The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) (35 page)

Donna is, of course, right. As close as Robbie and I have become, with all the intimate moments woven together to design the fabric of our new relationship, this is something that could potentially unravel it all. I’ve tried to tell him about the pregnancy, but I haven’t been able to gather up the courage. The more precious moments we spend together, the more difficult it becomes.

Robbie and I take a long hike a few days before the Memorial Gala. We want to get away from the house for a few hours, because there are vendors everywhere getting the place ready for the event. In four short days, he will be gone and I shiver just thinking about it. I am, without a doubt, absolutely attached to him. I dread saying goodbye; I can’t imagine not having him with me.

We walk in silence, hold hands, and take in the scenery. The wooded area that we are walking through is quiet. The only sounds are the crunching of the fallen leaves under our feet. The birds are chirping, and every so often there’s a rustling noise as a little critter burrows away from us.

Robbie breaks the silence. “I found out about your secret.”

My stomach drops. “What?” I ask.

“Did you think I wasn’t gonna find out?”

“Well…” I stammer. My mind is racing a mile a minute, thinking of the right thing to say.

“You’re up for an Emmy! Congratulations.” He hugs me.

I nod my head, willing myself not to faint.

He smiles. “So when were you going to tell me, Ms. Lockwood?”

“After I won?”

He stops walking. “Ah, I see. So when is it?”

“Next week.”

“You’re kidding. Are you going?”

“Well, I would if you were around, but you will be gone, being a hero to many.” I smile up at him.

“Sorry, Lil, I don’t think I can tell the organization that I’m going to be delayed because my girlfriend is up for an Emmy.”

“I’m your girlfriend?” I ask.

“Aren’t you?”

“I guess I am.”

“Let’s sit down here.” He points at large bolder next to a bubbling brook. “You were going with your Mom, huh?”

“Yep. . .and Jamie.”

“Jamie—you don’t talk about him much.”

I clear my throat. “Not much to say, really.”

“You were together for a while, right?”

I tell him the abbreviated version of the Jamie/Lily/Natalie saga.

“Wow, she actually told you ahead of time that they were going to sleep together? You Hollywood types are sort of a cliché, you know?”

“Hey, don’t lump me in with that group,” I protest. But I know there were things I consider normal that never happen in the real world. You sort of lose touch with reality when you’re an actor. This time I’ve spent in Southold is the longest I’ve ever been away from people in the industry for quite some time.

“How about you? Are all your exes in Texas?”

He looks a little uncomfortable. “No… there’s one in New York.”

I swallow hard. “And?”

“Well, the timing was off. I met her my last year as a med student. She’s a nurse—”

“Now who’s being cliché?” I interrupt.

He smiles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, she’s a really great girl. Beautiful, athletic, sweet, and really smart.”

Get past the adjectives, buddy!

“We got along great, moved in together. Life was good. When I became an intern, we were on completely different schedules. It was rough. My second year, she decided it was time we got married. You know, the biological clock and all.”

I nod. I can’t talk.

“Anyway, she wanted to get married and have kids. She said it was a deal breaker. So that’s why we broke up.”

Check please!

“You don’t want to get married and have kids?” I ask him.

He squeezes my hand. “Of course I do, but it’s going to be years before I’m established. I can’t have a wife; much less even think about the responsibility of kids. Not right now.” He shakes his head for emphasis. “Absolutely no way.”

Y
ou look like a vision!” Fernando steps back to admire his handiwork. He has spent the last two hours working furiously on my hair and makeup for Daisy’s Memorial Fundraising Gala, which is set to begin in a couple of hours.

“You did an incredible job, Ferny. I love it and I love you.” I give him a squeeze and a European kiss on each cheek. I look back at the mirror and admire his work; he’s truly done a magnificent job. To go with my 1960s-inspired black strapless Armani Privé cocktail dress, he created a very Jackie O, voluminous French twist. As the finishing touch to the back of the “do,” he added my mother’s antique pearl and diamond broach, which makes an exquisite hair ornament.

“Did you know this belonged to my Grandma Rose’s grandmother? I think her name was Bessie. Mom loved it.” I feel a lump in my throat. “Ferny, I don’t know if I can go through with this.”

“What do you mean, honey?” He puts his arm around me.

“The memorial gala is going to make it too real. I guess part of me is still in denial, thinking she’s just on a book tour and will be back soon.” Tears well up in my eyes.

“Lily, don’t even
think
of crying. Your smoky eyes are going to be a puddle of mud running down your face. I did not work two hours for that!” His voice softens. “Look, I know, honey. It’s going to be an incredible evening, but not an easy one. But, like always, we’re in it together. And Lily, I have no doubt Mom is going to be in the room, making sure everything is Daisy-perfect!” He starts putting his assortment of brushes back into his large metal case.

“Do you really think that?” I ask him.

“Are you kidding, do I think that? I
know
it! We’ll feel her there, for sure. Trust me!”

He snaps the makeup case shut. “I better join Tommy in the guesthouse and change into my tuxedo. I’m sure by now he’s having a hissy fit trying to make sure his bowtie is—”

His words are drowned out by the deafening sound of at least three helicopters circling the farm.

Ferny opens the window and shouts, “Good morning, Vietnam!” We laugh. He closes the window. “They’re out in full force, aren’t they?”

“Uh-huh. They’re trying to get a good view for when the guests arrive. The place is going to be teeming with celebs tonight!” I tell him.

“Tommy texted me before that from the guest house; he can see the paparazzi swarming outside the gate. Well, I’m off to make myself beautiful. I’ll see you later, darling, in the tent.” He picks up his case, blows me a kiss, and leaves the room.

I look at the clock; it’ll be a good hour before any of the guests start to arrive.

I wonder when Robbie is going to show up. David was finally released from the hospital yesterday, and the brothers spent the night in the city in Robbie’s Upper West Side apartment. He joked that his place was so small the brothers would have to take turns sleeping. I’m glad they’ll both be at the event. After the gala, they’ll sleep over so that I can take them to the airport. Robbie is heading to Africa, and David home to Texas to recuperate.

I am going to miss Robbie terribly; just sleeping apart from him last night was lonely. I can’t imagine not having him here with me for the next nine months. Now that he is about to leave, I’m going to be forced to deal with the reality of my Mom’s death and my pregnancy. I have so many decisions to make, but I keep pushing them out of my mind, thinking I’ll just wait until Robbie leaves. Now that time is almost here, and I am dreading it.

I think about my conversation with Robbie, the one about having children, and I know there’s a very good possibility that he will opt out of the relationship when he finds out about my pregnancy. My mind is made up, however, that I will absolutely speak to him later this evening, when we’re alone. I have to. It’s only right. I also know that soon I’ll have to call Jamie to tell him.

I walk downstairs and find the kitchen a beehive of activity in preparation for the night ahead. The house is filled with the aroma of the savory dishes that Barbara’s brilliant chefs are creating. Pots and pans are clanging and there
are so many champagne bottles being opened that it sounds like a popcorn machine.

I feel sick. I run outside to get some fresh air. I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath. How can I possibly go through with the evening ahead, laugh, eat,
dance
? What was I thinking, suggesting this? My beautiful, vibrant mother is now reduced to a pile of ashes in a silver urn.

Is Fernando right? Will she really be there in spirit?

Mama, please give me a sign tonight that you’re with me
.

I look up at the thousands of tiny stars scattered across the night sky. Some are brilliant, some are twinkling, some are faded. The sky is vast, and I am merely a dot in the universe; detached, tumbling around and around without any connection or protection. It is cold.

When I get close to the tent, the party in full swing. Hundreds of voices collide; high-pitched laughter punctuates each undistinguishable sentence. The aggressive mixture of flowery perfumes burns my nostrils as I walk into the tent. I squint because the room takes on a strobe-light effect from the nonstop flashes of the cameras.

I stand outside the tent and look in as if I’m watching a movie. The crowd becomes an undertow that drags me inside.

Donna grabs my arm. “We wanted the décor to reflect Daisy’s taste—elegant without ever forgetting her farm roots.” She steers me to the perimeter. “Isn’t the tent simply amazing? It is the absolute biggest one they had. It is handmade by a family-owned company in New England. They’re sixth-generation sail makers.”

My eyes are finally able to focus. I see that the ceiling is made of yards and yards of draped ivory tufted silk. The many round tables are covered in white cotton with umber-colored silk overlays.

“And Lily, to emphasize the rustic element, the chairs and the serving tables are made of hand-sawed, reclaimed barn wood. Isn’t that brilliant and so Daisy?”

I am still staring at the ceiling. Hanging in the middle of the tent are six crystal chandeliers that cast a beautiful and eerie reflection on the gold shell
flatware, delicate bontanica-patterned china, and gold Queen Anne chargers. In anticipation of the first champagne toast, the amethyst Baccarat flutes are filled to the brim.

I smile when I see the flowers on the tables. Within the finely crafted arrangements are day lilies, daisies, and roses. Was this intentional? Am I the only one who understands the significance? These flowers represent three generations of women in my family. I vow to do my best to honor my strong grandmother and my mother by being as resilient as I can. I look around. The thousands of twinkling lights create a magical, almost fairytale, ambiance.

Straight Ahead the Band is up on the white marble stage, playing a jazz tune. Next to the microphone is a poster-sized framed photo of my mother. She is laughing; the camera has caught her image just as a gust of wind tousles her long brown hair.

Donna is still talking. She stops mid-sentence. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

I feel bad. Auntie D. had gone to so much trouble and planned every detail and I wasn’t even paying attention. So then I did what I do best—act.

“Oh, everything is amazing, really. I’m just taking it all in.”

Ronald Winters, one of the muckety-mucks from Mom’s publishing company, walks up to us. “Lily, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry Greta and I are. A tragic loss.”

I thank him and walk into the deep end. The crowd envelops me. One after another, guests come over to me to tell me how sorry they are, what a heartbreak it is. Some even tell me that my Mom is in a better place. I want to scream, “What the fuck? Better place, how the hell can you
say
that to me? A better place is in the living room on her favorite chair doing the crossword puzzle, where she belongs. That is a better place.”

Instead, I smile and thank everyone for coming to honor my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two extremely handsome guys heading toward me.

“You look beautiful.” Robbie kisses me on the cheek.

David does the same and says, “I keep telling him that good looks run in our family, right sis?”

“Well, I have to admit, you two are
the
hottest guys in the whole place.” David looks great in his tuxedo, but Robbie is a modern-day Cary Grant. He puts all these actors to shame, and the best thing is that he doesn’t have a clue.