Love's Forbidden Flower (28 page)

“Shut up and be the Donovan I spent the first sixteen years of my life with. Can we please try to go back to a time when you and I were friends who relied on each other? When we'd watch movies together and I'd bury my head in your shoulder while you protected me from the scary monsters both on the screen and in my life? I want to be five again when curling up next to my big brother was considered cute. We never questioned anything. We were just ourselves, and it was perfect. Can I please, please be five again even if only for this moment?”

“I wish it were that simple. But yeah, if we need to ignore things anyway we might as well do it comfortably, at least for this moment,” he concedes, pulling me closer.

“Sometimes I feel if we did it all the time then the other stuff would just fade away, and we would go back to being friends and never consider anything else.”

“Maybe you're right. Nothing else is working so we might as well try it this way. But just when we're alone, and let’s not let that happen very often, okay? Just in case.”

“Definitely okay.” My head relaxes into his shoulder. I almost feel five again. “I broke up with Julian.”

“Why?”

“I’m not in love with him.”

“Yeah. I could tell.”

Last night Christopher inquired about my mental state. My ability to answer was replaced by a vacant stare. Like a large vat of discarded contents, digging through the muck is the only way to see what really sits inside. It might be best left undisturbed.

My cell phone has practically been chained to me in anticipation of the inevitable moment. The dreaded call comes while tempering chocolate in a Confectionary Arts class, and my edginess causes me to drop the spatula and spray warm chocolate all over myself. On the drive to the hospital, removing the brown mess seems trivial compared to the urgency flowing through me.

“Lily,” Donovan calls while standing in the hospital lobby as I sprint past. He catches me and his eyes reflect that the unadulterated, 24-carat Donovan has fully resurrected. “Hey, take a breath. You all right?”

Pants come out as I nod, “Yeah. Oh God. Am I too late?”

“No, you still have plenty of time.” Taking both of my hands in his, he locks into my eyes with heavy support. “It’s not pretty in there. He lost the last of his sight this morning. He's heavily drugged and flips back and forth between sleeping and rambling. Just be ready for anything. He's been saying some odd stuff.”

Donovan hasn't made a single crack about the calamitous fashion statement of my chocolate encrusted uniform and hair scraggly falling from its clip. Judging from his tone there is no doubt this will be the last time we see our father alive. Heartache victimizes me as I fall into Donovan's arms where the true comfort I have so long needed is finally found.

The room where Mom stands watch over her dying husband reeks of antiseptic. The dim lights are somehow glaring. Haze fogs my vision as it locks on the man in the hospital bed attached to all the tubes. I'm told he's my father, but he's hard to recognize. Dad is always strong and sturdy, while this man is frail, broken to the core, and experiencing a horrific end that no one deserves.

“Edward, Lily is here. She's standing next to you with Donovan,” Mom says through red eyes, unable to face her children.

Dad attempts a grin as uncharacteristic tears roll down the sides of his face and onto the pillow. “Lily, my darling girl, give me your hands. I was just telling your mother how very proud I am of you. You have turned out to be such a beautiful and smart woman. You have always followed your head even when your heart tried to get in the way, but somehow you did it without losing your love and passion. I hope you never change.”

“I won’t change, Daddy. I promise.”

“I believe you, dear. When a Beckett makes a promise, he keeps it.”

My heart turns to Donovan, wondering if he will really keep his promises. Before my mind can form the question he grants me a subtle nod of assurance.

“There were so many things I wanted to do in life, but I never did them. I always wanted to work with my hands, but I was foolish. I wanted to be a carpenter. It was honest work, but my father wanted me to be a businessman. Now it’s too late.”

“Why didn’t you do it, Daddy? Why didn’t you become a carpenter?”

The only response is silence.

Mom speaks on his behalf. “It was easier to turn off his desires than to try to fight his father or admit to himself the things he wanted to do.” She takes an emotion-filled breath before vacating the room. “I need some air.”

“Son, you still there?”

“Yes, Dad.” Donovan walks to the other side of the bed and adds his hands to mine and Dad's. Somehow my fragile rollercoaster of a man has found the stability of an army.

“Son, don’t be stupid like I was. I had all these things I wanted to do and never did them. It’s too late now. I never got to drive across the country. I never got to build any of the things I wanted to. I worked too hard, and there were too many times I came home in the middle of the night, and your mom was asleep. I never even got to tell her I love her.”

They say final confessions bring out deep-seated personalities, but this man does not sound anything like the Edward Beckett that spent years berating his son. If this is a dimension of his true self that he allowed to be lost, then my real father is unknown to me.

“You’ve got to do the things you want while you can and not wait until retirement or whenever you think the right time is to act. You need to constantly move forward and appreciate every day. I've been so wrong with you Donovan. I've tried to turn you into something you're not because that is what I let my father do to me. Now that it's too late I see what a mistake I made. I told you so many things that you were doing wrong, but I was the one who was incorrect. Go do what you want to do, and love whom you want to love, and tell them every day. Promise me that in time you'll forgive me. Please son, please forgiv-iv-ive me.”

Although Dad is the one with the deathbed confession, the waves of emotion that flood me emanate from Donovan. He seems true to himself at this moment, which makes it all the more arcane when he visibly speaks in silence a response unreflective of his character.

“Never.”

His flocculent words capture my being. “No, my love, he was just the catalyst.”

Delicately he unspools my hair from the clip that has barely done its job holding my tattered locks. He seems to marvel in beauty as it drifts to my shoulders. “You should wash your face. There's so much mascara streaked on it that I can barely see the chocolate anymore.” Scraping some of the dried chocolate off my cheek with his finger, he licks it and shoots me a cunning smile in an attempt to brighten my darkened feelings. “Go on. I’ll be right here.”

In the mirror of the restroom, an empty and confused girl stares at me, saying there is something to be processed. Is it Dad’s words, Donovan’s reaction, or the fact that I'll never see my father alive again the reason for the trauma? The swirl in my brain that causes my hands to grip the sink and steady myself isn’t brought on by physical illness. After a moment Donovan checks on me. Leaning on him, he supports my body as well as my soul as we leave the hospital.

At the home of our parents, we huddle on the sofa as if he’s offering shelter. The room is so quiet it seems sacrilegious to speak above a whisper. Donovan breaks the silence with the tender words I've longed to hear. “Just so you know, you can ask me anything now. One of my reasons for silence is almost gone and, while there are others, I just don’t see the need to not be honest with you anymore.”

“Do you promise that anything we don't discuss tonight we can talk about tomorrow morning, no matter what?”

“Yes. Then, or at any other time. I promise.” With compassion that has not surfaced in years, he brushes the hair away from my cheek and fondles it through his fingers.

The pain of the day succumbs to the hurt endured at his past. Despite all that has happened there is only one thing my spirit needs to know—the only thing that can help me move forward.

“Do you love me? I mean—Do you
really
love me? Not as your sister. Not as your friend. Do you
love
me?”

“Yes. Do you remember when I gave you that silly necklace and the note about you making me fall? I meant it.”

“So this entire time you have always loved me?”

“For months before you tackled me. It was just then I knew you felt it too.”

His calling embrace entices me closer. My arm slides around the back of his neck, toying with his raven locks while my heart dares to succumb to his hold. We've been here before, and we’ll never be here again if this ends like all those other times. “If you knew for so long then why all the games?”

“Are you ready for me to start from the beginning? It’s going to be a long night, because I'm going to tell you every last detail of everything that happened and everyone involved.”

Honest pain reverberating in his eyes gives me the courage to dare believe truth is upon us. Since he has yet to retreat I grow bolder, touching my lips to his, lingering in apprehension. “No. I don’t want to talk about the past. Tonight I want to move forward. You're telling me that you've loved me for years, yet you've never showed it. Tonight I need you to start showing me.”

His palm touches my cheek as his thumb skims across the tips of my eyelashes, my heart not quite beating. My gaze becomes transfixed on the beauty of his lips. As he touches them to mine, a soft gasp escapes me before I completely surrender to his affection—my entire body tingling with a cool fever. His tender passion reveals he has awaited this kiss for years and now fears he only has a moment to make up for what felt like an eternity of yearning.

Concern over his reaction baits my breath when he pulls away. Donovan’s eyes are like soft blue waves that want to wrap themselves around me and never dissipate while the curve of his lips shimmer. Never will I be able to return to the way I have seen him in any incarnation before, for now I know his true reality.

Fearing he is an apparition, my fingertips touch his lips just as he whispers, “I truly love you, and I will never let you hurt again.”

At last Donovan completes his surrender to our reality. “There is no more running. I have admitted my feelings to myself for years, and not telling you was killing me inside. Now that I have, everything else has melted into nothing. The very core of my being loves you. It's taking every bit of restraint to stop me from carrying you up those stairs and making love to you, but you need to know that what I feel isn't about that. It was never about that. It would have been so much easier if it was.”

“I know. It’s always been in your eyes. Every time we've been close I've felt it racing through you. But truthfully, those words are just as necessary as the need for you to show me all the wonderful things you feel you are willing to act on.” Rising from the sofa, my hand extends to him. This is the moment that will make or break us. “It's time we finally express our feelings the way that two people in love unashamedly should.”

Donovan takes my hand as he rises from the sofa. As I turn to lead him up the stairs he stops and guides me into his embrace. A gentle fire roars in the depths of his eyes as he caresses my face—the honesty of the moment outwardly moving his emotions to new depths. He sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. I curl into his hold and feel the love emanating from his pounding heart. Staring into my eyes with unabashed desire, he carries me up the stairs, pausing as he reaches the top. “Which room would you prefer?” he asks.

“Yours. I always dreamed of going into your room at night and slipping into bed with you. Some nights I just wanted to hold you and tell you I love you, but there were other times my thoughts were not as honorable.”

“Mine it is then. And from now on you can do those things any time you like. I hope you'll do them all, honorable or not.”

He lays me on his bed as if I am a fallen idol, resuming my place on his mantle of worship. With a breathtaking kiss that sends tingles through my body, I wrap my legs around him, pressing my hips against his and feeling the growing bulge in his tight jeans. My thoughts slip out of control. Part of me wants to methodically appreciate every nuance of every caress while the anticipation of feeling him inside me is too great to endure. My yearning begs me to retain the poetry of the moment, but the years of pent up tension send my hands feverishly under his snug T-shirt as I nearly rip it off while pulling it over his head.