Once coffee had been poured, pastries grabbed, and the anticipatory hush settled, I launched into my intro, moving confidently into the multiple reasons F&F Advertising was the perfect fit, and what we could do for Lexi’s Lemonade.
Kate and Layla stepped in at crucial points to discuss the budget figures and research demographics, which Alan seemed to appreciate; then Adam transitioned smoothly into our social media campaign. I’d gone with live video rather than graphics to achieve the full effect and had dropped a substantial amount in a gamble that I’d get the account if I spared no expense.
As Adam finished up, I began to notice my nerves tighten and stretch under my skin and my lungs constrict around my breath. I took a sip of water and kept my smile firmly in place. My palms grew damp around the bottle, and I silently prayed Adam would hurry. Once I began speaking, I knew I’d be fine. I was having the strangest performance anxiety, which I’d never experienced before. And unfortunately, the more I tried to relax, the harder it became to breathe.
Thankfully, I heard my cue and stepped front and center. The television behind me geared up with the video.
“Thanks to Kate and Layla for their presentations. And Adam, for his fresh outlook on social media. Personally, I took his advice and gave my own IG account a nice face-lift and I’m proud to report Kylie is now a follower. My teenage daughter was quite impressed.”
They laughed on cue.
I tried to swallow, but there was a giant lump in my throat that wouldn’t budge. I tucked my hands behind my back so no one could notice the shaking.
“The most important thing the public is looking for in a good commercial is the hook. Attention is almost impossible to keep, so we combined the hook with humor and enough mystery to keep them to the very end. It’s also extremely watchable over and over again, which allows Lexi’s Lemonade to always be in the forefront of children’s minds. I’m proud to show you this original production that will make both kids and mothers laugh.”
My vision blurred, then steadied. I could feel a trickle of sweat slide down from my armpits. I gritted my teeth and fought my body with everything I had, desperate to close the deal, lock myself in the bathroom, and then lose my shit.
“Instead of graphics, we produced our own commercial to give you an idea of what it will look like on the screen. And without further ado, I’ll let the work speak for itself. We call this commercial ‘Wishes Do Come True.’ Enjoy.”
Kate pressed the remote and the video began playing.
I knew every second of every frame, every movement and detail. With the lights dimmed, I blinked and tried desperately to focus on the screen, tamping down on the tendrils of panic beginning to hit at the realization that something very bad was happening to me.
In my mind, the commercial unfolded. The little girl running through an intricate maze of vivid colors. Stumbling across a genie lamp and giving it a few rubs. The genie exploding from the bottle, half human, half dog, drawn painstakingly by one of the most talented graphic artists in the industry, who happened to be a friend of mine. “What are your three wishes?” the odd monster boomed to the little girl.
A horrible, slicing pain squeezed tight around my heart. My breath felt strangled, and I began gasping, desperate to get air. The pictures kept flickering across the screen.
The little girl does a happy dance and flashes a gap-toothed smile. “I wish for a box of Lexi’s Lemonade!” she shouts to the genie.
Immediately, a puff of pink smoke swirls and the familiar box of juice is in the girl’s hands. “Wish granted. What is your second wish?”
“I wish for a box of Lexi’s Lemonade!” she says again.
The genie frowns, then nods. A puff of blue smoke appears along with another box.
I tried to suck in a breath but there was no air. I was dying. I was having a heart attack right in front of my clients, and there was nothing I could do about it. A vision of Allegra swam past me, and my hands fisted in helpless fear as I began to crumble to the ground, trying to shout for help.
“Wish granted. What is your third wish?” the genie asked.
“I wish for a box of Lexi’s Lemonade!” the girl yells.
A puff of glittery silver smoke, and then the lemonade is in her hand. The girl hugs all three boxes to her, beaming.
“Your wishes are granted,” the genie announced.
“Thank you, genie. Boy, I wish I had one more wish left. I’d wish for a lifetime supply of Lexi’s Lemonade!”
The genie shook his head in obvious confusion, then shrugged. “Before I go back in my lamp, do you think I can have one? I don’t want to wait another ten thousand years to taste Lexi’s Lemonade.”
“Sure!” The little girl gives the genie one of her boxes and they both drink.
The words pop on the screen in huge neon glitter letters.
Lexi’s Lemonade—Make All Your Wishes Come True!
Good for Moms Too—100% Organic and Packed in the World’s First Recyclable Boxes!
With a pain wracking my chest, my lungs unable to draw in any air, I hit the floor as dim shouts seemed to come from far away. I clawed for focus, but my vision blurred and the room did a drunken spin. The words got stuck in my throat and refused to emerge. In those final moments before I lost consciousness, one thought repeated over and over.
I should have brought the meeting to a close earlier.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sophia
The day my husband died, I won two thousand dollars.
I was with my church friend, Kathy Burke, and she had talked me into heading over to bingo after Saturday mass. Jack had said he wasn’t feeling well and was going to stay home, and I didn’t give it much thought. I remember telling him I wasn’t sure if I was going to bingo and did he want me to check in, but he said no, if I didn’t come home by six, he’d put in the leftover chicken and take care of himself.
The mass was long because Father Bill was dealing with some drama from the fallout of the church mergers, and some of the congregation had a bee in their bonnet about mass times getting cut. After he addressed the issues, he went into a detailed sermon on forgiveness (probably directed at the specific people who’d been giving him a hard time), and then the birthday blessings came up, and by the time I’d shaken Father Bill’s hand, I just wanted to go home and watch a movie with Jack.
But Kathy was insistent, so I told her I’d go for a short time. The event ended up being more fun than I’d expected. A group of friends flocked over, and we had a whole table to ourselves, and they even served some wine, which was rare. The time flew, and I ended up winning the final game of the night, which was the big jackpot.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d never won anything in my life. And two thousand dollars was a huge amount of money for us at the time. I remember how excited I was to tell Jack. I decided not to text or call but to surprise him when I got home. We’d make plans to go out to a fancy dinner with Francesca to celebrate. I drove home singing to Justin Timberlake, who seemed like such a nice boy with an amazing voice, and was surprised when I walked in and saw there were no dishes in the sink and the television wasn’t on. Jack had never washed a dish in his life and I didn’t expect him to start now, so that meant he hadn’t eaten dinner. Had he gone to bed already?
I walked up the stairs and found him dead on the carpeted floor of our bedroom.
Nothing was out of place. No phone by his side to call 911. He was dressed in his normal outfit of loose khaki pants and a white shirt. His face didn’t reflect any distress or regret or pain. It was just smooth and expressionless.
And gone.
Jack was no longer in there. The body had been just a shell after all. And as I called 911 and felt the hysterics begin deep in my bones, the full horror unfolding over losing the man I’d been with for my entire life, I wondered, if I hadn’t stayed for bingo, would he still be alive
?
I never told Frannie about the money or being at bingo. I donated the funds back to the church and buried the knowledge deep. But right now, walking into the hospital to see my daughter, I couldn’t stop wondering whether one bad decision can wreck the rest of one’s life. If I’d come home from mass, maybe I could have saved my husband, and then maybe Frannie wouldn’t have collapsed at forty-eight years old.
Men plan and God laughs, the familiar voice whispered. Why are you still obsessing about that? You should have never donated the damn money. You could have used it.
Shush, I told Jack, hurrying my steps to the nurse’s desk. It was blood money. I didn’t want it.
You’ve been watching too many old movies on TCM. It was from church bingo and it wasn’t your fault.
I had no time to converse with my dead husband right now. Instead, I gave them my name, and they told me floor four, and I got off and made my way to the nurses’ station. I tried to remain strong for my daughter’s sake.
Dear God, let her be okay. If I lose her, I won’t be able to cope.
My voice shook but at least it worked. “Francesca Ferrari. She’s my daughter.”
The nurse smiled and gestured down the hall. “Room 404. The doctor will be there shortly.”
“Thank you.”
They’d told me she was out of danger, but that was all I knew. I walked in and she was propped up in bed with some pillows behind her, eyes closed. I stopped at the edge of the bed, trying hard not to cry. She looked so fragile. None of her usual strength and force radiated from her figure. Even when she was young, she’d run from place to place with a determined focus to conquer every task. “Frannie?” I said softly.
Her eyes flew open. “Mom.” She shook her head, a self-conscious smile curving her lips. “I had an incident.”
I sighed and sat down, my hand automatically reaching for hers as I reassured myself she was okay. She accepted my embrace, her fingers curling around mine, and for a moment I remembered when she was young and used to hold my hand for guidance, her warm flesh a comfort and guiding light for every second of my day. Now I grabbed any crumbs my daughter would give me and was grateful.
I never realized motherhood could be so awfully lonely.
“What happened, sweetheart? What did the doctors say?”
“I was positive it was a heart attack. I never felt like that before—like I couldn’t breathe, and with this intense pain in my chest. It was awful. I collapsed at my meeting. They did a whole bunch of tests, but I feel fine now. The doctor said he’d be here to give me the results soon.”
I nodded, covering up the raw fear by rationalizing that if it was something serious, it could be fixed. Medicine was amazing nowadays, and she was young. “Okay. What about Allegra? Should I call her?”
“No!” She glared, showing some of her familiar spunk. “I don’t want her to know anything until I hear what the doctors say. There’s no need for her to panic and miss school.”
“Okay. Have you had any of these symptoms before? When was your last physical?”
She glanced away and dropped my hand. I’d already lost her. Irritation glimmered in her brown eyes. “Yes—I go every year, and everything was fine. I’ve had some anxiety issues lately, but I figured it was just the stress of this new account.”
I held my tongue, even though I shook with the need to scold her for being so blasé about her health. “It could be premenopausal,” I suggested. “I had a hard time around fifty. Night sweats and emotional breakdowns. I ended up going on hormones for a while.”
She seemed thoughtful, and I felt ridiculously proud of myself. “That makes sense. Maybe I’ll go to one of those Chinese practitioners that use herbs and holistic medicine.”
I didn’t like the idea of not using a medical doctor but, again, kept silent. She let me fuss a bit and comfort her, and then the doctor came in.
Immediately, I relaxed. He came into the room with a confidence that screamed, I can fix you! He paused in the doorway to clean his hands, which gave me time to study him. He even looked the part—tall, with thick dark hair and a strong face. He wore trendy glasses and his white coat was clean and starched. He seemed old enough to have treated plenty of patients to know what he was doing. He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth, and greeted us in a booming voice. Even better was his ringless finger. Francesca would be a perfect fit for him.
“I’m Dr. Hollingsworth,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand.
“I’m Sophia,” I said, boldly gazing into his bright blue eyes. “Frannie’s mother.”
“Good to meet you. And how is our patient doing?” He reached over and did a quick check on Frannie’s vitals. I noticed my daughter tense when he drew near. Was she attracted to him? I always knew she needed a strong man in her life, one with a respectable career to challenge her.
“Better,” she responded with a smile.
“Good. We have the results of the tests back and I have good news. There was no heart attack.”
My muscles practically collapsed with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“What caused the breakdown?” Frannie asked. “It felt like one.”
He nodded, a frown creasing his brow. “I understand. What you experienced was a classic panic attack. Very commonly mistaken for a heart attack due to the intense bodily reactions. Have you had one of these before?”
Frannie blinked, averting her gaze. “No. Well, I’ve been having some breathing problems, but I knew it was stress. I never collapsed.”
Shock barreled through me. Dear God, it was happening all over again. I’d watched my husband suffer for years to control his panic attacks, but I never thought Frannie would have the same problem. Somehow, I’d believed she was different.
The doctor continued. “It’s a scary experience. Most of my patients who experience these attacks are under a good deal of stress or going through a big change. Divorce, death in the family, new job, et cetera.”
“What can I do? I never want to go through something like that again. It happened in front of my clients.”
Sympathy emanated from his blue eyes. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure for panic attacks. I’d suggest seeing a therapist who can give you coping tools or prescribe antianxiety medication. Many of my patients have changed their diet or used exercise to help manage the stress. I’d be happy to give you a referral to a therapist who specializes in anxiety. But your blood results came back perfect. You’re in wonderful health, so there’s no need to be concerned. Do you have any questions for me?”
Frannie stared back at him, an array of raw emotions flickering across her face. I noticed the fear the most. The idea that my strong daughter couldn’t control her body would torture her. I knew she’d punish herself, thinking the breakdown was weakness.
Just like Jack.
“I don’t think so,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “Feel free to contact me anytime. I’ll give you the referral.”
I had to interrupt. “Doctor, do you think taking some time off has an effect on stress?”
“Do you have a stressful job, Frannie?”
“Yes, I own an advertising business.”
He cocked his head with interest. “Impressive. Do you know before I decided on premed, I worked at an ad firm for a while. I was a bit lost in my youth and tried a few different paths before deciding to commit,” he said wryly.
“Which one?” Frannie asked.
“Duke and Liebowitz.”
She lit up. “Yes! I was over at Emerson Advertising.”
“Our competitors.” His laugh was deep and rich. I kept quiet, hoping their conversation would keep going. “I’ll have to check out your website. Do you enjoy the work?”
“Yes, when I’m not collapsing in front of my new client.”
He laughed again. “Just remember it’s quite common and comple
tely treatable. And to answer your mother, yes. Taking some time off may be just what you need to reset, if you can manage. I certainly know about demanding work schedules, but health should come first.”
Frannie thanked him, and he gave her a kind smile, but when he turned to leave and she hadn’t said anything else, I jumped in. “Could we have your card, Doctor?”
“Of course.” He plucked one out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Please call me if there are any issues.”
I noticed he gave Frannie a pointed look, but then he quickly exited the room and I had no time to stall him. I’d save the matchmaking for later. Right now, I had to convince my daughter it was time to take a vacation. It hadn’t worked with her father, but this time, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I think you should make the therapist appointment.”
She gave a sigh and rubbed her temples. The stress was back in her face and the doctor had just left. “Yeah, I know. I’ll look into that. But I think there was something else contributing to this whole attack.”
My own heart started pounding crazily at my daughter’s expression. “What is it?”
Slowly, she told me all about Allegra. The drugs. The police. Her idea of taking off with these hooligans for the summer. Not my sweet Allegra. This wasn’t like her at all—I’d known she felt lost, but I’d never imagined her making such bad decisions. Were things worse than I’d thought? I pressed my fingers to my mouth and tried to regain my composure.
“Will she have a record? Does she have to appear in court? What’s going to happen to her?”
“Right now, she has to appear before the judge. I’ll hire a lawyer, but she didn’t have any weed on her and wasn’t high at the time, so that may help. Of course, the driver was, which makes it a hell of a lot worse.”
“She could have been killed.” The words lay flat and lifeless between us.
Frustration sparked from her. “I expected some teen-rebellion stuff, but nothing like this. I don’t know, I was probably naïve to think she wouldn’t try pot, but getting in the car with a driver who’s high? What else has she been doing that I don’t know about? I left a message at her school and I contacted Bonnie’s and Claire’s mothers to see if they know anything. She’s just so angry.”
Our Italian Summer Page 7
