Time's Forbidden Flower (36 page)

“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,” he 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.”

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 steeped 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.

Oh, God. Anna, why? All so Donovan wouldn’t be alone?

Donovan hears my puking and dashes in to check on me.

I can’t face him.

“Poison!” I holler between heaves, my brow sweating. “Poison!”

“What?” Donovan kneels beside me, pulling back my hair and feeling my forehead.

I can’t tell Donovan. He would never be able to live with himself for bringing Anna into our lives if he knew.
 

Again I hurl.

Donovan needs to leave before I break down.
 

“Food poisoning,” my voice rushes out. “Go to the drug store. Get me something.”

“Lily, I can’t leave—”

“Go!” I scream, my head dipped down into the bowl so I can’t see him. For years he protected me from a horrible truth, now it is my turn. My shock helps me ward off emotion until he drives away. Hugging the toilet, I hurl and scream.

Twenty-nine Years Later

“Mmm…” I mutter, waking with a demure stretch, as gentle kisses tap on my neck. Though I am now eighty-six years old, the heat of Donovan’s passion still has my knees buckling. If it weren’t for this sofa supporting my butt, my rear would hit the floor.

Smoothing my hair, and thus comforting my soul, he places a paper tiara saying, “Happy New Year” on my head. On the coffee table in front of us sit two flute glasses and a bottle. “What’s with the tiara? Is that sparkling cider?” I ask.

“Yes, and before you go asking more questions, tonight I am rewinding the clock to the New Year’s Eve when I stood you up. I’ve spent my life trying to make up for all the misery I caused, and this is the last thing on the list.”

“Donovan, that was more years ago than I care to admit. I’m long past that pain.”

“This isn’t about letting go of the past, it’s about embracing the present. I thought I had no idea what to say that night, but the truth is, I was just nervous about admitting it, so… Lily, as crazy and as wrong as this is supposed to be, I’m in love with you. Each morning when I see you, my faith in the world is renewed. When you pass by, a tingle enlivens me and makes me want to be a better person. The warmth of your smile comforts me throughout the night no matter what my troubles. You have always been the one person who loves me for whom I am, and I truly hope that when we are old, you are still sitting on the sofa with me, loving me as much as I love you. Happy New Year, Lily. You and me, forever.”

“You and me, forever.”

Birds sing as the sun gazes through the bedroom window, greeting a new day. Donovan curls tightly around me then jerks back in horror of my cold and lifeless body. Looking down upon him, I witness his realization that attempts to revive me are in vain. My heart gave out a moment ago, and I have been fighting my natural instinct to move into the light, needing to convey one last time how deeply I love him.