Free Time's Forbidden Flower by Diane Rinella Page B

uh—”
    Why is it so hard for him to tell me his wife brought him lunch? “What did she bring you?” I ask, scrunching my eyes, scrutinizing her actions.
    “Tempeh on wheat,” he groans, “hold the flavor.”
    Retrieving my contribution, I stroll to him with it behind my back, then pop it out with a bounce and the gleam of a toothpaste spokes model. “Lamb Korma, Vegetable Biriyani, and fresh Naan.”
    “No way!” he exclaims as I nod vibrantly. He swipes and hastily opens the bag as if it contains a bomb he has mere seconds to defuse. “God! It smells divine! You’re amazing!” The dazzle of his rising gaze almost blinds. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging toward his office.
    “Don’t you have to work?”
    “We need to eat quickly. I have a client arriving in twenty minutes.”
    “I wasn’t planning on staying. I just brought enou—”
    “Lil-y.” His eyes smile into mine as he tugs my hand. “Come on. Join me.”
    With a little bop of my head, I follow him into his office, praying his appointment falls victim to a miraculous recovery.

Chapter 11

    Like a wannabe ninja, Antonia stealthily slips her napkin out of her lap, pretends to wipe her lips, and spits broccoli into it. Per the rules of motherhood, I bust her. “Seriously, Antonia. Where did you learn to do that?” Duh! “Never mind, it’s in your nature. You need to eat your broccoli. Tell me how to make it better next time.”
    “Bury it in the neighbor’s yard,” she says. The retort is so Donovan-like I let out a snort.
    Christopher tries to be the proper father. “Apologize to your mum. She worked hard to make that for you.”
    “Sorry, Mom,” she sings half-heartedly.
    Christopher chuckles. “What do you mean, ‘It’s in her nature?’ Don’t tell me you used to do that?”
    “Nope. Guess again.” I roll my eyes and blink them for dramatic effect.
    “Blimey! Those two really are alike.” Christopher looks at Donovan’s clone with amusement. “I hear you two had quite the time the other night. Did you have fun at Pizza Playland?”
    Antonia’s brows scrunch, and I solve her mystery. “Daddy means last week with Uncle Scooby and I, honey.”
    “Last week? Really?” Christopher asks, his eyes wandering back and forth as if searching for lost time.
    “Yeah,” Graham says, beaming. “I won two stuffed animals and gave them to Sunshine and Antonia.” My snicker causes him to look at me as if puzzled. “Did I do something wrong, Mum?”
    “Not at all. You are just like your father. I’m very proud of you.”
    “Dad, if I’m like you, who are you like?” Graham asks.
    Dear Lord, Graham has no idea what kind of creepy-crawlies squirm in the can he’s blown open. Christopher scratches his head in thought. “Well, I’m exactly like your grandfathers back home. They and your nan taught me everything I know, so I guess I’m just like them.”
    “Do you look like your dad?” Graham asks.
    “Not at all. I mostly look like me mum, though not much really. I probably look like me ancestors.”
    I try to slam the lid back onto the can. “You know, Graham, sometimes people who are related look nothing alike. Uncle Donovan and I don’t look alike at all, and he looks nothing like our mother.”
    Christopher fidgets with his glass of wine. Quickly he changes the subject. “Have you children decided how to dress for Halloween?”
    My eyes close as I grunt. The first night in a week Christopher sneaks in dinner with us and he sabotages me. It’s October, and we’ve been making pumpkin desserts like crazy. How have I neglected Halloween costumes?
    Christopher looks to me with an apologetic cringe as the kids spout out their dream costumes. “Tell you what,” he says to the children. “I’ll take you shopping, and you can choose anything you like. We can go next weekend,” he says with resolve, only to retract his statement. “No, wait, I’m fully committed. Next Wednesday night… No, can’t do