Time's Forbidden Flower (11 page)

After a restless night, I accept that Lilyanna Eccles and Lily Beckett have collided and merged. As Donovan exits his office for lunch I bolt into his lobby, stick my hand out in front of me and push him back inside, shutting the door behind me. My hands touch my temples then bounce out in revelation as my words jabber forward. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“What, Lily? What can’t you take?” He rolls his eyes as if I’m about to blurt out something utterly ridiculous. My sleep-deprived brain should take it as a warning. Sometimes how well he knows me really sucks.

“I’m having an affair, and I can’t stand myself,” I blurt.

Donovan shows he wants to throttle me as he smacks the files in his hand onto his desk. “You’re what? With who?”

“With you,” I reveal. Suddenly realizing my stupidity, I squeeze my lids as if the act will make me invisible.

Donovan's hands go to his hips as his head turns into a maraca. “Are you crazy? Look Lil, we all know I have moments where the obvious escapes me, but I’d be well aware if we were cheating on our spouses.”

“We’re not cheating. We’re having an affair.”

“Wow! You have really got me this time.” He drops his hands in surrender before approaching me. Cupping and raising my chin, he forces me to face him. His tone changes from shocked to passive, yet sturdy—like I’m a toddler needing a reprimand for an innocent mistake. “Okay, Lily. Tell me about this affair and exactly how I’m involved.”

“Um, well, you’re kind of my boyfriend.”

His blinking eyes match his stammering words. “Your—your what?”

“We’re dating!”

“Lily, we are not dating,” he asserts.

“No? Think about it. All the lunches we have, the way we interact like lovers—”

“Lily, you’re my best friend, not to mention that we have been through hell together. Of course we lean on each other.”

“Best friend? Are best friends constantly on the verge of throwing themselves at each other?”

“Some are.”

“Oh, please. How about feeding each other—seductively. What about the playfulness and the innuendos? Damn it, Donovan, if you weren’t off limits, last night I would have thrown you on that workbench, used you as a bowl, and licked you clean.”

“I think there’s some mango yogurt in the fridge…”

“I’m serious! Does this not faze you, or were you playing me all along?”

His sapphires close off the world as the truth of my words sink in. “I’m not playing you, but the idea of what was going on had smacked me in the face before.” He pauses to digest reality. “I suppose you want to stop.”

I step closer and look him squarely in the eyes, wishing a lie would come forth. “No.”

His hand caresses through my hair, stopping at the back of my head. My chin raises, my lips suddenly in need of moisture. “Neither do I,” he confesses. “How close are we going to allow ourselves to get? I really want to be the dutiful husband, but…”

My eyes blink away their forming pools. “There is no way I will cheat on Christopher, but since you’ve come back into my life I’ve gone from happy and relatively satisfied to excited and passionate. You fuel me like no one else is capable. I hate to admit it, but being like this is so much more honest than ignoring the truth we don’t want to hide from.”

With a touch to my chin, his words grant blessing for the release of my tear. “Please don’t hide from us. We fought so hard to accept the truth. I can’t bear to ignore it again.”

“Okay, no hiding, but we need to remember there is a line before we cross it.”

The car’s
bop
into my driveway reflects eager anticipation. Christopher called requesting I come home early and not worry about the children. An enticing surprise may await me. Well, vanilla ice cream enticing. Sadly, for the last ten years my daring sexual adventures live in an alternate reality. I’ll happily take it though. After last night’s encounter with Donovan I’m hungry for anything that pumps life into my marriage that is inching toward failure.

My insides droop at the site of my family gathered at the kitchen table. Antonia sits on Christopher's right knee with Graham in a chair to his left, all of them staring at a laptop’s screen. This can only mean one thing—and dessert has nothing to do with it.

Eric’s image transmits over video chat. A slinked smile hides my disappointment. “Hi, Eric!” I crouch behind Christopher and kiss his cheek. Residing next to the laptop is a note pad decorated in scribbles. Christopher's handwriting indicates he missed his calling as a doctor. All that is legible is “6 weeks, 21 stops.”

“You’re looking lovely, Lilyanna. How are you, dear?” Eric asks.

“Wonderful, thank you. You sure are missed. You’ve been dangling hope of a visit in front of us for a decade. Don’t you think it’s long past time?”

“Be careful what you wish for, luv. Keep me posted, Christopher. You did right by firing that yob. Cheers.”

“Cheers, mate.” Christopher says before closing his laptop.

Antonia jumps for the television with Graham scrambling behind. Christopher rises from his seat. His grin is hard to contain, yet a little twitchy. “Fire?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his waist. He gives me a lovely kiss that leaves me dying for more.

“I fired Mike.”
 

Oh, thank the Lord! “I’d ask, but I think I know why.”

“He was simply out of control and completely unprofessional,” Christopher asserts while throwing the pen in his hand onto the table. “That and I know he was making you uncomfortable. It was big of you not to say anything. It’s a good thing I did it last night too,” he declares, returning his arm to my waist.

“Because the big news that came through today is?” My lips curve in anticipation.

“It’s getting harder to keep anything from you.”

I give him a little flash of my eyelid. “Good. That makes it easier to keep watch on your antics.”

He looks to my work shoes, his grin sheepish yet reserved. “You know how I’ve been making friends with promoters and offering to play poxy, last-minute gigs in an effort to boost interest in the band?”

“Umm hmm.” Boy, do I ever! We’ve had some great moments interrupted and family plans flipped around by bad, last-minute gigs.

“It finally paid off. We’ve been offered a twelve week, cross-country tour opening for Spiral Lamb, whose album just went platinum.”

“Christopher, that’s fantastic!” And it’s horrific! Twelve weeks? Instead of vanilla ice cream I get cow dung. The last thing I need while being tempted away from my husband is for him to leave for three months. “When is it?” I ask, my breath trapped in fear he’ll leave tomorrow, yet also wanting this over with so I can have my husband back.

“That’s the cracking part. Since it’s a major tour and the band specifically wants us, we actually get notice. We leave in the middle of January.”

“That’s perfect! That gives you months to prepare.” My face contorts into an overplayed smile with full moons for eyes. Christopher’s blanched expression and sagging body tell he sees through my charade. “Why don’t you look happy?” I ask. “You’ve been waiting years for this.”

“All that preparation means I’m going to be away a lot more. You’re not all right with this, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“It certainly is. You really want to let me have it right now, and you’ve every right. Today I heard of the children’s recent adventures. Donovan’s become their surrogate father.”

My eyes turn to the children. Where Christopher’s absence has led me is merely a fraction of my concern. “Christopher, we shouldn’t be expected to wait like neglected puppies who are grateful every time you brush past and tap us on the head. You already have a full-time job at the studio, not to mention all of the rehearsal time with your band. I know you can’t do it all, but please try a little harder. We all need to enjoy what we have a bit more. Okay?”

He snuggles me into his shoulder, his voice soft and reassuring, his body tense. “More than okay. I won’t let us slip away further. I promise.”

Cindy and I cower in the dark recess of the kitchen, afraid someone will discover the delectable Mascarpone-Pear mousse we created and we’ll have to share. It’s so luscious we’re giggling as if intoxicated. Visions of using it in a mousse cake with a pistachio crème insert accompanied by a glass of wine swirl in my head. “Hmm…Moscato is perfect with the pear and mascarpone, but…given the pistachio this needs a strong red.”

“Yeah,” Cindy agrees with idolatry for the mousse. Her eyes flair. “Like a good Cab.”

My head tilts back as my knees dip with an excited bounce, relishing the thought. “Oh, totally!”

Jenny softly interrupts, suspending my taste buds from their happy dance. “Lily, Donovan’s here. He needs to see you.” Her expression is pained to the point where my grin instantly crashes.

“Why didn’t you send him back?” I ask.

“He, um—he warned me that he needs to take you on a walk. I think something’s really wrong.”

Chucking my spoon into the sink, I bolt to the front of the store where Donovan trudges with angst. Halting his tread he turns to me with a shrug of emptiness, thus selling out the source of his misery.
 

Grabbing his arm I drag him through the kitchen, past the lockers, and out the back door. Once we reach the lot I touch my hands to his cheeks like I’m saving his head from plummeting to the pavement. “What did she say to you? Do not let her do this!”

His eye close with a whimper. “Mom’s Cirrhosis has turned into liver cancer. They’re starting chemo, but with everything else, odds are she won’t be around much longer.”

A wave of vacancy flows through my gut. I hate the thought that the woman who raised me—who tried to be my best friend and often came close to succeeding—is suffering, but it doesn’t eradicate my detestation for her blasphemous handiwork. My loving heart and the animosity in my head cancel each other out, leaving me anesthetized.

Like the Doublemint Twins, Donovan and I enter our adjoining hotel rooms and open the set of doors that separate them. I fling myself backwards onto his bed. My flair for melodrama surfaces as I flail my hand to my forehead and utter breathlessly, “I feel faint. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tomorrow. Just tell Norma Desmond I said hello.”

“No way, Marion Davies. You’re stuck,” he snaps while tossing me the room service menu. “As you have told me many times, some things we’re still in together.” He nods to the menu. “What do you want?”

Doing my best Scarlett O’Hara I agonize, “World peace, the end of poverty, and a ride to the airport.” Donovan’s glare demolishes my fun. “Geez! Lighten up. You turn into a fireball of testy when you’re about to see Hanniballa Lecter.”

“Can you blame me? The woman ruined my life.”

Wow, after a decade has he finally figured that one out? “Hey, Baby Jane.” I prop myself on my elbows and motion for him to sit next to me. Donovan crinkles up a side of his nose and turns away, flicking his hand at me. “Hey,” I say. “You okay? Did I do something to upset you?”

With ridged muscles his hands rest on his hips, his lips tense, his head oscillating while staring at the wall. His head drops before turning to me. “I’m sorry. It’s the stress.” He sits in slow motion, like he’s attempting to stretch every muscle.

“Your life is far from ruined,” I softly reason, caressing his cheek. Habitually his head curls into my hand when we’re alone like this, but now he remains taut. “Look at how you’ve thrived. Did you ever see yourself becoming a psychologist before that madness happened? You’re a doctor with your own private practice. Think about what Dad would say to that. It’s a huge deal.” He cracks a ghost of a smirk. “Maybe you just need to eat,” I say, opening the room service menu. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. You get food. I’m going to bed.” He shrinks over, elbows to knees, forehead to hands. Tugging him to face me, I run my hand from the apple of his neck around the back of his head. His eyes hide as his neck rotates into the action that grounds him, leading to a short-lived smile.
 

“If you’re hurting I’m by your side the whole way. Do you really want me to leave?”

“No, I really don’t. Sometimes I wish you didn’t always know what I need.” He sounds resigned as he lays back and pulls the bedspread over us.

Try as I might to cover the surrender in my eyes, I can’t. “And I’ll always love you. Always.”

“So you prove time and time again.” His voice reflects the pain of our reality. He gives me a little grimace before pulling my head into his shoulder. “Good night, Lily.”

“Donovan, did I do something to upset you?”

“You are the only one who never lets me down,” he assures. “Good night.”