Love's Forbidden Flower (26 page)

“Christopher,” my breath utters. The cups are almost the same hue as his loving and playful eyes. Being out for tea, such a British thing to do, is bad enough, but to have something that reminds me so blatantly of Christopher is a little much right now with all of the commotion over Donovan's perfidious engagement. The forming pool of water is blinked away just as Mom gushes in.

“Oh, it's just perfect!” Mom clutches her hands together like a stereotypical early 1960’s TV mom, which is appropriate since her puffy dress, tiny hat, pearls, and white gloves make her look like Donna Reed. “Isn’t it perfect, Lily?”

“It's delightful, Mom. Marcia will love it.” The expanse of blue teacups brings about regret for not attempting to talk Dad into allowing an international relocation. Mom’s excitement cuts short my cerebral sojourn across the pond.

“Oh, there she is!” Marcia stands in the doorway wearing a lovely pink dress very complementary to mine. “Oh, Marcia! That dress is so cute on you. Come here and let me hug you.”

The sappiness of Mom's display matches her outfit. As I look to Marcia to apologize on Mom’s behalf for her behavior, my grin crashes. Today we seem to be twins in discomfort.

“Thank you, Lana. Lily, can I talk to you for a minute?” Upon exiting the room and at the sight of guests flooding through the door, Marcia yanks me into the restroom with a look of dread. “I have to get out of here.” Her sights turn to the window, and she attempts to pry it open.

“Whoa, Marcia. My family's crazy but they're not that bad! Relax. It's going to be fine.”

“You don’t understand. I can't marry Donovan.”

My feet stammer back as I pretend to be surprised. In a small display of exasperation I put down the toilet seat and sit. An attempt is made to not make it sound like I know Donovan has done something really stupid, but the obvious is hard to cover. “All right. What did Donovan do?”

Marcia's moist eyes rapidly fill with heavy sobs. “I don’t know what I did. I told him I was nervous about meeting so many people and how I looked forward to seeing you. I commented how funny it is that you and I are so alike, and how lucky he is to have you as a sister and parents that are so supportive because mine aren’t. Then he just went crazy.”

“Crazy how?” If he touched her, he better hope the police drive faster than I do.

“He started screaming that I don't know what I'm talking about, and his family doesn’t really love and support him. That there's only one person who ever understood or believed in him, and when he lost that he lost everything. Now no one knows who he really is—not even himself. Then he grabbed his keys. He yelled at me not to stop him, but I didn't listen and kept pulling at him, and he kept yelling at me to stop. I begged and pulled and finally he yanked his arm away. I thought he was going to come after me, but he stopped and punched the wall so hard he broke the plaster.”

My hand covers my mouth as my eyes tighten. The astonishment isn't over Donovan's actions as much as how my abandonment has affected him and others as well. “Marcia, I'm—I'm so sorry.”

Marcia braces herself on the sink as if some kind of explanation must be down the drain. “He sat on the floor crying and apologized, saying he'd never done anything like that before. Was he lying? Do you know of him doing this kind of thing?”

Never.

My head slowly shakes as I speak. “He used to be the gentlest person imaginable. I've no idea what happened to him. He won’t talk to me.” Removing a paper towel from the dispenser, I dampen it and hand it to Marcia who touches up her makeup. “You said you were tugging at him. Were you really doing that? Are you sure you're remembering that right, or are you projecting some of the blame onto yourself?”

Marcia stares acutely at my reflection in the mirror. “I panicked. I've never felt like he really loved me. Sometimes it's like he wants me to be someone else. I just got insecure, like if he left I'd never see him again. Stupid, huh?

“I need to get out here. Please thank your mother, and tell her the engagement is off.”

But that's in the States. In Manchester it's 11A.M.!

“Hello, luv! Happy Birthday!” The most charming face I still have ever seen beams at me with his lovely blue eyes that pierce through the monitor and into my heart. My bum can’t stop bouncing in its seat upon setting my sights on Christopher.

“Thank you! It is now.” Without a thought, my lips hit the screen as if smacking him one on the cheek, causing his face to shy.

“Cor Blimey! I wasn’t expecting a greeting like that!”

“And I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. It’s been yonks!”

“Well stone the crows! I suppose it has. You look exceptionally radiant. Why the big ear to ear?” He makes a swoop with his finger, like he’s tracing the smile on my face.

“We haven't spoken in so long that I thought you forgot about me. I'm so glad you haven’t. I’ve been wanting to call you for the longest time.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” he asks while bouncing his head animatedly, making my beam all the brighter.

Mimicking him, my hands fly into the air. “Why didn’t you?”

“Long, sad story.” He plops his elbow on the desk with chin in hand.

My tone weights as I place my hand on the monitor and start toying with it. “You know, it's all right if you've moved on. It would be hard to hear, but—well, if you have don’t tell me—but don’t make that a reason for not talking to me. I miss you terribly.”

“Oh, luv. I miss you too. What's that you're doing to your monitor?”

“I'm trying to stroke the hair from your face so I can see you better. Silly, huh?”

“It’s darling.”

“From now on we talk at least once a month, okay? No matter where life takes us.” Kissing my fingertips I reach out towards him.

He returns the gesture, attempting to virtually place his hand against mine. “It’s more than okay.”

“I went to tea a few weeks ago. They had cups that were the same color as your eyes, and I started tearing.”

I can feel his heart grip across the miles, just like mine. “I can’t believe you still think of me. I think of you all the time, but I never expect you to think of me.”

“I can't imagine ever stopping.”

“Are you all right?” I can barely wake myself to ask.

“Yeah. Whatever you do, don’t go outside.”

“Okay,” I mutter as he slips out the door.

Just as slumber is about to resume Julian’s voice rings through the window, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Springing out of bed the curtains are thrown aside in anxiety. “Oh no! No! No! No! No! No!” Tearing out the door, down the hallway, and outside I endeavor to break up the two men dueling it out by forcing myself between them. “Stop! Stop fighting!”

“No way, Lily. This guy was sneaking around looking in your window.” A half-dressed Julian lunges at the determined man who doesn't have a prayer against his stature. Julian hits him so hard Donovan must see black as he stumbles.

“Julian, stop hitting my brother!”

He pulls back and releases his victim. “Your brother?” Julian asks as if disgusted. “Donovan?”

“Yes, you Neanderthal.”

Donovan stares at the blood he's wiped off his jaw as Julian tries to introduce himself properly. “Man, I'm really sorry. I just saw some guy sneaking around and was worried for Lily. Hi. I’m Julian. Nice to meet you.” Julian extends his hand but diffidently returns it to the pocket of his jeans when Donovan glares at it like it's an alien life form.

Intrusively heading for the entrance to the apartment building Donovan baulks, “Nice greeting. Are you going to invite me in or do I just do that myself?” As he turns back to look at me standing outside in a tank top and boy-shorts, or what is basically my underwear, half of his lips curl, “Cute outfit.”

I feel on display as we walk back to my humble abode. Upon reaching the living room my desire to excuse myself in search of less revealing garments is neglected for fear the boys will start going at it again. Both look territorially at each other like caged tigers.

“To what do I owe this charming visit that comes completely unannounced?” I ask.

Donovan defiantly sits on the sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table as he slouches back. “The main door was locked, and your cell phone's off. I need to talk to you right away so I was trying to figure out which apartment was yours. I thought I was sly, but your guard dog sniffed me out.”

“Cut the crap! Why are you here?”

Donovan straightens his back and removes his feet from the table. His voice is gravely serious. “Mom sent me. We need to talk.”

“Let me get Lily a robe, then I’ll give you two some privacy,” Julian says.

Donovan and I stare at each other as I release a huff. Julian quickly returns with the robe and helps me put it on before kissing my cheek and leaving. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.” Julian's words are directed at me, but Donovan holds his beastly glare.

Donovan and I have yet to take our eyes off of each other, as if with any movement an explosive will blow. He motions for me to sit next to him, and I hesitantly oblige—keeping distance—facing him while hugging my knees. This is no charming little visit to plan a family summer vacation.

“They think Dad had a stroke last night. He's in critical care. They have no idea what caused it or what'll happen next. I'm on my way home for a few days. You should join me.”

The news on Dad is slow coming from doctors lacking in bedside manner, and they all speak in tongues. My only act of usefulness was calling for reinforcement. Upon Julian's arrival I introduce him to my sobbing mother who stands to hug him in gratitude. “Thank you so much for coming. It's very sweet of you to drive all those hours to help us.”

“It’s no problem Mrs. Beckett,” Julian replies. Looking across the room to Donovan they acknowledge each other with polite nods. Peace is at hand. “Mrs. Beckett, I need you to introduce me to the people at the nurse's station. Then I'll see what I can find out.”

Mom takes his arm as they walk off. The sight is breathtakingly sad.

Resigning myself to sitting next to Donovan, we stare at our crying mother with Julian attempting to comfort her. “What, no crack?”

“It’s just not the time nor the place.” His respect for the situation is short-lived. “Since you put it out there, damn he's tall. How does that work out for you?” Nefariously cocked eyebrows accompany his dirty grin.

“You're unbelievable!”

“Got you to smile,” he says with a wink before briefly squeezing my hand. Other than when he viscously grabbed my arm during Spring Break, it's the first physical contact we've had since I pushed him onto the bench the day I told him to go to hell.

Julian is overlooking Dad's chart when the doctor arrives and takes him to see Dad. In gentlemanly fashion Donovan relinquishes his seat upon Mom's approach. He's been even harder to read these past days. The source of his agitation is more than Dad's distress. It's also something far deeper than my presence or that of Julian.

Several minutes pass before Julian emerges and pulls a chair next to Mom and me while looking like the bearer of bad news. Before he begins he scoots his chair a little closer to Mom, like they're old friends and he's lending support. If there's one thing Julian doesn't need training in, it's bedside manner.

“The CT showed bleeding from a brain tumor. They just got the rushed MRI result back, which let them get a better look at the problem. There's not only the issue of the tumor, but it appears Mr. Beckett has experienced mini-strokes for the past year, so there's a lot of weak tissue.” Julian pauses and takes Mom's and my hands, then looks to Donovan in support of his plight before bravely addressing Mom as tenderly as possible. “There is a mass of tumors. They have no way of telling without a biopsy, but the MRI detected a classic pattern for High-grade Glioma, which is cancerous. Mrs. Beckett, your husband was probably having symptoms for a long time. Did he never express anything to you?”

“Nothing,” Mom sobs. “Occasionally he would mention a headache and recently his stomach had been bothering him, but he never made anything of it. He's very proud and feels that real men do not complain.”

“That's very unfortunate. Please know that with his lack of communication, there was no way you could have known there was a greater problem.” Julian looks to Donovan and me as if to warn us to brace ourselves before turning his attention back to Mom. “Mrs. Beckett, I'm sorry, but they do not feel an operation would be a safe option for your husband. The doctors believe that the risks far outweigh the benefits.”