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

by Alison Caiola

  I hear a burst of laughter spill out of David’s room as I’m walking toward it. I walk in and see he is sitting up in bed, holding court. Hannah is sitting on the side of his bed, holding his hand. Robbie is on the other side, leaning back in his chair so that its front two legs are off the ground and its back is tipped against the wall.

  They turn to look at me. The laughter and the banter abruptly stop. Robbie jumps a little, moving the chair off kilter, and he falls to the floor—hard! We all look at each other and explode with laughter. Robbie stands up, his handsome face blushing.

  “Bro, that’s so funny,” David says. He is breathless from laughing. “You should see your face.”

  Robbie’s face gets dead serious. He looks his brother in the eyes. Without blinking once he says, “Funny? How so?”

  Hannah looks uncomfortable and says, “Robbie…what’s going on?”

  Robbie looks at his mother with the same serious, almost angry expression on his face and says, “Mom. He’s a big boy, he knows what he said.” He turns back to David. “What did you say? Funny, how?”

  David looks a bit sheepish and replies, “Just…ya know, you’re….you’re funny.”

  “What do ya mean, funny? Let me understand this, ’cause, I don’t know, maybe it’s me, I’m a little messed up maybe, but I’m funny how? I mean, funny like I’m a clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh…I’m here to amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?”

  The two Rosen boys start laughing. I catch on that they are reenacting the famous Joe Pesci-Ray Liotta scene from Goodfellas.

  Hannah is still in the dark, and keeps looking from one son to the other. “What is going on?”

  Robbie puts his arm around his mother, leans down and gives her cheek a quick peck. “We’re just fooling around, Ma.”

  Robbie turns his attention to me, and I look at those eyes again. Why do I find it hard to breathe normally around him?

  “Lily, want to sit down?” he grins.

  “I don’t think so. That chair is dangerous. I’d like to keep both feet on the ground, and off my butt.”

  That sends the brothers into another round of laughter. I think about the room I just left. Ferny, Donna, and I in fits of laughter, and now here I am laughing with the Rosens. I feel a wave of guilt come over me. I’ve been laughing off and on for the past hour while my poor mother lays dying. I am a terrible person.

  Hannah picks up on my mood change and walks over to me. “How are you doing, sweetheart? I know this is a very trying time.”

  “I’m doing my best to hang in there. The reality of it, well, it comes and goes in waves.”

  “That’s understandable. Have you eaten anything?”

  I wonder if food is the age-old mother’s answer to all problems. Not that Daisy was ever like that. She would suggest shopping as a cure-all for any ills, not eating.

  “No, I haven’t eaten since I saw you. Guess there was too much happening.”

  Hands on her hips, Hannah Rosen takes full control of the room. “Well, that will never do. Robbie, c’mon, we’re taking this lovely young lady for a good hearty meal.”

  I do not feel like being social. I just want to go home.

  “That’s so sweet of you, Hannah, but my car is in the shop and I already called a service to pick me up. They should be here very soon. I’m beyond tired,” I add.

  She looks at me for a few seconds, than puts her arm around my waist. “I’m going to go back to the hotel. Robbie will take you home.” She looks at Robbie. “And get her something to eat on the way.”

  “The house is way too far, it’s all the way out east,” I protest.

  Robbie looks at me and says, “Lily, let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

  My heart is beating time and a half, and I nod my head in agreement.

  Hannah claps her hands. “Okay, that’s settled. I’ll take the car that you have waiting for you back to my hotel.”

  “Hey, what about me?” David complains.

  “You get to stay here with all the pretty nurses and heal. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to make sure you’re behaving yourself.” His mother kisses him on the top of his head, puts her arm through mine, and we head toward the door.

  A doctor walks in. He’s young, probably a resident. He’s smiling as he approaches the bed. What a novelty that is, a doctor who walks into a hospital room and smiles—it’s a sight I haven’t seen once since I’ve been here. He introduces himself and his smile broadens.

  “Well, Mr. Rosen, we have some fantastic news for you. You and your donor are a match, and we’ve determined that you’re stabile enough to undergo surgery. We can schedule it as soon as the donor dies and the kidney is available!”

  Everyone is understandably happy, but immediately dials down their relief because they know my mother is the donor. I excuse myself, quickly walk out of the room, and stumble into the ladies room, across the hall. I lock the door. My legs buckle and I end up on the white tile floor, which must have recently been mopped, because the smell of ammonia fills my nostrils and burns my eyes. I am rapidly losing control, as if I am free falling and have no clue where and how I am going to land.

  I remember one summer when I was about nine years old. It started out like every other day that August. As soon as I wolfed down the blueberry pancakes Grams had lovingly made from scratch, I grabbed my favorite Little Mermaid towel and ran out of the house and down the grassy hill. As soon as I hit the shoreline, I kicked off my sandals and jumped into the water.

  My mother followed me out of the house, coffee mug in one hand, New York Times in the other, and sat in the Adirondack chair in the backyard.

  “Lily, be careful not to go in too deep,” she called after me.

  “Gosh, Mom, I know! Why do you always have to tell me the same things over and over again? Geez.” I’m sure I rolled my eyes and stamped my snotty little foot.

  My Mom smiled. “That’s part of my job description as Lily Lockwood’s mother. You don’t want me to get fired, do you?”

  I shook my ten-year-old’s head in exasperation, turned my back to her, and, in defiance, ran out into the deep water until my little feet no longer touched the ground. Almost immediately, I felt the pull of a very strong undertow.

  I looked up and saw a massive wall of a wave coming toward me. Within seconds, the wave hit and took me on its wild ride. I was tumbling over and over like a helpless rag doll, not knowing which way was up or down. Suddenly, I felt a strong hand grab the back of my bathing suit hard and lift me out of the swirling chasm. Of course it was my mother. She lifted me up, and I wrapped my arms around her neck, and my legs around her waist.

  When we got back to the shore, she gently placed me on the sand, but I didn’t want to let go. I never wanted to experience that feeling of being so unsafe and so out of control again. And yet, here I was, so many years later, just as terrified, just as disoriented, just as helpless. This time there is no Mom to grab hold of me and place me firmly on the ground again.

  There’s a knock at the restroom door. “Dear, it’s Hannah. Are you okay, honey?” I jump to my feet and stare at the door.

  “Please, darlin’, open up a minute; I’d like to speak with you.”

  I wipe my eyes and slowly open the door. Hannah walks in and locks the door behind her.

  Without skipping a beat, she opens her arms. She is like a huge powerful wave of love and comfort that immediately pulls me toward her. I put my head on her shoulder and cry. The grief I have been trying so hard to control wells up until I can no longer hold it back. We stay like that for a long while, and then Hannah puts her hands on my face.

  “Darlin’, I know this is the worse time in your life. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. But I give you my word from the very bottom of my heart that we are here for you, during this time and for as long as you need us. We are family now.”

  I smile and thank her. She is a kind and sweet woman. Even though she and Daisy ar
e so different in their mannerisms, style, and stature, I felt certain that my mother would immediately take to Hannah, as I have.

  “Now, after spending time with those two hooligans,” she nods in the direction of David’s room, “you may not want to have anything to do with our family.” She smiles, her blue eyes twinkling. I laugh; she takes my hand and leads me out of the ladies room.

  When we get back, the celebratory mood is depleted, and both guys seem genuinely upset. Robbie jumps up out of his seat. “Lily, we’re so sorry. That was really insensitive of us.”

  “We feel like jerks,” David adds.

  “Listen, I understand,” I say. “No worries, truly—I’m just a bit tired and overwhelmed. You guys aren’t jerks.”

  “I don’t know about that. You may want to reserve your opinion until you get to know them better,” Hannah says. That breaks the somber mood, and we all laugh.

  “Now, Robbie, take Lily home, and don’t forget to get her something to eat, and drive carefully; it’s raining cats and dogs out there.” She kisses both of us.

  It’s such an odd turn of events. As Robbie and I ride down the elevator to the lobby I realize that only a couple of days ago, I didn’t know any of them existed, and now, here they are, treating me like family. They genuinely feel that way, I’m certain.

  I’m grateful to have met them—but family? The only family I have is my mother. Of course I know Auntie D., Tommy, and Ferny love me, but Mom and I are a team. We make up the family and always have.

  Like the Southern gentleman he is, Robbie tells me to wait inside the lobby, out of the rain, while he brings the car around. When he pulls up in his old BMW, I think how very different this world is from Beverly Hills. In LA, when the valet pulls up with your car, most Angelenos, at least the ones from Beverly Hills all the way to the west side, would know exactly who you were, where you lived, and what tax bracket you belonged to before you even got behind the wheel. It’s as if they—I should say we—have a special wealth calculator chip implanted in our brains. It seems odd to me now, here in New York, but nobody thinks twice about it at home. That’s just the way things are there.

  At first we drive in silence. It has been a very long day, and we are both exhausted. I watch his strong hands grip the wheel and for a brief moment I wonder what his hands would feel like touching my body. I shudder a little.

  “Lily, are you cold? I can turn up the heat.”

  “No, I’m fine.” What would he think if I turned to him and said, “Actually, Robbie, I was wondering what it would feel like if your hands were caressing my naked flesh.” (I am going to hell for sure!)

  We continue to drive in silence. I notice that from time to time, Robbie glances at me as if he is checking to make sure I am still all right. Sitting next to him, I feel comfortable and safe.

  We exit the expressway, and within ten minutes we are driving slowly on the dark country road, passing farms and vineyards. The quiet thump, thump, thump of the tires on the pavement and the sound of the steady rain on the roof of the car lull me into a half sleep.

  I close my eyes and think of Robbie and what a strong man he is. Not that he’s a gym rat necessarily—although he looks like he has a killer body. I am thinking about the kind of strength that comes from within: strength of character that few, if any, men I have ever been involved with possess. He seems to move through the world with ease. He exudes confidence and a quiet strength. He’s definitely the type of guy I’m sure Daisy would approve of.

  My thoughts are interrupted by another huge roar of thunder. I open my eyes in time to see an enormous lightning bolt zigzag across the dark sky. It startles me, and I jump a little. Robbie touches my shoulder. “You all right?”

  I chuckle. “When it comes to lightning and thunder, I have to admit it, I’m a wuss. I mean it, if I’m not shaking under my bed, I’ll at least have my pillow over my face the entire night!”

  He looks amused.

  “I am such a baby during a really bad storm. To this day, when I’m at the farm and there’s thunder and lightning, I run into my mother’s room just like I did when I was a kid. As a matter of fact, she knows me so well that she has the covers pulled down so I can just jump in.” I laugh, but then suddenly it hits me. That will never, ever happen again. Robbie gives my arm a gentle squeeze.

  “The lightning and thunder were so bad, I ended up sleeping under my bed last night,” I confess.

  “You know, Lil, if you don’t mind and if you have a guest room, I might want stay over, so that I don’t have to drive all the way back into the city in this storm. You think that’ll be okay?”

  I am relieved. “Sure, no problem. I think that’s a good idea. It’ll take you hours to drive back tonight.”

  We are coming upon an all-night supermarket and Robbie turns the car into the lot.

  “I’m going to jump in and pick up a couple of things and whip you up a late dinner,” Robbie says as he pulls in to a parking space. “I’ll just be a minute. Stay in the car. I’ll leave the heat on.”

  It is pouring hard and the few people going in and out of the market are having a hard time walking against the strong gusts of wind. Their umbrellas blow inside out, and they are soaked. I’m happy to be warm and dry.

  While I wait for Robbie to come back, I check my Blackberry. I turned off the ringer hours ago and forgot to check it. I can’t imagine ever doing that at home. Emma calls it my “crackberry” because I’m so addicted to checking my texts, Facebook, Twitter, and news updates. A few weeks ago, it would have been unimaginable for me to go without looking at it for more than six hours. I would never admit it to anyone, but there are times when Jamie and I are sleeping, I wake myself up just to check my messages!

  I see that there are tons of messages. Four from Franny, wanting to make sure I’m all right; some from the cast; a couple from my friends; and some from Mom’s California friends. All are concerned, sending love and prayers. There’s a message from the show’s producer asking if there is anything he can do. I sigh, knowing that as soon as everything is over I’ll have to get my butt back to LA to finish shooting.

  There are three messages from Jamie, begging me to please call him. By the third message, he sounds distraught. I know I have to call him, but not now. I have to figure out what I am going to tell him. I text him that there’s so much going on right now, but I promise to call him soon.

  I look up mid-text to see Robbie, bags in hand, walking toward the car. He doesn’t seem bothered by the soaking rain and isn’t even a little unbalanced against the wind. I quickly lean over and open the driver’s side door for him. He jumps in and puts the bags in the back seat.

  “You, young lady, are going to have the meal of your lifetime tonight.” He starts the car and we are back on the road.

  “Oh yeah?” I respond. “I’ve eaten in some fancy shmancy places, Dr. Rosen. Let me be the judge of just how incredible this so-called meal of my lifetime is going to be.”

  He winks at me and says, “Oh, a challenge. I do love a good challenge, Miss Lockwood!”

  When we get to the farm, Robbie opens a bottle of Merlot, and tells me to take a long hot bath, ordering me not to come out until my skin is wrinkled and pruney.

  “Fantastic—a man who likes wrinkly women. You are a dream come true for the entire female population.” I laugh; grab the glass of wine, and walk up to the bathroom to get myself properly bathed, relaxed, and wrinkled.

  After locking the bathroom door behind me, I wistfully pour my glass of incredibly perfect wine into the toilet and flush. I can’t in good conscious enjoy it, knowing that I would be choosing my own liquid mini-escape from reality over my unborn child’s health. I shudder thinking of all the booze I ingested on the plane ride over. I decide to give myself a break and make the determination that any alcohol consumed prior to discovering I’m pregnant simply doesn’t count and cannot possibly be harmful.

  I light too many candles, overdose the tub with bath salts, bubbles, and oil, and
gratefully slide in. It is delicious. Although I am not able to soak away all the events of the past twenty-four hours, I am able to put some distance between myself, the hospital, and my emotion-filled day.

  I soak in the tub for a stress-releasing, prune-inducing hour and emerge feeling almost normal. I put on my mother’s warm nightgown and fluffy chenille robe. It makes me feel closer to her, somehow. My stomach produces a tigerlike growl and I go downstairs, following the tantalizing aroma that’s miraculously coming from the kitchen. Since Grams died, the only time the house ever smelled this good was when Mom hired her caterer, Barbara Hock, for parties. Otherwise, it is take-out or delivery all the way.

  Robbie has a roaring fire going in the living room and I stare at it for a good five minutes, watching the flames lick the heavy logs. I move closer to the heat. It brings me comfort along with warmth. I think about my mother and how she loves a good fire, and the cold reality pierces my temporary comfort. My mother will never again sit by a roaring fire, drink another glass of her favorite wine, or ever wear this comfortable robe. I shiver, then take a deep breath, force myself to smile, and walk into the kitchen.

  I can’t believe my eyes. Robbie is in the middle of the room, decked out in a chef ’s apron. Where the hell did he find such a thing in my mother’s kitchen? He is surrounded by mixing bowls, spices and utensils I didn’t even know we had. They must be leftovers from the glory days when Granny cooked large meals on the farm.

  Robbie turns to me, and his blue eyes twinkle. “I must say, that’s a look.”

  Hands in my pockets, I do a full twirl and say, “Haute couture, monsieur, at its très finest.”

  “Magnifique,” he laughs. “And that is just about all the French this Southern boy knows.”

  I laugh. “That’s all you need to know!” I walk over to the culinary scene of the crime and take a whiff. “Wow, Robbie, this smells delumptious.”

  “Delumptious? Is that English?”