Time's Forbidden Flower

by Diane Rinella

  The radiance of the sun on the diamond pales to that on Donovan’s face. He looks twenty-one again, just like the last time we were together—as if his life has been lived on pause in anticipation of this day.

  Once upon a time, I had dared dream of this moment. When I did, love swelled in my chest and sent tears flowing down my cheeks. As emotional as it was, never did I imagine how intense the reality could be. My racing heart, my locked breath, my stomach of butterflies—every cliché swirls through me, turning me into a vortex of bliss. Rapidly I nod, fanning my face as if to disperse some of the emotions that overwhelm.

  Standing tall and proud, high upon the hill for all to see, Donovan rises to place the rings on my finger. “I promise to love and stand by you,” he vows, his words steady. “To honor and treasure you, not merely for all of my days, but for every moment of what is to come. Wherever God takes you, I will stay by your side, in any situation, and without shame. I will always love you.”

  How he could stay so grounded in this moment floors me, as I can barely start my words. “I promise to always be the one who never abandons you, to never let you down, and to be there no matter where God places us, no matter what the circumstances. I will always love you.”

  “You and me forever, Lily.”

  “You and me forever.”

  Chapter 59

  My eyes focus on the paper before me, unwilling to look up and face the kitchen and the memories it holds. My heart hears Eric sing as he cooks, the children laugh as they play, and Christopher’s music traveling up from the basement. While signing the final page of the escrow documents, I exhale the last breath of my old life.

  When I told my children they could have the house, looks of horror crossed their faces, as they understood my decision to move to Montana was final. Donovan and I have agreed to come here at least every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas so I can continue to fix those meals and spend precious time with our family—giving us two worlds. As for the bakery, I signed that over to Sunshine last night.

  With a blur my hand slides the papers across the table to Jenny, who finally discovered her calling as a realtor. Like mine, her smile is bittersweet. “I hope if my world ever crumbles I find your strength,” she says, completely unaware of how strong I’ve always been. We’re the perfect example of how two people can know each other yet hold secrets the other would never guess.

  Donovan and Julian return after loading the last of the boxes into the moving van. “All set?” Donovan asks.

  “Yep,” I say, my hands burrowed into my lap as my eyes scan the kitchen, wondering how it will look when I next enter it on Thanksgiving.

  “It’s unbelievable how full this place is considering how much we loaded into the van,” Julian muses at the furniture left behind. All I have taken are personal effects, some photos, mementos of Christopher, and my best kitchen supplies. This is a time for rebirth.

  “We’ll meet you outside,” Donovan says, effectively pushing everyone out. My eyes must scream for a moment of privacy.

  “Actually we should take off,” Jenny says. “I’m going to force my husband to spend the rest of however few free on-call minutes he has with me. Good luck, Lily.” Jenny hugs me, as if trying to squeeze out my pain so that I can leave it all behind. The gesture moves me, and I dab my expression of love for Christopher from my eyes.

  “Bye, Lily,” Julian says, flashing his bright smile before hugging me. After the others leave Julian stops just shy of the door. He hesitates, carefully selecting his words. “This may be out of line, but you told me a long time ago that Donovan never touched you in any way that wasn’t welcome. Is that still true?”

  “Julian, not all who have problems are abusive, just like not all who have unorthodox relationships are dysfunctional. Thank you for watching over me, but I’ve always been fine.”

  His smile warms me. “Be happy,” he says, departing.

  As I close the door, the house feels hollow, not just of my belongings but of all life. I expected to feel Christopher here, but he’s moved on, just like I need to. On the descent to the basement, my vision becomes so blurred from sorrow it is hard to see the steps. My intent is to stand in the center of the room and feel the music one last time. Instead I halt at the bottom step, accepting that even if I weren’t moving on, this part of my life is forever gone.

  “Goodbye, Christopher. Thank you for bringing me more joy than I ever felt possible. I’ll always love you, and I will always miss us.”

  Fleeing the house, my tears leave behind a trail of love.

  Stepping out the front door, the glow of the sun surrounds me, drawing me into the next life.

  Chapter 60

  Five Years Later…

  “Why are we doing this?” I ask Donovan as we move my belongings out of his room. We are so removed from neighbors we can make out on our front lawn in total privacy. There is very little pretense here. If we didn’t fear these extended family visits, we would just tell all the locals we are married, like we do when traveling.

  “Because we love our families and want to spend time with our grandchildren,” Donovan grouses while grabbing a box of my things and heading off to stash them in my closet. “Remember how badly you wanted kids? This is one of those times when it comes back to bite you in the ass.”

  Grabbing another box, I follow behind. “God, I thought we moved to a remote enough area where no one would want to come. Maybe we should have left the country.”

  “I’m too old to learn another language,” Donovan gripes as he sets the box in the closet.

  “And I’m too old to lift these boxes.”

  Instead of taking my box, he steps aside to grant me closet access. “You’re never too old to be in shape.”

  “And you’re never too old to stop being a gentleman.” I chuckle and shove the box into his arms.

  “Touché,” he says, placing it in the closet. “They should be here any minute. Your room looks normal. Maybe a little too clean though. Did you get a new frame for your wedding picture?” he asks, pointing to my nightstand.

  “No, I just polished it. I like to do that occasionally.”

  “As you well should.” Donovan kisses my forehead as we move on to his room. Inside the open closet sits a laundry basket. The brightly colored lace garments in it make for a revealing display that sends me racing. “Crap! I forgot to remove my laundry. We don’t need anyone finding dirty lady undies in your room.”

  “Let them, it will add to my playboy image.”

  “Either that or they’ll think you’re a closet transvestite.” Removing a pair of bright blue panties from the basket, I stroll to Donovan and hold them against his crotch. “Hmm... It would explain a lot about why we’ve spent five years hiding if you’re a cross dresser.”

  His eyes grow with mirth as he lofts me onto the bed, his lips attacking my neck with a vengeance. “We both know there is no way they will think this hot hunk of man is a transvestite.”

  “Gee, D-boy, your ego trip is a bumpy one.” His kisses send a twitter though my nervous system. “Oh, dear God. Are we going to be able to make it a week without this?”

  “I don’t plan to,” he asserts.

  “Donovan!”

  “Please, Lil. I’m not that reckless. I have a little surprise.” From his nightstand he grabs a motel key for the place across town. “We’re checked in for the week so we can make a lot of emergency trips to the, uh, grocery store. Oh, and the senior center has BINGO every Thursday. We can pretend we never miss it and have the whole day alone making dirty noises and keeping the rest of the motel entertained.” His lascivious smile caves way for his lips to resume an assault on my neck.

  “So that’s why that flyer is on the fridge,” I utter, breathlessly. “I feared senior dementia was kicking in. They are never going to believe we play BINGO let alone be caught dead at a senior club.”

  “That’s why I made it convincing and put together a bag of good luck charms for you to take when we go,” h
e says, unbuttoning my blouse.

  I stop undoing his pants to shot him an incredulous look. “Me? Why do I get to be the crazy old person with the BINGO fetish? Dare I ask what’s in there?”

  “Nothing bad, just a rabbit’s foot, a few of Christopher's old guitar picks, a hand-rolled cigarette butt that you claim belonged to Johnny Depp, a blue-haired troll doll, and a miniature garden gnome.”

  My protest is halted by kisses that work their way down my navel. Seriously, he must spike his protein shakes with Viagra. Just as my moans confess I am melting at his touch, the doorbell rings. “Crap!”

  “See this is exactly why I got us that motel room,” he says, looking rather pleased with himself while getting off of me.

  “You’d better not answer the door like that,” I warn, pointing to the bulge in his pants.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll join you in a minute. Why can’t Graham be late for once?”

  After cramming the rest of the dirty undies in the washer, I fling open the front door to my two grandchildren who frantically scream about watching cartoons with their Grandpa Scooby. All of our family refers to us along with Christopher and Anna with grandparental equality. Graham started it when he explained to his son about the multitude of grandfathers he had through Christopher. To Donovan and I, it makes life all the sweeter.

  “Mom, you look fantastic.” Graham kisses me. The older he gets, the more he looks like Eric.

  Betty chimes in, sounding unintentionally snobbish. “Yes, Mom, you seem to be glowing. I need to raid your medicine chest to learn your skin care secrets.”

  And that’s another reason why we’ve been rearranging our lives. Betty is damn nosey! Unless my son is a Casanova like his uncle, this glow is out of reach for her.

  Antonia comes up the driveway. The bounce of her long black hair ironically reminds me of Christopher. “Hi, Mom!” Her hug clings to me in the way that people hug you when something is wrong. When she pulls back, she smiles uncomfortably.

  “Where’s Uncle Scooby?” Graham asks.

  “It sounds like he’s raiding the fridge,” I reply, leading the way to the next room.

  Donovan stands over the sink, pouring out the milk from a carton I bought two days ago. “Oh, hey, Graham. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Don’t know how you could have missed the ruckus, “Graham states as the grandkids attack Donovan. “Maybe that hearing is starting to go.”

  “No way! Aging is not an option around here.” He hands me the empty carton with a conspiratorial wink. “Looks like we need to buy more milk today. That one spoiled. Where’s Antonia?”

  “She’s here somewhere.” I head off, concerned at what may be troubling her.

  Antonia stands inside my room, holding my wedding picture. Both of our gazes lock on the image of Christopher. “Your father was an incredible man,” I say. The mist that forms in my eyes matches hers. Donovan passes by the room, then stops in the doorway.

  Antonia’s breath quavers. “Don't you mean, my father is an incredible man, just like my other father was?”

  My insides lock while my eyes drift to Donovan. A hesitant smirk of relief crosses his face as he enters the room and places a hand on Antonia's back. We stand transfixed, looking for a sign as to how she is feeling.

  “Dad didn't know the truth about me, did he?”

  “How do you know?” Donovan asks.

  She swallows hard, still starting at Christopher’s image. “I just...do. You two sure go through a lot of trouble to hide. It's smart. Graham and Sunshine would flip out. You can't ever let them know.”

  “And you?” I ask.

  Antonia gives a little nod, accented by a sniffle that turns to sobs. “You are both so happy. I’d give anything to be like you.”

  Donovan takes her in his arms. “You will be someday sweetie. I promise, and my promises always come through.”

  “I was so afraid to say something. What if I was wrong?” she says, as Donovan dabs the tears from her eyes. “Will you tell me everything? From the beginning?”

  “Of course, we will.” Taking Antonia's hand, I sit her on the bed.

  Donovan smiles to her before raising his eyes to me. Just as I thought life couldn't get any more perfect. “I’ll be right back. I'm going to send Graham and crew out for that milk. Hopefully he won't get mad when he finds I gave him directions to the store in the next county.”

  I start our story with the intent of giving Antonia every last detail. She deserves the truth, regardless of how she may come to view her grandparents. Thus, I start with words that I know will bring forth a chuckle. “One day, somewhere among the roses and petunias, my sanity squirted out of my brain and fertilized the backyard.”

  Chapter 61

  A vertical line of pixels flashes with mockery, as if telling me I am missing something of importance. I’ve been drafting my memoirs in a daring move to preserve who I am now for my future incarnation. It’s a simple plan to register my story, along with Donovan’s journals, with the Library of Congress. Upon our demises, the catalogue numbers will be engraved onto our headstones without explanation to anyone as to what they mean. In the next life we only need to remember our names and visit our graves. If we can do that, the rest will fall into place.

  “How’s it going?” Donovan asks as he enters our home office. Placing a cup of tea next to me, he smiles with remembrance. My lips mimic his nostalgia.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve had tea.”

  “Me too. What was it with those two and tea?” he muses.

  “Mine was British,” I say, beaming at the memory.

  “Mine was crazy,” he asserts through wide eyes. “I’m still amazed she never went off the deep end. I constantly warned her doctors to be two steps ahead at all times. Every day it became a new game with her. Like when she tried to sabotage the stew the day we built the playhouse, because she was lashing back at me for making her stop the notes, or how she wanted to steal your necklace because you stood up for me and ruined her purple dress, which she wore to punish me because I stopped her from cutting her arm, then wouldn’t fight her when she hit me for it. The woman could be downright diabolical.”

  Lord, Anna. I haven’t seriously thought of her since word of her suicide came through a year after we moved, her cancer having returned. She clung to Donovan like a sticky booger only to dump him once Christopher died. Her venomous letter overshadows the pleasant days we shared after her recovery.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Donovan says. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m done. I’m just making sure I haven’t forgotten any details.” That baneful bitch. I gave her years of support, yet she ended them with evil words. Calling me poisonous and drinking of my tears. What the hell does that mean?

  “Where did you start?” he asks.

  “When I almost smacked you into Mom’s flower bed.”

  Donovan chuckles. “I don’t know what would have been worse, the thorny rose bushes or Mom’s wrath if I landed in her Lilies of the Valley. I seem to recall the petunias took a beating.”

  “Yeah, Mom would have killed us.”

  “She sure would have. I’m going to bed. Join me soon?” he asks with sparkles flaring in his eyes.

  “You know I can’t resist that look. Give me a few minutes.”

  Donovan scoffs on his way out, “Lily of the Valley. How ironic is it The Dragon Empress’ favorite flower is so poisonous?”

  Lilyanna Petula Beckett. I’m named after a droopy, poisonous, flower and a great singer with a goofy name. With a sigh I raise my cup, ready to drink to my mom and her madness. As the brim hits my lips, unsteadiness conks me over the head. The cup meets the desk so fast the tea slops. With fervor I search the Internet for “Lily of the Valley poisonous.” The results boil my bile, sending it up the back of my throat.

  Lily of the Valley is a highly poisonous plant and can be deadly if ingested. Small doses over time can weaken a heart. A large dose, either eaten or ste
eped into a tea, can cause blurry vision, halo effects, vomiting, and alterations in cardiac rhythm. Larger doses will alter heart rhythm, thus increasing the likelihood of a heart failure while under stress.

  All that homemade tea Anna made for Mom… No one ever questioned Mom’s heart problems because of her illness.

  My mind presses rewind on an imaginary remote control, and my life speeds backward. The picture freezes as I re-enter Mom’s hospital room to find Anna feeding Mom juice, then adding water to the vase of Lilies of the Valley that had been steeping since the night before. If their water were added to the juice, Mom would have been drinking the Lily’s tears.

  Anna said she tried to protect Christopher that day. I thought she meant how she tried to keep him in the hall. Instead it was by silencing Mom.

  In desperation I scramble to the closet. Digging through a box of old memories, I pull out Anna’s letter.

  It's long past time for me to move on, but after all he did for me, I needed to know Donovan would be provided for. Now that destiny has kicked in, we are all free.

  With trembling hands the letter is placed back in the box. My stomach wretches, and I race for the bathroom. The walls spin around me in a blur, the sudden dizziness bringing me to my knees, puking into the toilet.

  Images that I tried to repress for so long again burn in my mind. Christopher’s heart attack—the sweating, the gasping, the clutching of his chest, all horrific memories that make me wretch. The burn reminds me of alcohol—the cocktails Anna made, Christopher’s inability to taste the obvious orange, the tingle the drink left on his lips. Again I hurl into the toilet.