Time's Forbidden Flower

by Diane Rinella

  Jenny steps up to be helpful. How did she manage to hold back this long? “Is there anything I can get for the doctor?” she asks. My God, girl! Put your tongue back in your mouth.

  “Yeah, I’ll grab some stuff for the ER crew,” Julian replies.

  I stop his arm as he goes for his wallet. “Load him up, Jenny. It’s on me. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

  Julian shoots me a sideways glance. My shoulders drop in surrender. “I’ve cut back. It will only be my second caffeine shot.”

  “Yeah, and how many have half-cafs have you had already?”

  “Shh!” I scold before bringing our cups to a table. Immediately my inquisition begins, knowing Jenny will be all over me the second Julian leaves. “So, how did you wind up in Los Angeles?”

  “Lily, why does any man do what he does?” His smirk is comically guilt ridden.

  “You? Mr. Career Path? Mr. I Have To Be Out of School In—”

  His cheeks flush. “You made your point. After we split, I was pretty lonely until I met Doreen in Med School. Fate brought our internships to almost the same county. It was great until we got to actually spend time together. Man, I was wishing I was back in Med School!”

  I chuckle. “That sounds bad.”

  “So, uh, Donovan’s a psychologist?” His hefty eyes talk to his cup as if it’s a glass of whisky. “Didn’t see that one coming. I’ve always been a little worried about you being around him.” Suddenly he stiffens. “No, actually, for years I’ve thought of tracking you down, because I’ve been so concerned about his temperament.”

  Lord, is he really going to dig up last decade’s testosterone battle? “Julian, there was never anything to worry about.”

  “Here you go,” Jenny announces as she bounces up with a pink box that she wasted our best ribbon tying.

  “Thank you,” he says, beaming at her. “I also need to order a dessert for Thanksgiving.”

  “I highly recommend a pumpkin mouse cake,” Jenny says coyly. “It’ll knock your stethoscope off.” Lord, she’s even twirling her hair.

  “Sounds perfect,” Julian replies, the corner of his lips gliding to his eyes.

  The appearance of Cupid’s Arrow makes me feel like a third wheel. Heading for the kitchen, I muse at how Donovan has again lost a girl to Julian.

  Donovan enters through the back door of the bakery and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he barks, dragging me to my desk.

  “Why are you being such a dick? You’re scaring the crap out of me.”

  “Why? Because the last time I acted this way I was being abused and on the verge of losing my mind. Because now you’re getting notes that you claim are from me, knowing perfectly well I’m praying they aren’t.”

  “You forget there’s also the possibility that my family is in danger,” I mind him. “I don’t know what’s freaking me out more, the fear of what may be happening or how you’re handling it.”

  He steps back and the anger clears from his face, his breath deepening and calming. “I’m sorry. I’m worried no matter where they’re coming from. Just let me see them.” Donovan looks to my desk where a bouquet of vibrant fall colors bloom. “Where did those come from?” he asks, doing a poor job of suppressing animosity.

  “Christopher. Where did that come from?” I ask just as cantankerously, snapping my finger onto his wedding ring.

  His eyes drop in regret of his tone. “Sorry. I thought that maybe they came with the note.”

  “No, you just don’t want anyone else giving me flowers.” I smack the stack into his palm.

  Closing his eyes he mutters, “You’re right. I don’t.”

  Pushing back the lump that lodges in my throat, I retrieve the latest note from my purse. “This is the one that came for Christopher. Take a good look at the envelope. Who would send letters trying to keep us together?”

  Donovan's eyes float like they’re flipping the pages in a tome on psychology. Suddenly they halt. “The husband of the woman he’s having an affair with. That slimy prick. I’m gonna rip his scrawny little arms off!”

  “That’s impossible. Christopher would never cheat. He isn’t capable.”

  “Everyone is capable. It’s just a matter of opportunity and if they chose to take it. You should know that.”

  He’s right. I know it all too well.

  Slowly he rotates through the notes, scrutinizing each one in search of a clue that reveals that he is not a party to this madness. He then braves opening the one that arrived this morning. Donovan’s tension deepens, the sight of the paper making him appear ashen, then angry. Like a shot he heads for the door. “I have to go.”

  “You know who did this, don’t you?” I ask.

  Donovan halts. “Client-therapist confidential information,” he firmly states. My concerns about Donovan’s sanity and Christopher’s fidelity are addressed not only with words, but also from eyes that emit so much heat my cheeks feel like hell’s flames surround me. “Rest assured that you have nothing to worry about. This will stop today!” He continues to storm out.

  “Oh, no you don’t! You are not allowed to run out of here without telling me who it is,” I insist while in hot pursuit.

  Donovan’s stride doesn’t falter as he enters the back lot. “You have to trust me, Lily. It’s better that way, and start locking the back door!”

  I slip in the way of his driver’s door. “Someone is threatening my husband and you want me to ignore it? Anyone that foolish should be in a Tarot deck with a big zero over their head.”

  “If you’re so keen on not ignoring it then why haven’t you called the police?” he practically spits at me through clenched teeth.

  “Because I thought it might be you!”

  His head scans the lot with jerking motions. “And you’re still concerned that it is and I’ve snapped. Great, now even you don’t trust me.”

  “Trust has nothing to do with it, but protecting my family does. How would you feel if this happened to you?”

  “I would trust you, just like I always have. Call the police. We both know there’s nothing they can do. Meanwhile, I will actually fix the problem. Now will you please get out of my way?”

  “Here we go again!” With a huff of resignation, I storm back into the bakery in disgust of our situation.

  I feel like a stalker—sitting in my minivan, parked next to Donovan in the lot of his office complex. Once his key is almost in his car door, I press the button for my passenger window, rolling it down behind him. “Can we talk? Please.”

  His shoulders drop, and he grumbles as he leans in my window. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this. I thought we were past the sneak attack phase though.”

  After this morning’s display I’ve no patience for his bellyaching. “The need to protect my family has nothing to do with my ability to trust you,” I assert while unlocking the passenger door.

  His eyes meander to where the click of the door lock emanated before he leans back, glances around, and gets in the car. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and remorseful as he puts his elbow on the car door, his head leaning into his hand. “I really overreacted about this whole situation.”

  “Why won’t you tell me who it is? I don’t know who I’m more concerned about, you or my children.”

  Leaning back in his seat, he tosses his keys onto my dashboard. “I filed for a Civil Harassment Order on Mike today. The police know everything I do. Trust me, the guy is freaked and wants to stay off of the police department’s radar. You won’t get another note.”

  “Mike who?”

  “Palance. He’s been harassing me since Christopher fired him.”

  “How do you know—He’s a patient! That creepy bastard is a patient!”

  “They’re called clients, Lil, and I can’t—”

  “Oh, yes, you’d better! He’s a patient of yours,” I say insistently, poking my finger into his chest. “How else would you know—” Suddenly, the obvious kicks my butt so hard that if I didn’t have my sea
tbelt on I’d be booted into the next county. “He sent those notes trying to scare Christopher into backing out of the tour! That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Donovan’s eyes roll so hard they may spiral down his throat. “You know I can’t talk about these things.”

  “Really? Come on!” I gesture like I want to upside him one on his head. “Ugh! It makes so much sense. They started right after Christopher fired him and the tour came through.”

  “Okay, fine. I know a little too much about him, and I asked Christopher to keep him away from you. He wanted to fire Mike immediately, but I persuaded him to wait so it wouldn’t be so obvious. Are you happy now?”

  “You do know this has nothing to do with my faith in you, right?”

  “Yeah. I can’t blame you for how you acted,” he says, staring to the bottom of the dash like he wants to crawl under it. “It’s just that you’re all I’ve ever really had, and now even that is nearly gone. This distance thing sucks.” Snatching his keys, he bails out the door—driving off, and taking half of my soul with him.

  Chapter 23

  The sensation of my unearthly foot hitting the ground after coming off of the last step again brings forth apprehension. Heading down a long, dark corridor, several doors reside before me, each with a white glow seeping around the edges. Sadness burns my throat as I pass the door entered on my previous sojourn down this hall. Daring a few steps further, I opt for a portal across the way. The moment it opens, happiness floods me.

  “What do you see?” Susan asks.

  The image is lovely, peaceful, and soul soothing. “An open field. Flowers. Lots and lots of wild flowers.” I feel a familiar presence, and giggle with no idea why.

  “Do you know your name?”

  “Clara,” I say without question.

  “Is it day or night?”

  My tongue rolls out the words as if they are little gumballs from a machine. “Dusk. We’ve been here all day assembling tents. We are war refugees. New Bedford. 1778.”

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m with someone who makes me happy. Christopher—I mean, Charles. It’s getting dark, and I’m tired. He’s brought me into a tent, and I’m drifting off in his arms.” My mind begins to fade when I jerk and gasp.

  “What is happening?” Susan inquires, her voice attempting to bring forth composure.

  “Someone has bolted into our tent, hissing the word traitor. He’s has Charles by the collar, and is trying to kill him.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “My brother, Daniel. He doesn’t trust this man.”

  “Why?” Susan asks.

  “Daniel discovered he is British. Charles was sent to destroy our village by setting fire to our tents while we sleep, but he would never do that. Daniel keeps screaming at him to stay away from me.”

  Noise builds outside, sending my pulse racing. My breath turns rapid, knowing the villagers want to kill Charles. A woman runs in, pointing to Daniel in accusation of him being the traitor. She is a Tory and is protecting Charles, thinking he will still turn on us. As Clara refuses her command to flee, my current self identifies the accuser as Lana Beckett.

  Suddenly I am overpowered from behind by a woman who cups my mouth and drags me off. Charles follows after us, fleeing as the villagers take Daniel away.

  “No! You can’t take him from me!” I scream on Clara’s behalf, defying Anna, the woman who drags her away from Daniel. Clara continues to be stifled while vowing never to be silenced again. “I told Daniel months ago that we should go elsewhere, before I ever met Charles. That we should find shelter alone and be free, but he never listens to me! How do I get him to listen to me?”

  Susan speaks rapidly. “Lily, we need to stop. When I count to three, start floating away. One. Two. Three. Pull away, Lily. Pull away. Return to me.”

  Chapter 24

  On today’s episode of “Lilyanna Eccles Must Be Totally Insane,” I again attempt to become friends with my sister-in-law. For years I have known my guest star to be a sweet lady who is dedicated to her husband and daughter. However, the last time I tried to get to know her, she lied about martial arts lessons and made me feel like I had the personality of a wet noodle. Today I hope to walk away feeling a step closer toward friendship by making the small gesture of meeting Anna at her work for a fifteen-minute coffee break. Even with our tiny amount of time, we struggle for conversation. Maybe her job is getting the best of her.

  “I can’t imagine working around all these patients,” I say, toying with the rim of my paper cup as we sit in the hospital’s cafeteria. How trim Anna looks compared to her oversized uniform is distracting. Lately it seems she is going for the comfy look. “You must be a strong person to help people while they’re suffering.”

  “It can be a challenge,” she responds, sounding bored, “but if you have the ability to turn into someone else, even just for a moment, you can walk away from pretty much anything and be unfazed.”

  So Donovan and I aren’t the only ones who compartmentalize. I wish I could be as unaffected by life as she appears to be.

  Anna’s eyes drift off into space while I struggle to find a topic she deems conversation-worthy. “I’m sure Christopher would be mortified if he knew my cluelessness as to how his soccer team is doing. Mind bringing me up to speed?”

  She flashes a smile, but can’t be bothered to look at me. “I’m sure Christopher would never be disappointed in you.”

  “He’s an amazing man. So is Donovan. We are both very lucky.”

  Anna brightens. “Donovan is incredible. I am lucky to have him, and I will do all I can to make him happy.” Her voice is sprinkled with idolatry. Whenever Donovan isn’t around she sounds like a different person, but as soon as his name comes up she changes back.

  “You have always seemed very dedicated to him.”

  “He’s very dedicated to me, too. I’ll make sure he is never alone, just like my daughter will never see me as anything less than perfect. That’s pretty much all that matters around here, right?” Anna rises, then looks directly into my eyes with a seemingly genuine smile. It’s something she rarely does, and it freaks me out. “It was really nice of you to come by. This little visit perked up my day. We should do it more often. Call me again, okay?”

  The enigma marches on.

  Chapter 25

  With a single motion, Christopher sends my heart racing as sparks fly with a crack while plugging in a light. “Aw, blow me!” he exclaims. His colorful slang causes me to choke on my cocktail.

  I’ve reclined on the patio for three hours watching hilarity ensue. It started when Christopher bought a playhouse for the girls. Anna, now known as Mrs. My Husband Bought A Fixer-Upper And I Have To Deal With It, offered to help with the assembly—her husband offered to watch. This would be long over if Donovan hadn’t said, “Hey, this thing needs overhead lighting,” and escaped to the hardware store. Two hours later, Donovan has completed his useless contribution and reclines next to me; both of us partaking in spiritus frumenti while I fear my house will burn down.

  “Hey, watch the effing and blinding,” I mind Christopher. “There are children and ladies present.”

  “Honey, I think you may have crossed your wires,” Anna calls to Donovan as she examines his handiwork.

  “Color me shocked,” I groan. “Donovan’s had his wires crossed ever since I can remember.”

  “Nope! Only since Thanksgiving fourteen years ago,” he teases. “All right, I’ll get off my butt and help again.”

  “Yeah, I’ll join you,” I offer out of guilt. Concurrently we sip our cocktails and sink deeper into our chairs.

  Christopher’s head bounces as he rants. “Now why would we want to ruin your good time? I’m sure you’d rather lounge around and watch me go off.”

  “Well, actually, yes. That would be far more entertaining,” I say.

  “Yeah, we’d rather sit here and give you Omar Sharif,” Donovan adds.

  “Omar Shar
if?” I ask.

  Christopher looks at me agape while Donovan lets me have it. “Man, Christopher is right. Your Cockney is so bad even your rhyming slang sucks.”

  “Bloody ‘ell! Is that any way to talk to yur skin an blister?” I say to Donovan. In the corner of my eye, Christopher cringes.

  Donovan is all too quick to reply. “Boy, that one sure fits. If anyone is a blister to me—”

  Christopher turns indignant. “Oh, why don’t you two pissed-up cheeky yobs put a cork in it and bomb off somewhere.”

  “What did he say?” Donovan asks with a snicker.

  “He told us to go to hell.”

  “Ah.”

  Our antics are interrupted by the buzz of my cell phone. Sadly it was set to silent, else I would have recognized the custom ring tone of galloping horses representing the four horsemen of the Apocalypse and stayed in my chair. It’s either get this over with now or Buckaroo Pestilence will call the store. God only knows what Mom would say to the staff.

  Slipping into the library for a moment of privacy, I hope for a rock to appear, not for me to hide under but to bang my head on. “Hi, Mom,” I answer brightly, certain that she can hear my eyes roll and my body cave.

  “Hi, Lily. Has Christopher left for his tour yet?”

  Lord! Already? “No, Mom. It doesn’t start for several months.”

  “Tell me more about who he is touring with. Is Eric coming with him? Will they come to Rhode Island?”

  “No, Mom. Definitely neither one of those things. He’s only hitting major stadiums in big cities.”

  “I was thinking if they played at Larry’s Tavern they could come by, and I could fix them dinner. Are you sure they won’t be in the area?”

  Donovan enters in search of a book. Finding one on cocktails, he pulls it down and flips through it. “Pretty sure, Mom,” I say. Slipping my hand over the phone I whisper to Donovan, “You are not going to believe this conversation! It’s a whole new level of crazy.”

  Donovan smothers his face with his hand and groans, “Dear God, what now?”