not having it, isn’t going to change that fact.
There is no way that I can keep this child, no way! I woke up less than an hour ago and already I feel completely exhausted. I need to go through my mother’s paperwork to try to find her living will. I cannot possibly think about the results of the wand and what it means. And all the decisions I’ll have to make. SHIT! I cannot believe this. Better to think about something else now.
I walk inside and go to the back of the house, to my mother’s office. This room is definitely her very favorite. I open the door slowly and realize I’ve never been in her office when she wasn’t around. When I was young, her office was her sanctuary, her creative place, where she went off to write fantastic stories. When it was quiet and she was all alone, this was where, she always told me, her creative juices flowed and flowed.
When I was little and wanted to be close to her, I’d sneak in and sit as quietly as possible, hoping not to dry up her juices.
I slowly walk in. The room is lovely, so neat and minimalist. All the other rooms in the house have a really comfy, overstuffed, lots-of-pillows-and throws feel, but this is totally different. The long mahogany desk faces a large window overlooking the Sound. Next to it stands a matching file cabinet. The wall, across from the desk, is dominated by built-in bookshelves lined neatly with books and a few photos related to honors Mom has received. And of course there are a few photos of me in differen
t stages of my life. I pick up one photo, a candid shot of me when I’m about five or six. I’m sitting on the dock, fishing with Gramps. Grams is next to us in the rocker, laughing.
I put the photo down, open the file cabinet and start to rummage through the files. Her contracts, my contracts from years ago, her bills, mortgage info for the Malibu house and NYC apartment—but no personal documents.
I remember the last time I was home, I needed my birth certificate. Where did she get it from? It wasn’t from her office. Was it in her bedroom? Now I remember that she went into her bedroom closet and pulled it out of a metal case.
I run back upstairs to her room and into her large walk-in closet. I close my eyes and try to remember which side of the closet she had gotten the box from.
After fifteen minutes, I find it in the very back, under the first shelf of shoes. I yank on the metal case. It doesn’t budge. Not even a bit. I try again. In mid-pull, I hear my phone ring in the kitchen. I leave the case and run downstairs. By the time I reach the top of the steps, the phone stops ringing. I go back into the closet and use all my strength to pull out the metal box. Then the house phone rings.
“SHIT!” I answer the phone that’s by the side of the bed.
“Hello,” I bark.
“Well, you sound like you’re having a great day,” Auntie D. says.
“Yeah, well, in the history of days—this is not one of my best.”
“Oh no, want to talk about it?”
“Not now.”
“Okay, I’m around if you want to talk. Oh, I just called the I.C.U. and they said you have a private nurse?”
“Yeah, I want someone there for her, turning her more often and talking to her,” I say.
“Good call,” she says approvingly.
“Thanks. So how did it go last night?”
“Great, first time playing Carnegie Hall. I opened for Andrea Bocelli. The singer I subbed for is his protégée. It was fantastic. Wish your…” She stops. I know what she is going to say: that she wishes my mom had been in the audience. She changes the subject. “So did you find out anything about the passenger in the car?”
I tell her about my short visit with David. “I’m gonna try visiting him later. Meanwhile, I’m searching for Mom’s documents for the hospital. What time do you think you’ll be there?” I ask her. I start making my Mom’s bed. I count ten decorative pillows. That’s six too many cutesy pillows for one bed.
“The guys and I will be there around one or two. And you?”
“As soon as I find what I need. Hopefully it won’t take too long.” I take four pillows off the bed and throw them on the floor. “Also, I have something I need to talk to you about,” I say.
“You want to tell me now? I have time.”
“No, let’s talk later.” I say. Telling Auntie D. about the pregnancy will make it real. I’m not ready for real yet.
“Okay. See you later, honey.” Donna hangs up. I put the four pillows back on the bed, because that’s how Mom likes it. All ten pillows are in their perfect place. I go back into the closet.
I’m finally able to pull the metal box down. It is heavier than it looks; I fall backwards from the weight of it. If I can manage to lock myself in the closet, the day will be complete.
I carry the box over to the bed and go through it methodically. I find my mother’s passport and birth certificate, an envelope with donor recipient information, and her parents’ death certificates. There are two small bundles of airmail letters tied with yellow ribbons. They are addressed to Daisy Edwards from PFC Steve Santini.
It will be interesting to read them later on, when I have some downtime at the hospital. I find another letter outside the ribbon, on delicate stationery, with flowers on the border—the type that people just don’t use anymore. I read it:
January 10, 1972
Dear Daisy,
Steve Sr. and I were saddened not to see you at the funeral. But with all the turmoil we are sure you are experiencing, we certainly understand. You were missed by the whole family and by Steve’s friends. Father Thomas Reynolds from our church presided over the ceremony, and it was beautiful. They really captured the spirit and the essence of the boy we loved. Steve is buried in Long Island National Cemetery in Farmingdale.
Steve Sr. and I will be visiting his gravesite most Sundays if you would like us to pick you up. We would be more than happy to do so.
We understand the sorrow you are feeling. We know how much Steve Jr. loved you and we certainly never want to lose touch with you. We were presented with the American flag and honored with the Purple Heart. We would like you to have this esteemed medal. Steve would certainly want that. We pray for you every day.
Sincerely,
Steven and Grace Santini
I finish reading the letter and tears fill my eyes. The mystery is solved: Mom’s first love died in combat. I put aside the two stacks of his letters so that I can read them another time. What a tragedy. I close my eyes. I could only imagine what a horror Steve’s death must have been for young Daisy. How did she overcome such a loss? I’ll make sure to ask Auntie D. about it all.
I continue to search for Mom’s living will. I find her regular will and go through it quickly. I read that I am named as sole heir, but I can’t bring myself to read the details. I pray that I won’t need to read it for many, many years to come.
Wedged in the corner of the box, I see an old photo, one of those snaps from a Polaroid Instamatic camera—like the ones casting directors use to take to capture what the actor who’s auditioning looks like in real life.
My mother is in a hospital gown, in bed, holding a newborn baby—me—in her arms. Auntie D. is standing next to her, smiling. They both look so young.
It’s a photo I know I have never seen before, but it somehow seems familiar. I take it out of the box and put it aside to frame and bring to her.
Staring at this photo, I think of the baby growing inside of me. It is overwhelming and I start to cry. I lie down on the closet floor and sob until I’m emotionally exhausted and can’t shed another tear. I lie there for a good half hour, just looking at the ceiling in the closet and wondering how in two weeks, my life could go from exciting and fun to scary and tragic.
While lying there, letting my mind wander, I realize I know why the photo seems familiar. In the dream I had the other day, my mother was holding a baby. How odd is that? I try to remember what the baby looked like, but all I can really remember is that after I asked whose baby it was, Mom answered, “She’s for me.”
I stand up to continue my search for the living will. Within a few minutes I find it.
LIVING WILL DECLARATION of
Daisy Edwards Lockwood dated 4th of June in the year 1997
To my family, doctors, hospitals, surgeons, medical care providers, and all others concerned with my care:
I, Daisy Edwards Lockwood, being of sound mind and rational thought, willfully and voluntarily make this declaration to be followed if I become incompetent or incapacitated to the extent that I am unable to communicate my wishes, desires and preferences on my own.
This declaration reflects my firm, informed, and settled commitment to refuse life-sustaining medical care and treatment under the circumstances that are indicated below.
This declaration and the following directions are an expression of my legal right to refuse medical care and treatment. I expect and trust the above-mentioned parties to regard themselves as legally and morally bound to act in accordance with my wishes, desires, and preferences. The above-mentioned parties should therefore be free from any legal liabilities for having followed this declaration and the directions that it contains.
DIRECTIONS
1. I direct my attending physician or primary care physician to withhold or withdraw life-sustaining medical care and treatment that is serving only to prolong the process of my dying if I should be in an incurable or irreversible mental or physical condition with no reasonable medical expectation of recovery.
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2. I direct that treatment be limited to measures which are designed to keep me comfortable and to relieve pain, including any pain which might occur from the withholding or withdrawing of life-sustaining medical care or treatment.
3. I direct that if I am in the condition described in item 1, above, it be remembered that I specifically do not want the following forms of medical care and treatment:
A. Intubation
B. Medical Ventilator
C. Feeding Tube -Nasogastric or Gastic
E. Dialysis
Daisy Edwards Lockwood
Lila Schwartz witness
Paul Roderick Esq
I finally hear from Dr. Grippi. Two hours have passed since I faxed my mother’s living will to the hospital. She tells me that Dr. Niptau would like me to meet with me later, at 5 p.m. A feeling of trepidation blankets my being. It is stifling. And suddenly breathing is difficult. I ask nervously, “Before the meeting, can you give me an idea of what we’re going to talk about?” I wait. She clears her throat (a nervous tic she has that signals bad news is coming) and says, “I’m really sorry, Dr. Niptau will fill you in on all the details. I don’t have the chart in front of me.”
I ask, “Well can you at least tell me if you received the fax I sent you?”
“Yes, thank you—we have it in her file.” She sounds rushed. She definitely wants out of the conversation and off the phone.
“So I’ll tell Dr. Niptau that you will be in the conference room at five, correct?”
(The fucking conference room. Shit, here we go again!)
I call Auntie D. and tell her about the living will and the impending meeting. There is silence on the other end.
“Are you there?” I ask, thinking the call may have been dropped.
She finally answers. She sounds tired. “I’m here.”
“In a million years I would never guess that this would happen to Mom. That we would be doing…this,” I tell her. I hear Auntie D. sniffling on the other end of the phone.
“Let’s wait and see,” she says, and blows her nose. “We can’t worry until we have all the facts. Isn’t that what Daisy always tells you?”
The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) Page 17
