Time's Forbidden Flower (23 page)

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was clueless. Donovan said she intentionally steps on his triggers, but this is beyond cruel. Suddenly Anna and I are in a contest for a Best Leading Lady award. “Wow. Thanks. That’s really nice of you. Did you see I hid your favorite sparking water in the fridge?” I ask while opening it. “I know you don’t drink champagne or apple cider,” or anything else with calories, “so I wanted you to be provided for.”

“I did. Thank you.”

The perfect weapon sits in the fridge, nearly smiling at me. With calculated placement, I set an open container of spaghetti sauce on the edge of the counter, teetering on the corner to Anna’s right, then slip away. As she turns to continue cleaning, she bumps into the bucket, splattering her chest with sauce. Her shriek makes my soul do a happy dance. “Oh no! Your poor dress!”
Take that, you skanky bitch!

Anna’s eyes and mouth widen. Frantically I go for the paper towels, surprised that she has yet to utter a word. Try as we might, there is no way that sauce is coming off. “Oh, this is terrible!” I say. My performance is so good that I almost believe the event wasn’t pre-meditated. “I have a sweater that would go great with that dress. Would you like to try it?”

Rapidly she nods before following me upstairs. Inside the bedroom Anna squirms in avoidance of the mirror as I search my closet. I hand her a black, V-neck Angora sweater with rhinestone buttons and a rabbit collar. She snatches it and a hint of a bruise peers from under her wide rhinestone bracelet as she stretches her arm to slip it into the sleeve. My teeth clamp in concern. I refuse to believe that Donovan has hurt her, but retaliation for something would explain her pulling the trigger.
 

“There you two are.” Donovan’s gaze bounces between Anna and I as he enters the bedroom; his eyes locked on the dress as Anna whips on the sweater. The dress now evokes a new emotion, and he fights to suppress laughter. “I heard there was some kind of problem in the kitchen. You two okay?” Donovan’s eyes lock on me.
Thank you, Lily. This is exactly why I love you.

“Clumsy me had a little accident. Do I look okay?” Anna asks, sheepishly.

“You always look perfect,” he says, before turning to me. “As do you, except—hold on a moment.” He heads to my jewelry box, then fastens the infinity necklace he gave me around my neck. “Much better. You know, you really should lock this door. Sometimes people get the crazies at big parties. You always have to think two steps ahead of nut jobs.” Anna shoots Donovan an evil glare as he slips his arm around her. “Come on ladies. Let me escort down the two most beautiful women here.”

As the countdown on the television begins, Christopher zigzags his way through the labyrinth of guests, reaching me just in time to take me in his arms. “3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!” the crowd yells. Cheers are bellowed and noisemakers rattle as streamers propel through the air accompanied by little pops upon their release from party favors. All of these make for a vivacious backdrop that accentuates the hope we all grasp by putting faith in the turn of a calendar’s page.

Christopher lays a stationary kiss on me with a mad passion that he has not possessed in years. The power causes my legs to buckle, feeling as if my bum will soon hit the floor. His lips extract with a
pop
, bringing forth bold grins. “This year is going to be fantastic, Lilyanna! Something tells me big changes lay ahead—big, scary changes that will culminate into something we can’t possibly foresee. I’m so lucky that I get to experience them with you.”

Again he blesses me with an adoring kiss, but this time I don’t let him pull away so easily. Grabbing the back of his head, I press him closer while loosening my jaw, drawing his tongue to join mine in a tender tango. When I release him, he nuzzles his cheek into my hair, making my body warm.

“Hey, Christopher! Come on!” Fred yells from across the room, anxious to resume playing. With a quick kiss on my cheek Christopher dashes off. Ah, the glamorous life of a musician’s wife!

His hair cascades across his cheek as he picks up his guitar. With a twist of his neck it flies from his face, revealing eyes that penetrate me and upturned lips that silently say, “I love you.” I return the sentiment, and the band plays on. Christopher illuminates in the way that he only can while playing, and I fade into the crowd.

After a song I embark on a quest for champagne. I’m about to fill a glass when Donovan appears before me, holding my coat. We share a smile as he nods to the patio door, as if knowing I have a task for which I need prodding. I’ve spent the last week seeking the proper way to heal our wounds, and I have finally found an innocuous way to do it while being true to who we are.

We shuffle over extension cords that cross the yard before heading down the block for an uninterrupted moment. Our journey ends at a small park where we sit at a picnic bench. My voice stammers while making my mission known. “It’s been far too long since we’ve spent a New Year’s Eve together. In fact, in the last fourteen of them we’ve only had one good one. That makes fourteen times I’ve wished I could make the pain go away. Next year we need to start new traditions, but tonight I want to bandage the past.”

I gather our hands between us; exactly as he did the one New Year’s Eve we spent in our own version of heaven. “Feliz Año Nuevo,” I say as his eyes search me in question. “Bonne Année, Felice Anno Nuovo,” I barely utter, my vision fogging as my actions bring forth more emotions than I ever expected. “Frohes Neues Jahr, Onnellista Uutta Vuotta.” Donovan remains transfixed; supporting my quest, knowing how hard it is not only to get the words out, but also the pain. “Un An Nou Fericit, Godt Nyttår, Bon An, Is-sena T-tajba, Sretna Nova Godina.” A trickle streams from his eyes as I continue. It lands on my hand, drowning in a tear of my own. “Felix Sit Annus Novus, Hauoli Makahiki Hou.” Gasping for breath, I force one final push through the laceration in my heart. “
S
un Lin Fi Lok, Sana Saiida—Happy New Year.”

Unbridled hope shines in his eyes. “Ah, what the hell.” Grabbing the back of my head he pulls my lips into his, bringing about the completeness to my soul that I only feel when we are this way. Together we are perfect, and nothing changes that.

Slowly I retract, and then quickly yank myself away, the indiscretion smacking me in the face. I begin my journey home alone. I only wanted to move forward so we could be like everyone else on New Year’s Eve. I should have known better. Donovan and I will never be like everyone else.

Donovan runs up behind me. “Lily, wait. I’m sorry.”

“Married!” I scream at him, holding up my left hand. I then pick up his left hand, forcing his ring into his view. “Married! We may not be able to control our feelings, but we certainly can control our actions. What happened to the man who wanted to stay faithful to his wife?”

“He died along with Lana Beckett,” Donovan mutters. “Look, I’m sorry. This distance thing with us is killing me. Let’s go back to the party and forget about this for a few days. When I get my head together, you can, and should, let me have it. Please?”

Seriously? He knows I won’t let him pull the wool over my eyes. “No, something is up. ‘Forget about it for a few days’ is the new equivalent to ‘I can’t tell you.’ We are not going down this road again, and I am certainly not going to ruin my marriage over your inability to talk to me.”

Donovan turns snippy. “Dare I forget how lucky you are! Maybe I don’t have the perfect marriage. You not only lucked out in finding Christopher, but you obviously made the right decision with choosing him over me.”

My nails dig into their palms. “What do you mean
choosing
him over you?”

“The second Christopher entered your life you forgot about me.” Donovan pushes a finger toward my face. “You saw how much I was hurting the first New Year’s Day after you met him. Sure, you were there for me then, but after I was forgotten until Christopher moved back to England. When I checked into Harley you bailed on me all over again.”

Oh, I am so ready for this. This fight has been a long time coming. “You constantly made it clear that I shouldn’t contact you and every time it broke my heart. As for checking into Harley, you, in no uncertain terms, left me.” My finger slams into my chest so hard it stabs. “I may have had a choice between being with Christopher versus starting my life completely over, but I never had the option between the two of you. You’re the one who left a note behind telling me to be with Christopher. Have you forgotten that little tidbit of information?”

“Don’t give me this crap!” he hollers indignantly as his face hovers in mine. “You could have waited for me to recover and then told me you wanted me. You knew damn well there was no way I would have refused, but no! Instead you went running off with Christopher. Damn it, Lil, the engine on my car hadn’t even cooled.”

The screaming ends as my words sag from the heaviness in my heart. “I only did what you insisted was best. I was willing to give up every dream I had for you.” My face shies in embarrassment, knowing somehow we are both right.

“I’m sorry.” Donovan puts his arms around me, touching my heart like only he can. “The stupidity of my actions made me defensive. Truce?”

“Yeah,” I utter.

Donovan walks me out to the curb where a streetlight burns, then dabs under my eyes, removing the last bit of sorrow from my face. “Never, ever will we fight again. I promise you that, and I always, always keep my word to you. Come on, let’s get you back.”

His words of anger echo in my brain. A few doors away from my house I touch his arm, stopping his steps. “What do you mean you don’t have the perfect marriage?”
 

The question breaks my heart. His fading eyes whimper that it breaks his too. “Truce, remember?”
 

“Sorry.”

Inside the backyard Christopher sits on the bench, talking to Jenny and Julian. Upon seeing me, Christopher dashes up and gives me an adoring kiss on the cheek. “There you are. I was wondering where you two went.” Donovan continues on as Christopher pulls me aside. “Are you all right, luv?”

“I’m fine. Donovan and I were just off patching old battle wounds.”

“I can tell. You seem tense all over. Can I warm my wife with a dance?” he asks, offering his arms. When he’s actually around, Christopher never fails to bring me joy.

Despite the smiles we share as we dance in the walkway, one thing stands out clearly among all of the muck in my brain: I hate New Year’s Eve.

“All right, confess!” I playfully demand of Christopher while coming home from our last opportunity for a night out before he goes on tour.

“Whatever do you mean, luv?”

I scrutinize him with a smirk. “Your constant fidgeting tells me you’re up to something.”

“I’ve just too much on me mind with the tour and all.” Christopher scratches his neck with the force of discomfort.

“Liar. Confess!”

“My cousin called,” he says. “She’s having a boy and wants to name him after me.”

“That’s fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, it just doesn’t feel right, so she agreed to let us name him like we did our own children.”

“Oh, no,” I groan at the memory. “The kid may get his doctorate first.”

“Come on. Let’s give it ago. We’ll start with Paul.”

“Hmm,” I muse. “Since our children each have three names shouldn’t we name him Paul John George?”

“Leave it to the Scouser to come up with that one,” he groans. “What about Ringo?”

“I see no reason not to follow our three name convention, thus one of the Fab Four is exiled. Since Ringo always gets the least respect, he’s the natural choice.”

“Poor Ringo.” Christopher touches his hand to his heart in mock sympathy. “I knew we shouldn’t have demasculinized the Hollies with Antonia Roberta Allena.”

“Our daughter is worthy of her namesakes. Besides, you often remind me that there are Hollies we left out. Hey, here’s an idea. How about we don’t name him after a British band?”

Christopher shoots me a look like he’s responding to a request to assassinate the Queen Mum, causing the car to swerve before he lets me have it. “I recall this started with your idea of using the name Graham, referring back to the wobbly you threw when I left America for England.”

“Okay, okay. What about a modern band? Like someone our age is supposed to know.”

“Not on your Nelly!” Christopher straightens and becomes rather insistent. “You have to stick with the classics where you know the catalogue will remain strong. I’m trying to do right by this child, not curse it.”

“Right, because in the defense of Graham Peter David, Herman’s Hermits and The Monkees never did anything less than stellar.”

Christopher fidgets in his driver’s seat. “Well, you may have something there. I’m glad you left Mr. Nash out of that little comparison.”

“Bloody well right!” I chime. “Mr. Nash is perfect. Besides, he was a Hollie before forming Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and I was raised to believe that puts him next to God. Mom at least got one thing right.”

“Speaking of your mum—”

“Oh, please don’t.”

“Well, I know of no other way to segue this,” he says, pulling his Mini into our driveway.