Time's Forbidden Flower

by Diane Rinella

  “I was happy,” I implore, sniffling with a snort. “I was happy with you.”

  The sadness in Donovan’s eyes deepens. He kisses his tissue that holds the product of my sorrow and begs for my understanding. “But this was a glow I could never give you. It killed me to know it was my fault you would never have it.”

  I push on, feeling we are in a tug-of-war as to who hurts the most. “What about the glow I had with you? It was my decision too.”

  “A decision that was making you ill,” he tenderly asserts. “I loved you too much for that.”

  “I would have gotten past it, but what about you, Donovan? If I had let you recover and come back for you, or if I had rebelled and told you I wasn’t going down without a fight, what would have happened?”

  Donovan squeezes his eyes, releasing more sorrow. I grab a tissue then crumple it, as if wanting it to be useless. I itch to touch him without the barrier a tissue would provide. My hand surges forth, absorbing his tears into my skin. “I made a huge mistake,” he confesses. “I fell prey to dichotomous thinking. After I shoved you away Dr. Coe got through to me. It wasn’t an all or nothing situation.”

  My hand that has been dampened with his sorrow touches my own cheek, bringing his tears to mine. Everything about us should be together.

  “I sabotaged us.” Donovan’s voice rings with contrition and self-hatred as our foreheads meet. “I would never make that mistake again. Now I can face anything. What about you, Lily?” He turns brave, his words sounding like a challenge. “With the life you have, can you come back to my side and face anything?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I hesitantly whisper.

  “I’ll always love you, Lily.”

  “And I’ll always love you,” I burst with devout insistence.

  Pulling my head to his chest he utters with fragility, “I cheated on my wife yesterday.”

  The stab felt from the knife of his words renews my sobs. “The fact that we again stopped doesn’t change it, does it?”

  “What the hell were we thinking?”

  I wish my confession were not true. “Both times I was thinking the same thing I am now. No one makes me feel the way you do. While there’s a big difference between sex and making love the difference between making love and sharing your soul is even vaster. So many people never know how that feels.”

  “You make what we did sound almost forgivable.”

  “I wish it were.”

  Chapter 39

  Four days of melodrama have put me completely on edge. Fighting the urge to pace the bakery while awaiting the arrival of an expressed package that may imply my soul mate is crazy, I duck into my office and embark on a quest to cyber stalk the man staying in my guesthouse. Eric’s fan base sends my head spinning with several websites and forums filled by devoted women. Quickly I learn more about the man than I have in all of the years I’ve known him.

  Eric Christopher Taylor, from Salford, started in a skiffle band when he was twelve, then joined The Chestermen at sixteen. He was an apprentice in a bread shop and kept his job until the band already had several hits, feeling at best their success would last only a year.

  I know he enjoys baking, but how was that always left out of our conversations?

  Eventually I uncover a post by a fan that acquired true treasure—two pictures from Eric’s aunt. The photos make me lose all sense of reason. Unable to believe what lies before me I race to open the photo album on my computer and find my fingers have turned to sticks from anxiety. Comparing a picture of Christopher as a small boy to one of Eric, it’s uncanny how they could be the same person. The second picture is one of Eric in a recording studio. The man sitting next to him, who holds a striking resemblance to Christopher, shocks me. He is simply listed as being Eric’s brother.

  Oh, Christopher, you do look like someone in your family; you’ve just been looking to the wrong man. Grace has kept one hell of a secret.

  After a day of stressful anticipation that nearly sends me to the bar, the documents finally arrive. Slipping out the back door to cower from prying eyes, I compare them to the other paperwork. My heart suffocates at the sight of the death certificate that is an exact match. Aunt Audrey killed herself, and I can only speculate that is what Mom meant before she died when she referred to an innocent little girl.

  My parent’s marriage certificate brings forth limited comfort. The signatures are close enough to believe they are from the same people that signed the adoption papers. Questions again swarm my brain, but mostly I’m filled with disgust for myself and for my soap opera of a life.

  “Screw this!”

  Inside the shop I stash the papers in my desk before grabbing a small chocolate mousse cake and a fork. I head out the back door, eating as I go and wondering how long it will take me to walk to the beach so I can throw myself into the ocean.

  After the kids are in bed, I stop Eric as he heads out to the guesthouse. A tray containing a steeping pot sits in my hands. “Feel up to sharing some tea?”

  “I’m English. By law I must always accept an offer of tea, especially with such pretty company.” Eric takes a seat at the table with me. “I had lunch with your brother today. He took me to see his office. He’s done impressively well for himself.”

  “He’d be glad to hear you say that. He thinks very highly of you. I know wishes he knew you better. We both do. In fact, I have a confession. I was afraid you and I would have little to talk about, so I cyber stalked you. Have you ever snooped on any of your fan forums?”

  Eric goes flush with a little smirk. “I try not to. Some of those ladies know far too much about my life.”

  My tongue stings when I bite it at the recollection of a story about Eric, a groupie, and a can of Golden Syrup. Eric gives the back of his head a nervous scratch. “I don’t know which is scarier, when the information is right or when it’s dead wrong. Frighteningly, they are mostly right.”

  Maybe he’s read that story himself.

  “Have you seen some of the photos they post?” I ask. “Not only are the captions clever, those ladies have quite the collections.”

  “I really should have kept picture books. My sister did. Just before she died we had a blast going through them.”

  “Then you might enjoy a sight I found.” Conveniently my laptop sits on the table. Trying not to look eager, I surf for the proper forum. “Here it is. There’s a section dedicated to each member of The Chestermen. Yours, by far, has the most activity.”

  Eric becomes aglow at the mention of his staying power. Each picture brings a smile to his face and a story to his lips. Finally I reach the one of Eric and his brother. “Wow. Who is that man?” I ask.

  Eric’s brow tenses at the image. “My brother, Christopher Michael. We called him Mick. He passed on a few years ago. ”

  “Mick could be Christopher's doppelgänger. Are you related to Paul?”

  “Umm…no. Not that I’m aware.”

  “If I had never seen pictures of Paul I would guess it was him.”

  “Yes.” Eric’s voice becomes distant, like it has wandered to another planet. “Wonder how I could have missed that…Oh! I should show you a wonderful site about bread making. Let me see if I can find it.”

  Eric whips a URL into the browser, clearly knowing where the page resides. Kneading techniques dominate our conversation until it’s time to say goodnight, and I’m left with a new question: Who is the man that fathered my husband, Eric Christopher or his brother Christopher Michael?

  Chapter 40

  Susan grants me guidance as I head down an all too familiar stairwell. “Remember Lily, this is about past choices and future consequences. Any actions you take as a result could cause a domino effect. Go to the door where you found Rose. Touch your hand to the knob, but do not turn it. Think about your soul mate, and accept what is inside your heart.”

  The glow that illuminates through the cracks is obscured by an image of Jonathan, making me long for the warmth of his skin. Sadness, pain, and
loss claw inside me.

  “Now go to your first life,” Susan guides.

  My presence at the portal brings a glow from within, as happiness, joy, and endless love radiate into my current shell.

  “Now, work your way back. Stop when you no longer feel the joy you seek.”

  Five doors from my first life the pain of a heavy loss shoots through my being. The insides of my earthly body jitter as my discarnate hand guides the knob. Here may lay the key to ending our suffering—or it all may be a bunch of hooey.

  White light floods as I step into an open field. “Homes of wood and stone are erected all around. People gather for a celebration, but I feel queasy.”

  “Is it a funeral?” Susan pries.

  “No, it supposed to be a happy occasion. It’s—Oh, that pig!”

  “Lily, relax.” Susan maintains her cool demeanor despite my anger that snaps me back into the present.

  “That pig! That ginormous pig! I’m going to kill him!”

  “Hey! What the?” Donovan enquires as I storm into his office while he stands behind his desk, thumbing through a book.

  The power in my voice conveys my annoyance. “You started this whole mess!”

  His head flinches back. “I thought we put the whole Harley thing to bed.”

  “Everything was fine until you married my sister, you little prick!”

  “What?” he asks, before muttering, “Oh, no,” and returning his attention to the tome in hand.

  “Do you know how seriously the Egyptians took our promise to be together for eternity? You did fine for the next few lives, then you took my sister as a second wife and cursed us, you huge pig!” Suddenly I wake to his demeanor. “Wait. You just muttered ‘Oh, no.’ You knew! You incredibly vile, disgusting, playboy! This is all your fault, you colossal jerk! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! What else are you holding back?” I grab a thick stack of papers off of his desk, and he throws his arms up and chuckles while I sissy-swat him.

  “You couldn’t have kids, and I needed an heir. It was all perfectly legal.”

  “Legal? You broke my heart, making me vow to never let us be together again because it was legal? You douchebag!”

  His arms drop, taunting me. “Lily, listen to yourself. Isn’t this partially your fault?”

  “Stop trying to get out of this you big smelly ass! You’re the one who banged half the village.”

  “Taking a second wife is hardly—” My eyes flair at him, causing him to backpedal. “I’ll never do it again. I will never, ever marry anyone but you ever again.”

  I slam the papers on the desk before looking up at the big dumb jock who again cowers in the corner, chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

  “You do realize you are dying to beat the crap out of me over something people could argue we’re crazy to even consider being real.” Donovan sits next to me as I throw myself onto the sofa. Suddenly he looks apologetic. “I think the reason I felt so strongly that you needed to marry Christopher and have a family is directly related to that life. You had every right to be angry. I let myself get talked into something that should have been a mutual decision. I regret it now more than ever.”

  “Who talked you into it?”

  “Elanabeth Bathory, the same pain in the ass woman who has conquered us every time since. I just don’t know why she does it.”

  “Do you think ending this cycle could be as easy as me forgiving you?”

  “I’ve no idea, but it can’t hurt to try. Forgive me?” he pleads, his face contorting like a puppy dog.

  “Yeah, I forgive you,” I half groan, half laugh.

  Taking my hands, he inches closer, becoming overtly serious. “Once we move on, whether it’s now or in the next go round, it’s you and me forever—no matter what the stakes.” He tugs at my hand, guiding me to his desk. “Come here a sec. The hospital called. They can’t find the copy of Mom’s DNR, which is because she never signed it. I need you to sign as a witness.” Donovan signs Mom’s name to the papers, then hands them to me along with a pen.

  “You’re forging Mom’s papers?”

  “It’s not like we didn’t know what her wishes were.”

  My eyes jerk to the paper in fear. Has he forged anything else of hers, like adoption papers? Relief hits quickly. “This looks nothing like Mom’s signature.”

  “If I had forgery skills I could have gotten our college funds signed over without kissing up to Dad. Besides, the hospital just wants to cover their asses.”

  I sign the paper, not believing the things I do for this man. “Donovan, doesn’t all this seem weird to you? If Mom was so ashamed of us, why didn’t she bust out with the truth?”

  “How that haunts me is the reason why it took me so long to tell you. Then again, Mom did confess in her own warped way. Why?”

  “I refuse to fall into a rat trap. We won’t turn everyone’s world upside down because a piece of paper says it’s okay.” My frustrations on the world show as I begin pacing. “This is ridiculous. We are told that an adopted child is family to the parents just as much as if they are genetically related. Yet society is more accepting of a romantic relationship between adopted siblings because the two are not related. How conflicting is that? All you need to do is take adoption paperwork to a courthouse and suddenly all is right, but not every state allows it. You need some twisted form of algebra to figure out who can marry where.”

  My hands fly up as if surrendering, but I am far from done. “If genes don’t matter, then none of this should be an issue. Yet if two people actually share those genes all of mankind flips out. Why? Oh, well, it’s because of um…birth defects! Really? People can’t come up with a better excuse than that? Since when do you need to be married to reproduce? The whole situation is a bunch of malarkey enforced by sheaves made from trees.”

  Donovan proudly snickers. “You’ve been working on this little diatribe for a while.”

  “Fourteen years, five months, and twenty-seven days.”

  “I thought I was the one who hit my head the day you tackled me.”

  The charm of his blinky eye roll is currently lost on me. “I want to prove those papers false.”

  Donovan nearly flips into a tizzy. “Have you totally lost your mind? Then again, maybe you’re adopted too and really the product of Billy Bibbit.”

  Taking his cheeks in my hands, I address him rationally. “Because the whole thing smells like a skinned chicken that’s been rotting in the sun for two days. I didn’t believe a word Nurse Ratched said once I started seeing through her lies. Truthfully, the closer our bonds are in all ways, the better in my book. Come over tomorrow after dinner. It’s time to settle this crap. Do me a favor though. Whatever I say, just play along.”

  Eric and I are just finishing a pot of tea when my video chat finally rings. “Too late!” I say with a smile as Christopher’s face appears on my screen.

  “Blimey, it’s only midnight. We had loads of packing to do since we’re about to leave.”

  “That’s not our complaint,” I chime. “You didn’t let us know what you want for dinner tomorrow. We planned a feast without your input.”

  “I’ve been pegged out in a van for two weeks with a bunch of nutter blokes and want nothing other than me wife to pull a sickie so she is there when I arrive. I plan to enjoy seeing you, then sleep the day away with you in my arms. Since I feel I’ve been gone so long that the moppets have flipped the nest, I’m certain we won’t be interrupted.”

  “Already on it!” Eric yells in the background.

  “Cracking!” Christopher exclaims. “How is Donovan doing after learning of your mother’s little stunt?”

  “New subject!” I chime. “I actually had a name idea. Since we already honored Davy Jones, how about the rest of The Monkees?”

  “Not that I would support it, but that would be Mickey, Peter, and Mike. Michael Peter Michael would be barmy.”

  “No, one Michael and a George,” I correct. Finally I came prepared into one
of these conversations. I must really love this guy. Seriously, why would I care about music so far before my time, classic or not?

  “George?”

  Fred steps in behind Christopher. “Are you two at it again?” he asks.

  “Yes!” Eric yells back.

  I ignore them and continue. It’s not easy to come up with this stuff. “Mickey’s real name is George Michael Dolenz. So George Michael Peter totally works.”

  Christopher leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Do you really think we should name our child George Michael?”

  My lips purse. “Oooh… Good point.” Dennis runs up to Christopher and shakes him. “What are you doing?” I say, laughing.

  Dennis throws his arms out in anticipation of applause. “I’m waking him up before we go-go. Come on, let’s get out of here!”

  “I’m ghost, luv. See you in the morning!”

  Chapter 41

  “How about Raymond David Michael?” Christopher asks while pacing through the kitchen.

  “Heavens, not again,” Eric groans. Shutting the water off at the sink, he turns with crossed arms to watch the sideshow.

  I’m with him. Besides, I’m tired of always sounding like a twonk when it comes to music. However, Christopher already has me stumped. “Who would that be from?”

  Eric’s brows cross in bewilderment before Christopher turns into a puppet version of himself with his bobbing head and display of hand gestures. “Really, Lilyanna! I’m embarrassed for you.”

  “Not helping,” I sigh.

  Christopher thwarts his hands onto his hips and huffs, “The Kinks!”

  “Oh.” Yeah, because those names are not at all common.

  “What do you mean, oh?”

  “Not doing it for me.”

  He strolls around the kitchen as if the answer is on the floor. “Okay, how about Peter Roger Keith? Never mind. That’s terrible.”