The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) (13 page)

“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 office 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.

About two weeks later, Fernando got a call from the line producer of my movie, offering him the job as my personal makeup artist. He was ecstatic and grateful to Daisy for making his dream come true. We were thrilled to have him with us.

Tommy visited us when we had time off from shooting, and the four of us spent long, lazy days on the island’s many stunning beaches. One of our very favorites was Agios Ioannis, on the Southwest span of Mykonos. It had soft sand and crystalline blue waters and we’d lie there on the blue lounge chairs and talk or sleep. When the sun was at its hottest, we’d move under the palm-leaf umbrellas and run back and forth into the Aegean to cool ourselves off. By late afternoon, we’d go to our favorite tavernas, eat fresh fish, drink Retsina, and take in the gorgeous sunsets. At night we’d shop at Matogianni, the main shopping area of the island, browsing through the jewelry and designer boutiques, the souvenir shops, and the art galleries. Some evenings we’d stop in at one of
the clubs to hear music, and would always end with a late supper at one of the many fantastic outdoor restaurants on the island.

Later, Tommy told Mom that away from their hectic everyday life, Fernando had realized how much he truly cared about Tommy—and Tommy fell even more deeply in love with Fernando. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

I glance at Fernando as he and Tommy rush over to me in the chapel. Fernando figured that
the most
appropriate outfit to wear to visit his loved one in a coma was an incredibly loose and flowing silk lavender shirt with black Swarovski crystals on the collar, black (very) skinny jeans, and the most gorgeous black Lucchese Classics tooled white wingtip Western boots. (When my mother fully recovers, I must find out if Luchese makes a similar woman’s boot.)

Within a second of their entrance, I find myself in the middle of a group hug.

“We’re so happy to see you, honey. Any word from the doctor?” Tommy asks.

“Not yet. I’m waiting. The nurse is supposed to call me on my cell when she’s out of surgery.”

I’m relieved that the guys are here with me.

Fernando steps back, looks me up and down, and asks disapprovingly, “What’s this?” He points his right forefinger at me and moves it up and down to take in my entire body.

“What’s what?” I ask, confused.

“How do you think your poor mother’s going to feel when she finally wakes up from her coma and sees you looking like
this
? It’ll be too much of a shock for the poor sweetheart!”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Ferny, I’ve been a bit busy,” I say sarcastically, “what with flying across the country in the middle of the night, and sitting scared shitless by my mother’s bedside, praying that she doesn’t have irreparable brain damage. It’s hard to keep up with my beauty routine.

When I finish, I start crying. Even though I know Ferny is trying to distract me, the gravity of the situation is overwhelming.

Tommy shoots Fernando a “now see what you’ve done” look.

Fernando hugs me. “Young lady, Daisy Lockwood will be fine, that I can guarantee. She’s a fighter, that one, and she will come out of this on top. You,
on the other hand, are a disaster.” We laugh, and I hug both of my mother’s dear friends and thank them for coming.

“Nonsense, don’t thank us,” Ferny says. “We’re family; this is where we belong—with you, at a time like this. Now, your makeup, please!” he commands. I try to protest, telling him that makeup is the last thing that I need right now. But I know that fussing is the way Fernando copes with stress. He puts out his hand and I open my purse, pull out my makeup bag, and obediently hand it over.

“Excellent. Hairbrush too, please,” he says. Within a few minutes, he has me looking like myself again.

“Did I tell you Donna’s in the air right now and will be here late tonight, early tomorrow?” he asks me.

“Good,” I say. “I’m glad she got a flight.”

My telephone rings; I answer it as soon as I see that it’s the hospital.

“Lily, Gilda here. Your Mom is being wheeled into recovery now. Dr. Niptau is here waiting to speak to you.”

We take the elevator up to the I.C.U., and find Dr. Niptau in the conference room. I introduce him to my “uncles” and he doesn’t even blink at the obvious lack of family resemblance. Dr. Niptau looks exhausted and even more disheveled than usual.

“The surgery was successful. We were able to operate on the blood vessel that caused the bleeding and take care of the damage. We also found two others that we did not see on the CT scan that had smaller tears. We repaired those as well.”

I now understand what it means when people say their heart soars.

Niptau continues, “We will monitor her closely, especially during the next 24 hours, which are crucial. We’ll be keeping a close eye on her vitals and intra-cranial pressure.”

“When is she going to wake up?” I ask.

“Comas generally last a few days to a few weeks. They rarely last more than two to five weeks, but some comas have lasted as long as several years.”

“So you don’t have any idea when she may come out of it?” Tommy asks.

“We cannot possibly know. And when she does, we cannot predict the state she’ll be in—as far as brain activity.”

My heart goes from soaring to plummeting.

He continues, “I’m not saying that this will be the case, but there is certainly a chance that she may be in a vegetative state. We don’t know. All we can do is wait and see.”

What kind of answer is that? I want a guarantee that my mother is going to come out of this still being the same wonderful, caring, crazy mother that she always has been. But the doctor isn’t giving any guarantees.

“Your mother should be back from recovery in an hour or so.”

Tommy thanks him. Niptau looks relieved as he walks out of the room.

We sit there in silence and shock, each trying to imagine Daisy as anything but vivacious, active, and in control.

We walk back to the I.C.U. waiting room and wait for my mother to be wheeled up from recovery. The television is turned on in the corner and we have the place to ourselves, except for an occasional nurse or maintenance person who enters and exits. We get black coffees from the coffee machine and raid the snack machine.

“They should have a Starbucks in the hospital,” Fernando says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Why are you rolling your eyes?” Fernando asks. “There are Starbucks everywhere—why not here? People need to have their mocha lattes with whipped cream in times of great stress—not this shitty black coffee.”

“The boy’s got a point,” I say.

“Also, they could desperately use a decorator here.” Fernando gestures dramatically. “Do they think just because people are sick with worry about their loved ones in the I.C.U. that they have to look at such dismal decor?”

“Best-selling author Daisy Lockwood is in critical condition at University Hospital, Long Island, New York, after a near-fatal car accident.” We all look up at the television. The show
Hollywood Scoop
is on.

“Her daughter, Lily Lockwood, Emmy-nominated actress and star of the popular television show
St. Joe’s
, flew in from LA late last night to be at her mother’s side.” The cameras show me walking into the hospital, my head down, looking really awful.

“Ouch. I look like shit,” I say.

“Told you so!” Fernando replies, shaking his head.

“Meanwhile,” the announcer continued, “while Lily is at her mother’s bedside, we caught this footage of her significant other, movie actor Jamie Fleming, on a night out.”

The cameras cut to Jamie in a bar getting off a mechanical bull. Everyone is shouting and clapping.

“There goes the poor man’s John Travolta,” Fernando jokes. “They should call his movie
Suburban Cowboy
.” Tommy and I shush him.

Someone off-camera hands Jamie a drink, which he proceeds to down in one shot.

Everyone is laughing and looking pretty wasted. Jamie turns around and hugs a woman. Her back is to the camera, but I can see she is a blonde in a skimpy midriff t-shirt and Daisy Dukes. When she turns around, it is none other than good old Nasty Natty. (Her boobs, by the way, look about ten pounds heavier on camera.)

“Fuck me. Can this day get any worse?” I ask. I throw my empty cup down.

“This insider is certain this footage validates those breakup rumors that have been circulating the last few days.”

“It just got worse,” Fernando says.

“Now on to our sighting of the Brangelina bunch in Maui,” the announcer continues.

“Turn it off, please.” I say. “Enough of that crap!”

“Listen, honey, you don’t know the circumstances, or when this was shot.” Tommy puts his arm around me and continues. “You know those bloodsuckers—you’ve been there—they shoot something and totally edit it to make it look different than it actually was.”

“They should’ve edited more clothes onto her,” I reply. I know Tommy’s probably right, but there it was, in color, on the small screen—for me and the rest of the world to see. How can he look so happy and be having such a blast when my whole world is falling apart?

At that moment, Gilda walks into the waiting room.

“Lily, your mother is back in her room. You can go see her now.”

We all walk in, me first, Tommy and Fernando behind me. We are not ready for what we see. My mother’s hair has been shaved off; part of her head is
wrapped in thick bandages. My first thought is that she is going to be pissed—she loves her hair. Her long dark wavy hair is so
Daisy
.