Time's Forbidden Flower (24 page)

“Do not say you want to name him after my father, nor anyone else in my family.”

“No, luv. I’m trying to bring up a rather cracking idea, but I’m not too sure you’re going to like it.”

“If it has to do with the memory of my mother—”

“No, luv, forget about her.” Christopher shuts off the engine in frustration with himself. “I don’t feel like a very good husband leaving you alone for two weeks. Now that Donovan’s here, I see how I miss my own family and—”

He must have invited Grace to visit. I could live with her around, but only if she brings the maid, the butler, and a driver and they stay at a hotel.

“Eric’s coming,” Christopher says, as if it is the greatest idea ever. “He’ll arrive the day before I leave and will help with cooking and the kids. All those years of being a bachelor have taught him a lot. Since he rarely got to spend time with his own daughter when she was a child, this will be good for you both.”

“Wait, he’s coming tomorrow? Our house has barely recovered from the party two nights ago. How long is he staying?”

“I want to spend time with him when I return, so overall it will be eight weeks.”

Is he serious? A childless, bachelor musician, in his mid-70’s, cooking and helping me watch the kids? What the crap is he thinking?

“Come on,” Christopher says, bounding out of the car. “I can’t wait to tell the children.”

I need a nap. Hopefully my blood will congeal in my sleep.

After barely setting foot in the foyer, Eric is at the ready with a hug that screams gratitude, like he is the one to benefit from his visit. “Lilyanna, luv, you look fantastic as always. Are you well?”

Let’s see, my husband dropped an anvil on my head in the shape of a houseguest while my ex has my heart in a tailspin to the point where if I talk to him I’ll either scream or bawl. Oh, and I’m pretty sure that I knew you in a past life. “I’m as great as my crazy life allows.”

“Well, I’m here to help,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Say the word, and I will perform magic.”

Now that would be something. Eric turning out to be Mary Poppins? Well, he is English, but he failed to bring an umbrella.

Graham tugs at Eric’s shirt incessantly. “Which room are you staying in? Can you stay with me?”

Eric’s eyes warm at the request. “Actually, I’ve talked your father into letting me stay in the guest house. I’m here to help, not get underfoot.”

Yeah, we’ll see how that goes.

On the evening after Christopher’s crack-of-dawn departure, I’m smacked by blaring classic rock from the family room and a wonderful aroma emanating from the kitchen as I open the front door. My foyer and living room are immaculate—almost sparkling. However, the sight of Eric dancing as he cooks is downright enchanting. He yells as he rushes to lower the volume of the music. “Cracking. You’ve just enough time to wash for dinner. It is dinner time, right?”

I’m dumbstruck. “It’s exactly what should be dinner time but rarely is around here. Something smells amazing. Did you actually cook?”

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really—just roast chicken with potatoes, carrots, and a salad. I hope you don’t mind me taking liberties with your kitchen. I tried to keep it tidy.”

Is he kidding? It’s practically spotless. Unable to resist the urge, I taste the gravy. My mouth sings as fresh tarragon and parsley enliven the back of my tongue. Is England redeeming itself? “Eric, this is incredible, but you didn’t have to do this. You should enjoy your vacation.”

“Honestly, being with family is all I want. Everyone back home is old, sick, or dead,” he says, tossing down a dishtowel. “I don’t have much purpose there. I know eight weeks is a long time for a house guest, but I’m the happiest I’ve been in donkey’s years.”

“Donovan and I had so many problems with our parents that it’s almost a relief to have only each other, but I did feel absolutely lost without him. Then again, Donovan and I seem to be of a different breed from the rest of the world.”

“Speaking of which, where is the devil?” Eric asks while vivaciously pulling dinner out of the oven. “We haven’t spoken since before Christmas. Christopher led me to believe he’s here all the time—even joked about giving him a room.”

“Actually, Donovan called yesterday wanting to discuss something with me over dinner tomorrow night. Would you mind watching the kids alone?”

“Not at all. Remember, I came to help,” he says, heading upstairs. “I’ll round the children while you change.”

Apparently Mary Poppins has a brother as youthful as Peter Pan.

“Hello, luv!” Christopher beams at me over video chat. Drawn curtains and a nightstand whose lamp illuminates the motel room frame his image.

“Wow!” I glow at his sight. “We haven’t done this in ages. I can’t say that I’ve missed it. Life’s much better when you are here.”

“And I would much rather be there. I’ve been gone less than a day, and I already can’t wait to escape mayhem.” Christopher laughs as Dennis runs behind him, jumping and waving. “You’re looking exceptionally lovely. How are things?”

I giggle at Dennis while replying to Christopher. “I would say as expected, but that’s hardly true in light of a sparkling house and a singing chef who makes a mean roast chicken. I could get used to having Peter Poppins here.”

“Who’s Peter Poppins?” Fred asks, popping his head in, crossing his eyes, and sticking out his tongue, then disappearing.

“It’s my new nickname for Eric, though I don’t plan to ever tell him. He’s like a boy version of Mary Poppins.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re provided for,” Christopher chimes. “I sure miss ya, luv.” A chorus of ooohs and kissy noises taunt in the background. Kissing his fingertips, Christopher reaches them out to the screen. I’m all too happy to reciprocate the gesture that again tugs at my heartstrings.

“I miss you, too,” I confess. “Call me again tomorrow. No matter how late, okay?”

“Promise.”

From the bottom step of the metaphorical staircase that is now so familiar, I run for the farthest door. This time I’m going to see how it all began. Donovan’s recent actions are a full-on assault on my heart, drawing back the feelings I’ve spent years trying to push away. Has my time with the man I am destined to love forever always been a mess?

Without hesitation I throw the door open and step into the light. My mind wants to be ready for whatever hits me, but the truth is, my earthly body is scared rigid. As the light dissipates, dryness surrounds me, like that which is brought on by too much sun and sandy wind, yet my hands feel cool. “What do you see?” Susan guides.

My soul is in harmony with this life, and the answers to Susan’s impending questions are clear. “Clay walls. A dirt floor. Dust. Sand. A few stools. Pottery. This is Egypt. I’m wearing tattered sandals and linen.”

“You are a very old soul. It explains much about who you have become. Are you happy?” Susan asks.

“Immensely. My two girls make me smile. They dance around me as I knead bread. Near the oven a jar is fermenting old bread into beer.” How is it I can smell these things?

“Where is your husband?”

My heart races in happiness. “Bathing in the river. He’s been hunting and brought us a fox. I can’t wait for him to return. I’ve missed him so much.”

“What is his name?” Susan asks.

“Bes. It means protector. The name is perfect for him. My name is Tadinanefer. My husband—he’s home.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s perfect—strong, loving—so very gentle with me and the children. I could love him forever.” And I do. It’s Donovan. There’s not a doubt in my mind. “He’s sitting on a stool so I can rub oil perfumed with wood and flowers on his back. I’m anxious to touch him, but I also want this finished. His aroma is always best after the oils blend with his own musk.”

“Okay, Tadinanefer,” Susan interrupts. “Let’s see what else we can find. Try releasing yourself outside.”

“No. I want to cherish this moment forever. Just let me stay in his warmth until I die old in his arms.”

“Is that what happens?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s keep you there for awhile. Enjoy the love.”

Why the hell am I in front of a motel?
 
Seriously, what the crap is up with Donovan lately?

As per his earlier instructions, a text is sent announcing my arrival. When Donovan meets me in the lot, he grabs me as if I’ve returned from the dead—nuzzling his face deep into my hair, clutching my body.

“Donovan, why are we at a motel?”

He nods a request to follow him. “I have something to show you. Mom kept her will in Pandora’s Box.”

A single lamp illuminates his room where stacks of paperwork reside all over the table and on the encompassing floor. The markings on a collection of paper coffee cups reveal he’s been guzzling mint mochas. “I’m sorry,” is written on each of the dated cups that go back to before New Year’s Eve.

Clutching a stack of papers, he sits on the bed—his eyes half hooded as they look to the sheaves. “Do you remember when we had all those Martinis and I went for a walk because talking to Mom really got to me? She said James is my real name. I figured it was the dementia, but after she died, I retrieved these from her safe deposit box.”

My heart stutters as I sit on the bed and shuffle through the stack. Before me glitters the key to that magical chance at the acceptance we have always desired, as if made of the finest diamonds. They are papers showing the adoption of James William by Lana and Edward Beckett from Audrey Beckett and an unknown father. Additional papers reveal a name change to Donovan James. My words fall without clarity in my mind. “You’re—you’re my cousin. Why would she hide this? Do you think this unknown father is what she meant when she said you are just like
that man
? Why would she change your name?”

“There’s more. I sent for Aunt Audrey’s Death Certificate.”

The second the paper hits my hand, the word “suicide” jumps off of the page and smacks into my gut. “I thought she died of heart problems.”

“Yeah, apparently a broken one,” he grumbles. “Whomever
that man
refers to, Mom’s anger towards Aunt Audrey’s death was transferred to me. She then deepened the cut by robbing us. First cousin marriages are legal in most places. We could have taken this paperwork to a courthouse and been married years ago. Now all that holds us back is ourselves.”

My face freezes. Finally my mind pries open my mouth, bringing words forward with hesitation. “So this is why you’ve been acting so differently since Mom died.”

Donovan takes my hands, his eyes daring to capture mine. “Come with me and start over.”

“What about Christopher and Anna?”

His scratching at the back of his head is forceful as he paces to vent frustration. “The complexities of my relationship with her seem endless,” he says contritely.
 

“Donovan? What aren’t—”

“Yes, there is something—some things I’m not telling you. They’re personal and are some of the many things about Anna that makes my life hell. I’m in this crappy motel because she kicked me out—again. She actually did it before New Year’s Eve, so we put on yet another show. It happens all the time, and it happens for the same reasons I’ve stuck by her.” Encompassing my hands in his, his knees meet the floor, his eyes pleading up at me, seeking understanding. “This is one of those rare cases where wrong is also right. We’re right. We’ve always been right. We could have all we’ve ever wanted. Look at me,” he says, cupping my face—drawing me in and making resistance futile. “Really look into my eyes a moment.”