Time's Forbidden Flower (26 page)

Oh, Christopher, you do look like someone in your family; you’ve just been looking to the wrong man. Grace has kept one hell of a secret.

After a day of stressful anticipation that nearly sends me to the bar, the documents finally arrive. Slipping out the back door to cower from prying eyes, I compare them to the other paperwork. My heart suffocates at the sight of the death certificate that is an exact match. Aunt Audrey killed herself, and I can only speculate that is what Mom meant before she died when she referred to an innocent little girl.

My parent’s marriage certificate brings forth limited comfort. The signatures are close enough to believe they are from the same people that signed the adoption papers. Questions again swarm my brain, but mostly I’m filled with disgust for myself and for my soap opera of a life.

“Screw this!”

Inside the shop I stash the papers in my desk before grabbing a small chocolate mousse cake and a fork. I head out the back door, eating as I go and wondering how long it will take me to walk to the beach so I can throw myself into the ocean.

After the kids are in bed, I stop Eric as he heads out to the guesthouse. A tray containing a steeping pot sits in my hands. “Feel up to sharing some tea?”

“I’m English. By law I must always accept an offer of tea, especially with such pretty company.” Eric takes a seat at the table with me. “I had lunch with your brother today. He took me to see his office. He’s done impressively well for himself.”

“He’d be glad to hear you say that. He thinks very highly of you. I know wishes he knew you better. We both do. In fact, I have a confession. I was afraid you and I would have little to talk about, so I cyber stalked you. Have you ever snooped on any of your fan forums?”

Eric goes flush with a little smirk. “I try not to. Some of those ladies know far too much about my life.”

My tongue stings when I bite it at the recollection of a story about Eric, a groupie, and a can of Golden Syrup. Eric gives the back of his head a nervous scratch. “I don’t know which is scarier, when the information is right or when it’s dead wrong. Frighteningly, they are mostly right.”
 

Maybe he’s read that story himself.

“Have you seen some of the photos they post?” I ask. “Not only are the captions clever, those ladies have quite the collections.”

“I really should have kept picture books. My sister did. Just before she died we had a blast going through them.”

“Then you might enjoy a sight I found.” Conveniently my laptop sits on the table. Trying not to look eager, I surf for the proper forum. “Here it is. There’s a section dedicated to each member of The Chestermen. Yours, by far, has the most activity.”

Eric becomes aglow at the mention of his staying power. Each picture brings a smile to his face and a story to his lips. Finally I reach the one of Eric and his brother. “Wow. Who is that man?” I ask.

Eric’s brow tenses at the image. “My brother, Christopher Michael. We called him Mick. He passed on a few years ago. ”

“Mick could be Christopher's doppelgänger. Are you related to Paul?”

“Umm…no. Not that I’m aware.”

“If I had never seen pictures of Paul I would guess it was him.”

“Yes.” Eric’s voice becomes distant, like it has wandered to another planet. “Wonder how I could have missed that…Oh! I should show you a wonderful site about bread making. Let me see if I can find it.”

Eric whips a URL into the browser, clearly knowing where the page resides. Kneading techniques dominate our conversation until it’s time to say goodnight, and I’m left with a new question: Who is the man that fathered my husband, Eric Christopher or his brother Christopher Michael?

Susan grants me guidance as I head down an all too familiar stairwell. “Remember Lily, this is about past choices and future consequences. Any actions you take as a result could cause a domino effect. Go to the door where you found Rose. Touch your hand to the knob, but do not turn it. Think about your soul mate, and accept what is inside your heart.”

The glow that illuminates through the cracks is obscured by an image of Jonathan, making me long for the warmth of his skin. Sadness, pain, and loss claw inside me.

“Now go to your first life,” Susan guides.

My presence at the portal brings a glow from within, as happiness, joy, and endless love radiate into my current shell.

“Now, work your way back. Stop when you no longer feel the joy you seek.”

Five doors from my first life the pain of a heavy loss shoots through my being. The insides of my earthly body jitter as my discarnate hand guides the knob. Here may lay the key to ending our suffering—or it all may be a bunch of hooey.

White light floods as I step into an open field. “Homes of wood and stone are erected all around. People gather for a celebration, but I feel queasy.”

“Is it a funeral?” Susan pries.

“No, it supposed to be a happy occasion. It’s—Oh, that pig!”

“Lily, relax.” Susan maintains her cool demeanor despite my anger that snaps me back into the present.

“That pig! That ginormous pig! I’m going to kill him!”

“Hey! What the?” Donovan enquires as I storm into his office while he stands behind his desk, thumbing through a book.

The power in my voice conveys my annoyance. “You started this whole mess!”

His head flinches back. “I thought we put the whole Harley thing to bed.”

“Everything was fine until you married my sister, you little prick!”

“What?” he asks, before muttering, “Oh, no,” and returning his attention to the tome in hand.

“Do you know how seriously the Egyptians took our promise to be together for eternity? You did fine for the next few lives, then you took my sister as a second wife and cursed us, you huge pig!” Suddenly I wake to his demeanor. “Wait. You just muttered ‘Oh, no.’ You knew! You incredibly vile, disgusting, playboy! This is all your fault, you colossal jerk! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! What else are you holding back?” I grab a thick stack of papers off of his desk, and he throws his arms up and chuckles while I sissy-swat him.

“You couldn’t have kids, and I needed an heir. It was all perfectly legal.”

“Legal? You broke my heart, making me vow to never let us be together again because it was legal? You douchebag!”

His arms drop, taunting me. “Lily, listen to yourself. Isn’t this partially your fault?”

“Stop trying to get out of this you big smelly ass! You’re the one who banged half the village.”

“Taking a second wife is hardly—” My eyes flair at him, causing him to backpedal. “I’ll never do it again. I will never, ever marry anyone but you ever again.”

I slam the papers on the desk before looking up at the big dumb jock who again cowers in the corner, chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

“You do realize you are dying to beat the crap out of me over something people could argue we’re crazy to even consider being real.” Donovan sits next to me as I throw myself onto the sofa. Suddenly he looks apologetic. “I think the reason I felt so strongly that you needed to marry Christopher and have a family is directly related to that life. You had every right to be angry. I let myself get talked into something that should have been a mutual decision. I regret it now more than ever.”

“Who talked you into it?”

“Elanabeth Bathory, the same pain in the ass woman who has conquered us every time since. I just don’t know why she does it.”

“Do you think ending this cycle could be as easy as me forgiving you?”

“I’ve no idea, but it can’t hurt to try. Forgive me?” he pleads, his face contorting like a puppy dog.

“Yeah, I forgive you,” I half groan, half laugh.

Taking my hands, he inches closer, becoming overtly serious. “Once we move on, whether it’s now or in the next go round, it’s you and me forever—no matter what the stakes.” He tugs at my hand, guiding me to his desk. “Come here a sec. The hospital called. They can’t find the copy of Mom’s DNR, which is because she never signed it. I need you to sign as a witness.” Donovan signs Mom’s name to the papers, then hands them to me along with a pen.

“You’re forging Mom’s papers?”

“It’s not like we didn’t know what her wishes were.”

My eyes jerk to the paper in fear. Has he forged anything else of hers, like adoption papers? Relief hits quickly. “This looks nothing like Mom’s signature.”

“If I had forgery skills I could have gotten our college funds signed over without kissing up to Dad. Besides, the hospital just wants to cover their asses.”

I sign the paper, not believing the things I do for this man. “Donovan, doesn’t all this seem weird to you? If Mom was so ashamed of us, why didn’t she bust out with the truth?”

“How that haunts me is the reason why it took me so long to tell you. Then again, Mom did confess in her own warped way. Why?”

“I refuse to fall into a rat trap. We won’t turn everyone’s world upside down because a piece of paper says it’s okay.” My frustrations on the world show as I begin pacing. “This is ridiculous. We are told that an adopted child is family to the parents just as much as if they are genetically related. Yet society is more accepting of a romantic relationship between adopted siblings because the two are not related. How conflicting is that? All you need to do is take adoption paperwork to a courthouse and suddenly all is right, but not every state allows it. You need some twisted form of algebra to figure out who can marry where.”

My hands fly up as if surrendering, but I am far from done. “If genes don’t matter, then none of this should be an issue. Yet if two people actually share those genes all of mankind flips out. Why? Oh, well, it’s because of um…birth defects! Really? People can’t come up with a better excuse than that? Since when do you need to be married to reproduce? The whole situation is a bunch of malarkey enforced by sheaves made from trees.”

Donovan proudly snickers. “You’ve been working on this little diatribe for a while.”

“Fourteen years, five months, and twenty-seven days.”

“I thought I was the one who hit my head the day you tackled me.”
 

The charm of his blinky eye roll is currently lost on me. “I want to prove those papers false.”

Donovan nearly flips into a tizzy. “Have you totally lost your mind? Then again, maybe you’re adopted too and really the product of Billy Bibbit.”

Taking his cheeks in my hands, I address him rationally. “Because the whole thing smells like a skinned chicken that’s been rotting in the sun for two days. I didn’t believe a word Nurse Ratched said once I started seeing through her lies. Truthfully, the closer our bonds are in all ways, the better in my book. Come over tomorrow after dinner. It’s time to settle this crap. Do me a favor though. Whatever I say, just play along.”

Eric and I are just finishing a pot of tea when my video chat finally rings. “Too late!” I say with a smile as Christopher’s face appears on my screen.

“Blimey, it’s only midnight. We had loads of packing to do since we’re about to leave.”

“That’s not our complaint,” I chime. “You didn’t let us know what you want for dinner tomorrow. We planned a feast without your input.”

“I’ve been pegged out in a van for two weeks with a bunch of nutter blokes and want nothing other than me wife to pull a sickie so she is there when I arrive. I plan to enjoy seeing you, then sleep the day away with you in my arms. Since I feel I’ve been gone so long that the moppets have flipped the nest, I’m certain we won’t be interrupted.”

“Already on it!” Eric yells in the background.

“Cracking!” Christopher exclaims. “How is Donovan doing after learning of your mother’s little stunt?”

“New subject!” I chime. “I actually had a name idea. Since we already honored Davy Jones, how about the rest of The Monkees?”

“Not that I would support it, but that would be Mickey, Peter, and Mike. Michael Peter Michael would be barmy.”

“No, one Michael and a George,” I correct. Finally I came prepared into one of these conversations. I must really love this guy. Seriously, why would I care about music so far before my time, classic or not?

“George?”

Fred steps in behind Christopher. “Are you two at it again?” he asks.