Time's Forbidden Flower

by Diane Rinella

  His eye close with a whimper. “Mom’s Cirrhosis has turned into liver cancer. They’re starting chemo, but with everything else, odds are she won’t be around much longer.”

  A wave of vacancy flows through my gut. I hate the thought that the woman who raised me—who tried to be my best friend and often came close to succeeding—is suffering, but it doesn’t eradicate my detestation for her blasphemous handiwork. My loving heart and the animosity in my head cancel each other out, leaving me anesthetized.

  Like the Doublemint Twins, Donovan and I enter our adjoining hotel rooms and open the set of doors that separate them. I fling myself backwards onto his bed. My flair for melodrama surfaces as I flail my hand to my forehead and utter breathlessly, “I feel faint. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tomorrow. Just tell Norma Desmond I said hello.”

  “No way, Marion Davies. You’re stuck,” he snaps while tossing me the room service menu. “As you have told me many times, some things we’re still in together.” He nods to the menu. “What do you want?”

  Doing my best Scarlett O’Hara I agonize, “World peace, the end of poverty, and a ride to the airport.” Donovan’s glare demolishes my fun. “Geez! Lighten up. You turn into a fireball of testy when you’re about to see Hanniballa Lecter.”

  “Can you blame me? The woman ruined my life.”

  Wow, after a decade has he finally figured that one out? “Hey, Baby Jane.” I prop myself on my elbows and motion for him to sit next to me. Donovan crinkles up a side of his nose and turns away, flicking his hand at me. “Hey,” I say. “You okay? Did I do something to upset you?”

  With ridged muscles his hands rest on his hips, his lips tense, his head oscillating while staring at the wall. His head drops before turning to me. “I’m sorry. It’s the stress.” He sits in slow motion, like he’s attempting to stretch every muscle.

  “Your life is far from ruined,” I softly reason, caressing his cheek. Habitually his head curls into my hand when we’re alone like this, but now he remains taut. “Look at how you’ve thrived. Did you ever see yourself becoming a psychologist before that madness happened? You’re a doctor with your own private practice. Think about what Dad would say to that. It’s a huge deal.” He cracks a ghost of a smirk. “Maybe you just need to eat,” I say, opening the room service menu. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing. You get food. I’m going to bed.” He shrinks over, elbows to knees, forehead to hands. Tugging him to face me, I run my hand from the apple of his neck around the back of his head. His eyes hide as his neck rotates into the action that grounds him, leading to a short-lived smile.

  “If you’re hurting I’m by your side the whole way. Do you really want me to leave?”

  “No, I really don’t. Sometimes I wish you didn’t always know what I need.” He sounds resigned as he lays back and pulls the bedspread over us.

  Try as I might to cover the surrender in my eyes, I can’t. “And I’ll always love you. Always.”

  “So you prove time and time again.” His voice reflects the pain of our reality. He gives me a little grimace before pulling my head into his shoulder. “Good night, Lily.”

  “Donovan, did I do something to upset you?”

  “You are the only one who never lets me down,” he assures. “Good night.”

  “Wait. Why are we doing this?” I ask Donovan on the verge of entering our childhood home.

  “Because I haven’t spent enough time on the funny farm already.” Donovan springs a toothy grin and wobbles his eyes, removing a minuscule amount of the tension that remains from his mood of yesterday. Being on a funny farm with him sounds heavenly. Actually, being locked in an inescapable room filled with fang-bearing, rabid rodents sounds appealing compared to entering this place.

  As we step inside, Donovan places a small bouquet of Lilies of the Valley, tied with a blue ribbon, and a paper bag on the floor before hanging his keys on a hook inside the closet. I debate fleeing until Donovan turns to help me with my coat. Damn chivalry! Now he’s slowed my getaway. It may be only by a few seconds, but with Lana Beckett around those seconds will seem as long as it takes to lick my way across the Great Wall of China.

  Donovan grabs the flowers and the bag before heading up the stairs as I make for the den. “Hey, where do you think you’re escaping to?” he asks.

  “The liquor cabinet. Want to join me?”

  His shoulders drop. “We dumped all the alcohol the last time we were here.”

  “You’re right,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Hopefully there’s some vanilla extract in the cabinet.” Donovan grabs me by the shoulders and walks me ahead of him up the stairs. “Fine, I’ll detour by the bathroom. If I O.D. on cough syrup it’ll be your fault!”

  A few steps away from Mom’s room Donovan abruptly stops and shoves me inside. “Losers first,” he whispers.

  Dick!

  “Hi, Mom,” I chime, sounding way too perky for even the biggest of morons to believe I want to be here. I plant a kiss on her forehead before plopping onto the edge on the bed.

  Her grin is a mile wide. “Hi, Lily. I though Donovan was coming. Where’s Christopher?”

  “Donovan’s here.” He’s just trying to beat me to the medicine cabinet.

  Donovan enters faking a cough and snickering. He places the flowers on Mom’s nightstand on the opposite side of the bed before giving her fading glow of happiness a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

  Mom’s eyes scamper back and forth, just like they did when she exploded years before as she unearthed our secret; only this time there’s nothing to hide. “Don’t tell me you two are here alone again.”

  “Christopher’s working and Anna just started her new job,” I moan.

  “New job?” she inquires of Donovan. “I thought she loved her old one.”

  You haven’t told her yet?

  Donovan scrunches his shoulders and subtly flips his hands up. I’ve kind of been avoiding this. “She loved the job, but neither of us wanted to be in Colorado. We just moved to Venice. Here, this is from her.” He hands Mom the bag. “It’s more of that herbal tea that helps cleanse your liver.”

  “Venice?” Mom badgers more than asks. “But you don’t speak Italian.”

  Donovan closes his eyes so she can’t see them spiraling into his brain. “Venice, California; near Los Angeles.”

  Mom looks as blue as three men in a Vegas act. “You two live near each other now?”

  “Yep, even with bumper-to-bumper traffic, Lily is never more than an hour away, usually much less. You should see her shop. You’d be proud.”

  Mom gasps and runs her eyes down me. “Is that really wise, you two living so close? Don’t Anna and Christopher know what’s going on behind their backs? I can’t believe what the two of you go through for a little kinky sex.”

  Every bit of life that pumps through me funnels out my legs and oozes into the carpet. Incredible. Ever since she started knocking on death’s door this woman has turned merciless. It’s bad enough to constantly samba with temptation, but with all of her accusations maybe I should whip out a white flag. I’m struggling to be faithful to my husband, who might as well be lost at sea, even though my soul mate tempts me constantly, and I’m called a whore anyway. My eyes float to Donovan as I rise, confessing to him that I’m emotionally destroyed. “Excuse me. I need to visit the rest room,” I utter.

  Dismayed by how little our mother thinks of us, I head down the stairs without the pretense of my excuse being real. Reaching the liquor cabinet, I open the doors and stare in exasperation. At least she’s springing for decent stuff now that the Grim Reaper’s calling. Donovan’s feet hammer down the stairs as I open a bottle of vodka and take a swig. A scratch on the wood paneling on the wall ahead entertains my vision. It’s not Donovan I don’t want to face, it’s the situation. He touches my shoulder with trepidation, and the words I really want to express are swallowed. “Vodka?” I ask.

  “No,” he firmly replies, taking the bottle.


  Donovan looks at me through the laceration in his heart—the one akin to mine. His lips part, and then disappear into his mouth. My lips touch his cheek and force a smile before I yank the vodka back, walk out the front door and dump the remainder. I head out in the direction of Christopher’s old house with no idea why.

  My emotions kaleidoscope as I sit on the curb across the street from where Christopher once lived. Visions of my past fill my brain; me crawling into his bedroom window, spending lunches here to avoid his fan club, and the fit I pitched when he broke my heart and returned to England.

  I’m about to fall from grace, again. One of the reasons I compartmentalize who I am is due to an indiscretion that Lilyanna Eccles cowers from. When I’m her, I see myself as faithful. After all, what defines cheating? Is it a thought? A kiss? Making out? What if you stop right after you start? Is that cheating? It’s not when I’m Lilyanna Eccles, because that’s how I live with myself in light of a foolish moment. When I’m alone with Donovan, I strive to be Lily Beckett—the girl who believes that kissing is cheating. That keeps my lips to myself—at least now it does. The one time it didn’t, we stopped, and I’ve forced myself to believe that made it okay.

  Donovan pulls up in the car, then hesitantly joins me on the curb. “Funny how I can quote your words from twenty years ago but it took me forever to remember where you said Christopher once lived.”

  My damp eyes remain fixated on the house. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “You always go to Christopher.” My head snaps to him in anger for his words. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I know you really love him.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Ask your hypnotherapist,” he gently says, tucking the hair that shadows my face behind my ear.

  I snatch his hand and place it on his lap. My voice whips forward. “Not here.”

  “I just want to comfort a friend.”

  “We both know you’ll never be just a friend. Donovan…you’re right. We need to keep those adjoining doors shut. In fact, we need a lot more distance.” My eyes drift back to Christopher’s house. “I miss him. Christopher always takes my pain away—at least he does when he’s around.” My stomach tightens as I head for the car. “I can’t be here anymore. Please take me to the hotel. I’m sorry, but if you want to go back to Mom’s you have to do it without me.”

  Donovan follows and opens my door, his face reflective with thought. As soon as he gets behind the wheel he states with resolve, “If you’re done, I’m done. Some things we are still in together.”

  We drive out of town as fast as we can, neither of us looking back.

  Chapter 16

  The heat of an Indian summer day holds nothing compared to the fire in Cindy’s eyes as she blazes up to Robert like a super nova ignited inside a grease trap. “Damn it, Robert! What the hell is this?” she scorns, holding a vat of buttercream in a sickly shade of dying-grass green that is oxidizing into brown.

  “Oh, did Hector finally finish it? How’d it turn out?” Robert asks.

  “Disgusting!”

  “Well, that’s what they ordered,” Robert says, condescendingly. “You know how weird rich people are.”

  “Robert! The cake is to be iced in avocado colored buttercream, not flavored!”

  Oh, Lord, I can’t take those two today. Fleeing into the back of the shop, I gasp upon entering my office. “Geez, Donovan, you scared the crap out of me. How’d I miss you coming in?”

  “I snuck through the back. With our need for distance I thought I’d put these on your desk and run.” He slips his hands into his pants pockets while nodding to a bouquet on my desk. “Happy Liberation Day,” he says, commemorating the day he finally confessed his feelings.

  A wave of relief pulses through me. “After all the tension I wondered if you’d acknowledge it. Come out to my car. I have something for you, too.”

  Donovan follows me through the kitchen. “Hi, Donovan,” Robert says, practically drooling. “How did I miss you coming in?”

  Donovan reacts with an effeminate little smile and a wave. “Bye, Robert.”

  Robert proceeds to run his eyes down Donovan's backside and exhale a sigh of dreaminess. “Such a waste. What I could do to that—Ouch!” he exclaims as Cindy storms up and smacks him on the arm.

  “You’re so cruel!” I whisper to Donovan. His reply of a little shrug and an eye flutter are uncharacteristically girlish. “Stop it!” I laugh.

  Though the tension has dissipated, awkwardness regarding his gift prevails. Originally it seemed a sweet token. Now I realize it’s an improper symbol of undying love given to one married person by another. Uncomfortably I hand him a small black box from the glove compartment of my car. “I bought this before we went to Rhode Island. It’s probably inappropriate, but Happy Liberation Day.” Donovan’s smile slowly builds as he gingerly uncovers an ornate, antique gold pocket watch. “It was made around the time Jonathan was born. Since we seem to have transcended time I thought it to be appropriate.”

  His eyes focus on the watch, as if hypnotized. “It’s perfect, Lil. Absolutely perfect. I really wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he says, his voice devoid of power.

  A diversion is found in my fidgeting hands. Not only do I need to dodge my view of him, but I also need to avoid my reflection in the car window, unable to face myself for agreeing.

  Opening the watch he observes lost time. “Eleven years ago tonight,” he sighs. “I really thought we’d be together forever. I’ve thought about it endlessly. You’re still the only one who sees me as I am. The night before we left for Rhode Island, Anna and I had it out. My own wife doesn’t even know me. Either that or she purposely sets off my triggers. It makes me think I’m wasting time being myself.” His eyes drift away from the watch before he shuts it. “I need to go. This whole thing with putting distance between us is really going to suck.” He stammers, just shy of giving me a hug. With a quick peck on my cheek he enters his car and drives away.

  Succumbing to the grumbling arising from my stomach, the lure of freshly baked delights is avoided in lieu of a granola bar from my locker. A scrap of pink paper with a typed message falls to my feet when I drag out my purse.

  I can’t believe how much I can still miss you. Life is too short to not have more time together.

  The love note brings forth a chuckle. At least Christopher realizes his handwriting leaves a lot to be desired. He seems to finally remember that we exist.

  A few steps away, reality firmly places its hand on the back of my skull and slams it onto the floor. Christopher does a lot of sweet things, but he never leaves notes. However, while notes are an emotional trigger for Donovan, they were the hallmark of the relationship we shared, and he snuck in here this morning.

  Sweet thoughts of yesteryear swirl up as the abandoned pixie dust that brought about our relationship a decade ago is blown back into my path. Notes followed me everywhere—written on milk cartons, in a bag of flour, on the back of the grocery list—even when putting down the toilet seat. The lump in my throat proves that if he’s trying to revive the past, he just found the jumper cables to my heart.

  Exhaustedly I stumble home to find a dozen sterling roses in the center of an elegantly set dining room table. Christopher races to get Chinese take-out placed as if it’s a special holiday. I fear this means he’ll dare to wash our china himself. The last time, two plates and a saucer needed replacing.

  Dashing up, he kisses me sweetly before handing me a cocktail. “You’re home early,” I say, smiling at the taste of his lips. “To what do I owe all the honors today?”

  Christopher fusses as he places the silverware one inch from the table’s edge, just as his family’s butler always does. “Whatever do you mean, luv?”

  “Flowers, the cocktail, dinner—reminders of you follow me everywhere.”

  “Did you see me image in one of your tea biscuits?” he asks while polishing a knife. The utensil drops onto a fragile d
inner plate, sending a twinge zipping across the nape of my neck.

  “No, but I’m feeling rather spoiled.” And very lucky the plate didn’t chip. “It’s been a rather noteworthy day,” I hint, before surveying him over the brim of my Gimlet as I sip. Crap! This is exactly what my mother does when she attempts slyness.

  “Ah, I’m glad things went well. Have a seat. I’ll round the children.”

  Damn. This is not a comforting moment.

  Christopher continues to be an angel, drawing me a warm bath before putting the children in bed. As my body sinks into the inspiriting bath the cacophony from the foaming bubbles represses the surrounding world, leaving me to my thoughts of uncertainty regarding the source of the note.

  My cell phone sits on the nightstand in the adjoining bedroom. My hopes for a call may be foolish, but they fill me nonetheless.

  Water trickles across the bathroom and onto the bedroom carpet as I retrieve the device. I drop the phone on the counter while reentering the tub. The bubbles snuggle my body, but that which can comfort my soul is completely out of reach. My eyes fixate on the taunting phone, hoping it will chime despite my knowing that Donovan wouldn’t dare acknowledge his actions after what happened in Rhode Island.

  My dripping hand dabs a towel before grabbing the phone. My eyes again lock on the device in expectation. Clearly my Jedi Mind Trick needs work or this thing would have succumbed by now. From the speed dial list my eyes rivet on his name. Finally I cave and click the call button.

  “Hold on,” Donovan whispers. Shuffles rattle in the background before he resurfaces. “Sorry. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that life is too short not to have more time together. I’m taking advantage of a free moment to enjoy you a little.”

  Silence hangs in the air before he replies. “I thought we were cooling everything?”

  “So did I.”

  “I really have to go. I’m sorry,” he says, without readable emotion.