Time's Forbidden Flower (32 page)

I bring my face closer so that my newly falling tears will find complacency with his. “We will make this work. I’m never leaving your side.”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to save Anna, but if she doesn't make it, I'll never remarry. I'll always be at the ready. Meanwhile, I’m going to keep drinking mint mochas and staking claim on your hair.”

“You want another lock of it?” I ask, somehow seeing endless hope for our future in the ocean of his eyes.

“You know it,” he says with glittering certainty.

“Trade you for another T-shirt.”

“Anything for you, Lily. All you ever have to do is ask.”

Unwilling to lose sight of my fortune, my gaze is locked on Graham and Antonia playing catch in our yard. Their grandfather’s smile as he runs after an ill-thrown pitch is brighter than ever. At the kitchen table sits Christopher with his laptop, his fingers pressed into his temples while video chatting with Grace. After five weeks of tension, they seem at peace.

“Christopher, you were right in knowing I wouldn’t return without you,” Grace tells him. “You had been abandoned enough. In the end you did what you felt best for your family, just like I thought I did by not telling you about Eric. My prior actions cannot be changed. However, I can shape how I move forward in light of them.”

Christopher ends his call on a peaceful note, yet he’s still a little prickly as he joins me at the patio door. “Better now?” I ask.

“Not as well as could be. However, if you can still face me then I can, albeit barely.”

“So those two years remain closed?” I ask. “It’s really up to you.”

“As far as we are concerned, yes, but to me they are a never ending nightmare. So many bad memories have surfaced I can’t stand to pass a mirror.”

My hand glides through his locks, revealing a better view of his adorable face. “That’s unfortunate, because you are still beautiful in my eyes.”

“I don’t know how you could possibly say that,” he says, sounding heavy hearted.

As my eyes focus into his, my wedding vows ring stronger than ever, bringing forth drops of love from my eyes. “I will never lose sight of the amazing and sensitive man you are. I will be your strength when life fails you, laugh with you in good times and struggle with you in bad, and be the best that I can for you and our children, no matter where life takes us or what challenges lie ahead. I will always love you, and I will live in joy with you, for as long as God allows.”

Christopher’s eyes swim alongside mine. “I promise to be everything to you that you will allow, to stand by your side, to respect every nuance of you whether I understand it or not, and to share every bit of my being. You bring out the best in me, and I will remain faithfully by your side and by the sides of our children for all of my days.”

With a gentle kiss, he brings a smile to my lips. “Seems like we should have done that some place more formal,” he says.

“That reminds me, there is a formality we should address.”

“What’s that, luv?” he asks, pulling my head onto his shoulder.

“Eric leaves in under a week, yet can legally stay another month. Let’s work on a few surprises.”

The sun’s golden rays beam into the kitchen on a lovely late-winter morning. Christopher dances in, returning from the grocery store with supplies for tonight’s party. His lack of grace makes for a cringe worthy version of the waltz as he swoops shopping bags onto the table then swirls me around the kitchen. He nearly spins me into the breakfast bar before continuing his little jig and pulling two bottles of champagne out of the bags.

“Wow. You look radiant! Are those bottles still full?” I ask.

Christopher waltzes to the patio door and calls for Eric before gliding back to kiss me. “Grab some glasses, will ya luv?”

“What’s all the commotion?” Eric asks.
 

With the
pop
of a cork, Christopher commences pouring. We follow his lead in raising a glass as he stands elongated, his free arm tucked behind him in a grand stand. “To Eric’s wisdom and the idiots who don’t follow it.”

“Sounds bloody cracking to me,” Eric says. “But what’s the point?”

“I just got a call from Tyler Lane,” Christopher bursts with pride.

“The guy from Spiral Lamb?” I search my brain to ask.

Christopher’s arms fly up as he turns into my favorite marionette. “Really, Lilyanna, I’m thankful you don’t have star lust, but this is a little much.” Christopher’s eyes return to Eric. “He felt incredibly bad about what happened with the tour, especially since we were so accommodating. He also said that Mike was released from his contract after sneaking items onto the merchandise tables, not only after repeatedly being instructed not to, but also without someone to sell them. Now the promoter is scrambling to find local acts to fill the remaining nights.”

“That’s cracking, Christopher,” Eric happily states. “I knew that yob would hash it!”

“It gets better,” Christopher adds. “The promoter was so pleased that we didn’t cause a single headache, we’ve been asked to open for St. Screwdriver’s Revenge when they hit the West Coast for the end of their tour. We can sell our merchandise and will receive a tiny per diem.”

“That is excellent!” Eric says, hugging Christopher. “I am so pound of you.”

“To Mancunian wisdom,” Christopher sings, sounding like a cheerleader.

“To Manc wisdom,” Eric adds.

“Hey, I feel left out. Can’t we say British wisdom so I can be included?”

“Are you English, Lilyanna?” Eric asks. “I thought Beckett was German?”

“Yes, but my father’s mom was English.”

“Really? From where ‘bout?”

Christopher lets out a groan.
 

“Islington. Near Liverpool.” Hopefully now I won’t get earache from two overtly proud soccer fans.

A gleam of camaraderie crosses Eric’s face. “Really? My family was originally from just up the road in Everton. They moved to Salford a month after I was born.”

Christopher is so busy rolling his eyes at my Scouser heritage that he remains oblivious. “Wow, Eric, that makes you a Scouser by birth.”

“Yes, I guess that is just one more thing that we have in common.”

Slowly Christopher's eyes widen as his mouth drops into an adorable little o. I stick my grubby fingers into his open wound and rip. “Well, since I’m one-quarter Scouser, and Christopher is half Scouser and half Manc, that makes the children—”

“Noooooo!!!!”

My nerves feel torn and frayed as I open the front door. With an ear-piercing squeal, Sunshine bursts through, anxious to show Antonia her new toy. In the threshold stands Anna, pale, weak, and smiling. This is the first time since last week’s ultimatum that we have laid eyes on each other. I risk bodily injury and give her a huge hug, completely catching her off guard. My face enlivens when the hug seems genuinely returned.

Donovan follows behind, carrying a medium-sized moving box and looking exhausted. “Oh, no,” I tease. “You’re not moving in. I’ll take your daughter for a few days, but you’re on your own.”

He forces a smile. “I thought I’d bring this over now so it’s one less thing to deal with Thursday night.” With a nod to the stairs he whispers, “Follow me.”

Inside Antonia’s room, where Sunshine will stay during the first stage of Anna’s recovery, Donovan drops the box in exchange for me. “How is she holding up?” I ask, my gut churning at the thought of the M word. “Any more flying fists?”

“She’s fine,” he assures, “else I’d have brought Sunshine’s suitcase as well.” A lock of hair from below my temple finds joy as it twirls through his fingers. “As much as you and I being near each other is a challenge, I can’t imagine going through this without you. Thanks for talking sense into her.”

I bring a kiss to his cheek. “You and me, together forever.”

Donovan lingers behind as I leave Antonia’s room, his eyes scanning the posters and chotskies that reflect who she is. He runs his hand over her pillow, as if brushing the hair out of her face while she sleeps. “You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.” His snicker is laced in irony. “Remember how I’ve always said you would get everything you want? Seems like now I get some of that too. I can do this, Lily. Antonia being mine is what I wanted all along, and I’ve hidden that desire. Now it’s a different kind of hiding. Nothing really changes, except now my heart is fulfilled. Let’s go downstairs. I need to muster the courage to see her.”

The beauty of the two-tier, flourless chocolate cake with Grand Mariner ganache I made for Eric pales compared to his radiance as we all surprise him in the family room. “I never expected anyone to remember let alone a celebration,” Eric modestly says. “You shouldn’t have.”

“How could we not?” Donovan asks, handing Eric a present. Donovan’s hooded eyes float to Antonia, still afraid to bring her into full view. Eric uncovers a lovely tie that is as tasteful, yet as colorful and youthful as he emanates. Donovan’s eyes escape back to Eric. “We thought a traditional Dad’s gift was appropriate. It’s nice to have a sane father figure.”

Eric marvels at the tie like it is a rare gem. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means. I’ll wear it proudly on all the best occasions.”

“I foresee many of those in your future,” Christopher says as he places our gift before Eric. Inside a shirt box, he finds a manila envelope decorated by the children. On the back, Graham has drawn a picture of our home with five stick figures—our family, including Eric. Eric gingerly opens the envelope, as if afraid of harming a treasure. From inside he slides out a stack of government forms. Christopher and I hold each other along with our breaths, hoping we have not overstepped our bounds. “U.S. Immigration department?” Eric inquires. “Are you having me deported?”

“Quite the opposite.” I brave. “We hope you’ll at least extend your stay, but we’d rather you made it permanent. Since Christopher is a dual citizen you can apply for an IR Visa. All of the paper work is complete except we need to re-run the DNA test formally. For good measure, Grace has signed an affidavit stating you are Christopher's birthfather and should be allowed to stay with your son.”

I sneak a peek at Donovan, whose eyes again conceal a peer at Antonia. She stares at him with a crooked head, as if curiosity floats over her.

Eric sits silent and still, staring at the papers. “We’d understand if you don’t want to give up your life back home,” Christopher nervously adds. “Hopefully you’ll stay until we fly back to England for the birth of my cousin’s son.”

“Hopefully by then you will have named the poor kid!” Donovan chimes in.

“Actually, Christopher and I figured that one out when we were completing the paperwork.”

Donovan shoots me his famous blinking eye roll. “Okay, which British rock stars did you rope in for this one?”

“Just one,” I state. “Eric Christopher Taylor Eccles goes perfectly with our two middle name convention.”

Eric’s eyes fly to us. Understanding how much he is loved acts like a shot of adrenaline. Suddenly the man who feels he hasn’t a place in the world anymore has a family who not only acknowledges him, but also is requesting he change his entire life to be with them. Eric’s smile reveals more than his words ever can.

“What do you say, Eric?” Donovan asks, his eyes finally landing on Antonia as she approaches him, then crawls into his lap. His voice hitches, and he keeps his eyes locked on the top of Antonia’s head, concealing the dampness coating them. “Think you could put up with this pear-shaped family where you can never tell who lives where or which child belongs to who?” Donovan’s eyes come to mine. They shine brightly, filled with hope.

“Cracking! Call me Yankee Doodle and hand me a pen!”

Aimlessly I stare into the refrigerator without appetite. Food serves as a diversion from the source of my feeling of futility.

“You’re looking down. Something wrong?” Eric asks.
 

“Either Mom played a cruel mind game or she spent years hiding the truth for reasons we’ll never understand,” I say, gesturing toward the papers that sit on the breakfast bar.

“I thought the blood test proved Donovan is your brother?” Eric asks as the doorbell rings.

“Yeah, but how do we explain the adoption papers? Donovan and I are going to put them in a safe deposit box and try to forget about them.”

I open the door to Donovan, my Wonder Twin of Grumpitude. The bags under his eyes almost make me feel triumphant. Finally we have arrived upon a time when Mr. Perfect also looks battered from endless nights.
 

“Are you ready? Let’s go,” he says, motioning to leave, his car key pointed and at the ready. I’m surprised he didn’t leave the motor running.

Grabbing his shirtsleeve, I pull him toward me, encouraging him into an embrace. “No—yes—no,” I reply, bringing forth a speck of levity.
 

“Come on,” he says, smiling. “I need to get back to Anna. This surgery can’t be over with soon enough.”

“All right. Let me just grab—”

“Here! Here’s your answer!” Eric screams from the kitchen. “She was a bloody lunatic!”