Time's Forbidden Flower

by Diane Rinella

  “Oh my God, Ellen.” Christopher gulps his breath as if it’s a boulder. “You were just getting to know her when I returned home and ruined everything.”

  Eric looks to the ground, his breath weighty. “I suppose that’s a whole other can of worms. Grace never wanted anyone to know out of respect for Paul, who eventually learned anyway. Constantly I’ve asked Grace if I could tell you; when you moved, when you returned, after Paul died, when you married, and countless other times. A few days ago I informed her I was doing it whether she approved or not.”

  “Dad—Paul knew?”

  “Yes. Paul knew my family well. When you were little you looked just like me, and the older you got, the more you looked like Mick. It was too obvious.”

  Christopher wanders to the window, his eyes lacking focus. “This explains so much. I always wondered not only why I looked so different, but also why I was treated differently. It’s because I wasn’t his son.”

  I go to him in support. Sadly I am of as much comfort as Eric’s words. “Christopher, Paul did the best he could, given the circumstances. Most men would have left. Paul at least tried.”

  Futilely, my eyes try to grab Christopher’s. His pain radiates, making my body ache for him. “He treated me so differently,” Christopher says to the grass outside. “Now I know why he set me up to fail in school.”

  “No, Christopher,” Eric corrects. “He wanted you to grow in ways he couldn’t. He never meant for you to have such a hard time.”

  “Funny, I don’t see it that way.” Christopher storms from the room, leaving the rest of us to stare at each other.

  Eric turns to Donovan and me, as if requesting forgiveness. “I should have told him when Paul died, but I didn’t feel I had the right.”

  Donovan places a reassuring hand on Eric’s arm. “You did the right thing. You tried to be a good father and put your son’s needs first. That’s more than I ever experienced with my own.”

  Christopher returns with his open laptop in hand, screaming at Grace over video chat like a rabid dog. “You shameless whore! You let Dad set me up to fail just so you had an excuse to come home! You knew I never should have been accepted to that school. I left someone I loved because I thought I was helping to put my family back together, but actually I was the excuse for Dad—Paul—whoever the hell he was—to march you back! And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me he wasn’t me dad nor that I was returning home to the man who was.”

  “Christopher,” Grace pleads. “That’s not what happened.”

  Christopher storms the room, twitchy and ranting. His face is contorted into a growl as he berates Grace. “It sure as hell is in my eyes! You saw how brokenhearted I was when we left, but what mattered to you was returning home. The least you could have done was tell me what I was returning home to. It would have given me perspective and hope. Instead I got into a world of trouble. All the drugs I did, all the girls I used—all because there was nothing in my life worth caring about! I became worse than you when we were in America! Sure, bringing you home saved you, but it was at my expense, not to mention April and Clara. Clara never spoke to me again after you paid her off to have an abortion. Not a night goes by when I don’t pray for forgiveness for your actions. I would have done the honorable thing, but you stuck your nose in and went against my beliefs!”

  My throat constricts around the gasp I try to withhold for Christopher’s sake. That beautiful man can’t possibly be talking about himself.

  Christopher has always been embarrassed by his mistakes during those two horrible years apart. We all do foolish things—but what I am hearing is so unlike him that it’s no wonder why he didn’t want me to know. Grace was a shameless tramp that he drug home and sobered up night after night. He was so humiliated by her that I can’t imagine him doing anything similar. Dear God, if he was worse… and how the hell did Eric’s daughter, Ellen, come into play? Who are these other girls I have never heard of? No wonder why he’s wanted silence.

  “I only did it for your future,” Grace begs through the monitor. “You know I never gave up hope for—”

  Christopher smacks the laptop onto the desk, us all cringing at the force. “If you wanted Lilyanna and I together so badly why didn’t you insist I stay with her and stand up to Paul, the perfect man who dumped you time and time again? My real father and his friends came to the rescue even when I hurt them. I was a huge disappointment with the way I acted like some big shot, throwing around money, getting into trouble, and hurting poor Ellen. She was actually getting me to shape up when I got shoved away like rotten garbage with not so much as a goodbye. It ripped her and Eric apart, and I thought it was that everyone was disappointed to the point where they had given up on me. Lord knows I was disappointed in meself! Now the real reason is bloody well clear.”

  Eric’s reluctance in approaching Christopher makes me unsure if he is standing behind the laptop to back Grace or if he’s afraid to get near the fuming beast. “You really have it all wrong. Grace wanted you to have a solid family, not be an outcast who didn’t know where he belonged.”

  “Bloody bad job she did! I was always the outcast. I had a right to know the truth just as much as you had a right to tell me.”

  “Christopher, please. Just let me explain,” Grace begs.

  “We are done here!” With a smack he slams the lid on his laptop, ending the call and leaving the rest of us in shock.

  Chapter 45

  Eric stares out the window, as if an answer as to why he didn’t tell Christopher sooner is written in the sky. Donovan sits with his head nearly in his lap, remembering his own parental betrayal, knowing that more looms around the corner, no matter what we learn.

  Christopher doesn’t deserve this pain. Never in the thirteen years I have known him has he ever lost his temper in such a wild fashion. This level of fire is uncharacteristic, and I worry for him. He sits shrunken in a reading chair, the red in his downturned face slowly subsiding, yet his anger still smolders. Is the hiding of his face caused by shame for his actions or embarrassment that the truth has surfaced?

  If I had moved to England none of Christopher’s problems would exist. Eric would still have his relationship with Ellen, and Mom may have left Donovan alone. A pressure simmers in my head as years of betrayal and loss are finally absorbed. Although my thought is irrational, it also makes perfect sense. “This is all my fault,” I mutter. “Every bit of pain in this room is either my fault or amplified by my actions. I’m the problem.”

  “Darling, don’t be ridiculous.” A calmer Christopher puts a hand on my shoulder. I feel like his anger transfers to me.

  “No!” I snap at him. “It’s all my fault, beginning with Donovan and ending with Eric’s problems with Ellen. I could have prevented them all.”

  “Lily!” Donovan jumps out of his seat before regaining his composure. “You know that isn’t true,” he calmly reasons. “Let’s get you some air.” He walks me out of the house, his heart pounding and his demeanor cool. Inside the driveway we hide between two cars. “Lily, you know what you feel isn’t true.”

  “I know,” I say calmly and resigned to frustration. “I’m totally overreacting. A satanic inner voice says I’m a horrible person who causes suffering, and a big part of me feels you should just leave and have a normal, healthy life for once.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he says, insistently. “You know that. Especially now that we don’t know what we’re up against. I swear, every day something happens to rub my face into the fact that us breaking up was the biggest mistake ever.”

  “Donovan, that doesn’t make any sense. How would staying together have stopped any of this?”

  “Neither you or I would be swimming in a mess of everyone else’s problems. I know it’s selfish, but is it so wrong to want you back? To desire the level of happiness that I only get when you’re in my arms? What I’m trying to say is, you are not someone who causes suffering. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I thought that
way about myself. Don’t let it happen to you.”

  The last thing I need is a dose of Donovan remorse, but he’s right. “I’m just locked in a cell of my own guilt, and I have to get out. Obviously Christopher is in the same boat. We should become fitness junkies to burn off frustration.” I pick a rock up and chuck it across the street. The act actually helps. “Didn’t playing football used to help you?”

  “Like that will ever happen,” Donovan snorts. “Though I bet Christopher would be an entertaining disaster with tackle gear.”

  “Or maybe I could do—”

  “Hmm…a runner. That would work for you.”

  “A runner? Yeah, I could do that. Damn it! This is all such a huge disaster. It’s like everybody is on love drugs, and I can’t stand it anymore. I need to tell Christopher the truth about us and Chuck Cunningham’s room. Somehow I have to escape the bullshit.”

  From out of nowhere, Christopher’s voice resounds. “Who’s Chuck Cunningham? Is everything all right?” Christopher appears as if every emotion he feels is a contradiction. His eyes stab me while his form appears weak, like he wants to release a furious scream before he’s sick to his stomach. He was so much calmer inside a moment ago. What has set that poor man off now?

  “He’s an old TV character we use as a joke,” Donovan says, sounding as deflated as I feel. “Lily’s just got some anxiety brought on by lack of sleep. Can you give us a little more time?”

  Something in Christopher’s eyes as he walks away sends razor blades though my veins. Oh, crap. How much did he hear? “I’ve got to suck up my problems and get back inside. Christopher needs to know this changes nothing between us.”

  “Thank heaven our test results aren’t here,” Donovan sighs. “Since whatever we find is yet another dose of betrayal, let me get through Anna’s rehab first. Now I need to get my daughter home to her own cold reality.”

  Christopher stands at the patio door, watching his father play with the children. “You all right?” I ask, approaching him with trepidation.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he says sternly. “Today has given us much to talk about.”

  As Christopher shuts the bedroom door he firms his stance, flipping his hair aside to reveal his lovely eyes have grown darker and stormier than ever. A new side of Christopher is brewing, and I shiver at his glare. “I thought you might like to finish what was started.”

  My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

  “A few minutes ago the pin was pulled on our marriage. Would you like to throw the grenade or shall I do it for you?”

  His words fail to register in my hazy mind, but his tone does. My only response is a blank stare. I hope he’s not getting at what I fear and pray he didn’t hear Donovan’s talk of our break up.

  “All right, Lilyanna. If you can’t admit the truth, I’ll say it for you. It’s time we had it out about those two years apart. Clearly you and Donovan have much to say about it. Do you care to share?” Christopher’s glare is unwavering, making me feel as if there is no possible way I can squirm out of anything. His arms drop as he heads for the door. “Fine! If you want games you have them, but I am not doing to my children what my parents did to me. We no longer have ties. However, the children must never know our marriage is a sham. If you won’t cooperate, I’m leaving and taking the children with me. I’ll sue if I have to, but I don’t think you’d want that.”

  My desire to rationalize with him is halted by his state of rage, fearing his senses are blind to all else. Instead I sit silent, unresponsive, and feeling imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit.

  “Lilyanna, do you understand me?”

  A nod is my only reply.

  “Good! We will be out the rest of the day. Have dinner on the table at 6 P.M. Bring your game face.” The slam of the door behind him shatters my heart like splintered glass.

  Full body tremors hit as I crumple to the ground. Even though it is ridiculous that my prior actions hurt Christopher, and may forever haunt my children should the bigots of the world learn and ridicule them, only my foolish irrationality is to blame.

  Below me the garage door closes. Outside the bedroom window Christopher drives off with Eric and our children. My cries turn into blood curdling screams as my life abandons me.

  Boisterously the kids run in, still excited from the wonderful time they had at Knox Berry Farm without me. Eric sports a grin that rivals those of my children. “Lilyanna, glad you are well. Christopher said you had a horrific headache and we would probably order take away for dinner.”

  It takes all I can muster to conceal my hurt. “Thanks, Eric. I’m much better now. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes.”

  Christopher enters carrying a bunch of kitchy toys and looking knackered. He likely has the headache he claims I was suffering from. Serves him right for ditching me.

  “Cracking. Need any help?” Eric asks as Antonia chases Graham around the kitchen for reasons completely unknown to me.

  “If you would make sure the kids wash that would be perfect. Thank you.”

  Christopher gives me a luscious kiss with a beautiful smile. “Glad you are well.”

  “On it!” Eric chimes while chasing the children up the stairs to their rooms. As soon as they are out of view, Christopher heads upstairs, now appearing as if he’s returned from a funeral.

  “Rough day?” I ask.

  “I think you know the answer to that,” he mutters. Christopher lumbers up the stairs, and I feel that though his public actions were adoring, his private ones show he is really walking away, not only from me at this moment, but from our life.

  Chapter 46

  I feel as if I am in an old movie—in a scene where tension exists because the only sound comes from the ticking of an old clock—only here there is nothing but silence that tocks through me. The glow coming from the digital clock on the nightstand reveals it is 2 A.M. When last I looked it was midnight. How did I manage to actually get a few hours of sleep? In the week since our blowout, scarcely a civil word has been uttered between Christopher and I that wasn’t in public, and we’ve each accumulated less than a night’s worth of rest.

  This battle has to end.

  Light seeps through the crevices of the adjoining bathroom’s door. Stiffly I lie in bed, pretending to be asleep and watching the numbers on the clock morph as the minutes crawl past. At 2:34 A.M. I rise, worried for Christopher who has been silent the entire time. Standing just outside the bathroom, my raised hand halts before knocking. Faint sobs travel through the door—the sound of a broken heart. Softly I knock, “Christopher, please, let’s talk.”

  The rip of a tissue being pulled from a box comes to my ears, followed by a deep breath. After a moment, the door wildly swings open. Christopher emerges from the bathroom and storms past me, as if he has been stewing the entire time. “Christopher, we need to talk about this.” I follow him to the bedroom door that he slams behind him, halting my pursuit. From outside he mutters faintly, “I’m sorry,” so softly I question if I actually heard it.

  Back to bed I go. Another night, another dose of pain.

  High atop the Hollywood Hills, Robert and I stand in a majestic mansion resembling an old English castle. With the exception of modern luxuries woven into the façade everything about it screams antique. It seems fitting that we find ourselves here as tonight’s party, celebrating the 60th Anniversary of Anthem Records, will be filled with rock n’ roll royalty from all of its eras.

  Nestled in the corner of a large room lined in grey bricks and windows overlooking Los Angeles, we put the final touches on a cake. The full-sized replica of a Vox Super Beatle amp, seated in an original metal frame, stands tall and proud. Robert and I dote over little details that make it look so real someone may plug a guitar into it.

  “Wow! That looks incredible!” Jenny exclaims on her approach. “Have you seen how much champagne they brought in?”

  “Yeah, along with all the whisky,” I add.

  “Yeah, along with the
hot delivery guys who carried that stuff in here,” Robert says, fanning himself. “I would gladly drink anything those guys have to offer.”

  “Robert, that is vile!” Jenny laughs and gives his arm a little shove.

  Robert gets pouty. “It’s not fair that you get a tall, hot man and I don’t.”

  My voice deepens, sounding as if I’ve lined it with smut. “You mean that Jenny and I both got the tall, hot man and you never will!”

  With a flick of his hand he walks off, leaving Jenny and I giggling. “Hey, Christopher!” Jenny yells as he enters the room carrying a couple of guitar cases. “Did you see this cake Robert and your wife made? It’s amazing!” Christopher dashes over, his hair flowing with a lovely bounce. Seeing him is heartbreakingly beautiful. “Isn’t it smashing?” Jenny beams.

  Christopher’s grin flows in response to her use of his vernacular. He then looks at the cake with a keen eye of appreciation, nodding his head as he strolls around the back, observing the fine details. “I wouldn’t call it smashing. I’d call it absolutely perfect. Whatever gave you the idea to make a cake like this?” he asks as he puts his arms around my waist from behind. My hands grip his elbows, tightening the embrace.

  “It was all Eric’s idea. He even helped me chart out the details.”

  “Hey, Jenny! Get over here and help me with these trays,” Robert bellows from across the room. “I’m not the only one working today, you know.” Jenny drops her shoulders with a sigh before dashing off.

  “Do you really like it?” I ask.