The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) (32 page)

“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!”

W
hen 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?”

“Yes, it is. It’s one of my Mom’s words. It’s a blend of delicious and scrumptious. And it is the highest compliment a chef can receive.”

I open the oven and see that there are two perfect overstuffed pot pies happily baking their hearts out in my mother’s rarely used oven.

“Are you kidding me? Pot pies? You made them from
scratch
?” I am amazed. He nods. “Sounds to me I’m on my way to winning this challenge.”

“Well, I’ll give you points for yummy smells, but as they say, the proof is in the pudding. I reserve my right to withhold judgment until we eat. One thing I will concede, pot pies are my very favorite. But up until now I thought they only come frozen.”

He pours himself another glass of wine and I shake my head when he goes to fill my empty glass. “Let’s hope they’re delumptious then.” He removes his apron and asks, “While the pies are in the oven, Lil, can I get cleaned up?”

“Oh, of course you can. Just go up the stairs, take a left, and the first bedroom on the left is yours. The bathroom’s right off of it.” After he heads upstairs, I walk back into the living room and stretch out cat-style on the couch.
I listen to the rain on the roof and am mesmerized by the fire dancing in front of me.

It really is pretty amazing how a person has the ability to compartmentalize her emotions. When I left the hospital, I felt dejected, grumpy, and tired. And now, after just a few hours, a long soak in the bath, and the promise of a hearty meal, I am relaxed.

I can’t believe Robbie actually made pot pies. He seems like one of the good ones. Now
he
is someone Mom would pick for me.

She would say, “Lily of the Valley, he’s handsome, he has manners, he loves his mother, he’s a doctor, and he is not an actor!” And I probably would totally avoid him. If it is someone my mother wants me to be with, unfortunately that is the kiss of death for that guy. I wouldn’t give him a second glance. Jamie fit right into my picture of terrific. Cute, hot body, and my mother absolutely did not like him from the minute they met.

Mom was living back East, taking care of Grams at the farmhouse. I’d met Jamie on set, maybe a few months before. The relationship was hot and heavy. He wasn’t living with me at the Malibu house yet, but he was spending a lot of time there.

Mom and I hadn’t seen each other for three months, which was like a lifetime for us, since we’ve always been practically attached at the hip. She decided it would be the coolest thing ever if she came out for a surprise visit.

It was during the week. I was on set, and Jamie, an unemployed actor at the time, was hanging out at the house, waiting for me to come home. Mom went into the house and brought her suitcases up to the master bedroom. There was Jamie sprawled across the bed, buck-naked. She screamed.

Later on, when she calmed down—and trust me, it was
much
later on—she told me she’d never seen anyone jump so high while lying down. She said it looked as if he were being forcibly levitated.

I must have laughed out loud, because Robbie, who is halfway down the staircase, says, “Hey, what’s so funny? Feel like sharing it with the rest of the class?”

I jump to my feet. “It’s nothing, just a funny story my Mom once told me. Hey, I’m starving. Is it chow time yet?”

We eat together, and Robbie is right; the meal is terrific. I concede that he is indeed the challenge winner. I laugh when he performs his best Rocky post-knockout victory dance around the kitchen. He deserves it.

The final crusty crumb is devoured and Robbie suggests we sit in front of the fire, he on the couch, and me on the overstuffed chair and a half. I wrap my Mom’s afghan tightly around me, the one Granny made years ago. I ask him when he will be leaving to join Doctors Without Borders, and if he would mind telling me exactly what the organization is.

“It’s an international medical humanitarian organization that was started in the early 1970s by doctors and journalists.” He leans toward me. His eyes light up and it’s crystal clear just how passionate he is about the subject.

“It provides independent, impartial assistance in more than sixty or so countries to people whose survival is threatened. They have to be impartial while they provide first-rate medical care. But, Lily, while the care they give is important, they must also bear impartial witness to atrocities that are going on in these third-world countries—atrocities that may never fully be recognized. You can’t imagine what’s going on there. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, as if to block out something terrible.

He drinks his wine and continues. “They’re not supposed to get involved, ever, but while giving medical care to the people of Rwanda, the group was able to call for an international military response to the genocide they were witnessing. And in 2004 and 2005, they called on the United Nations Security Council to pay greater attention to the crises in Darfur.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “You can’t imagine what an incredible honor it is to work with this organization.”

“It sounds amazing, Robbie. To know that you’re making a difference in so many lives, it must feel so rewarding.”

“Well, I know it makes a difference in my life, Lil,” he says softly.

“So when do you leave and where will you go?” I ask, trying to ignore the fast-growing lump in my throat.

“That depends; I’m supposed to leave in a couple of weeks. I know I’ll be going to Africa. Not exactly sure what part they’ll send me to. Wherever I’m needed most, I imagine. I’ll be gone for almost nine months this time.”

The lump is now the size of a boulder, and I swallow hard, really hard.

He smiles and says, “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your acting. Mom’s a huge fan of
St. Joe’s
. I’ve never seen it, but she says you’re a big star.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I protest. “You really expect me to talk about my unimportant role on a silly
television series
, after hearing about all your life-saving work in third-world countries? I think not, Dr. Rosen.”

“You know, Lily, you also provide an important service. People, especially with this downturn in the economy, need a diversion, something entertaining to keep their minds off their troubles.”

“As kind as that sounds, I don’t believe you for a minute. But you’re sweet to say so.” I stand up and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner and for staying with me, but it’s getting late and I’m exhausted. Do you need anything—an extra blanket, towels…anything?

“No, you go on to bed; I’m going to clean up the dishes. By that time the fire will be out. Have a good sleep, Lil. I enjoyed our night together.”

“Wow, a man as handsome, smart, and good as you, who also shops, cooks
and
does the dishes. You’re going to make some lucky girl a very happy wife one day.” He looks up quickly, and an odd expression crosses his face. Before I have a chance to say anything, the phone rings. I recognized the number as the hospital switchboard. I stare at the phone for a second, afraid to pick it up. Afraid of what I’ll hear on the other end.

“Hello?” I answer, hesitantly.

“Miss Lockwood, it’s Lydia, your mother’s nurse.” Without realizing it, I grab Robbie’s hand for support and squeeze tight.

“I’m just calling to check in. I want to tell you, there are some substantial changes. Her breathing is considerably more shallow and faster than it was this afternoon.”

“Shallow and faster—what does that mean, exactly? What should I do? Should I come back to the hospital? I want to be with her when…”