Love's Miracles (23 page)

He
sighed. “We were too busy helping wounded and frightened men – boys really. I
didn’t have time for self-pity. It was when I got out and came home that I
caved in.”

“You
mean because no one seemed to care what you’d been through? They had no idea
and besides that, you couldn’t stand to see all the wholesome, self-righteous…”
She stopped talking when she saw the muscles in his neck contract as he
swallowed the pain.

She
understood. It was common among most of her patients. They had gone to war,
believing they were doing their patriotic duty for their country, only to
return to discover they were not heroes. The hatred, antiwar protests, and
oftentimes physical attacks against them demoralized their psyches.

“I
don’t want to be around anyone,” he told her. “It’s easier to live by myself.
No one to judge or tell me what I should do.”

“Is
that what happened? Your family tried to tell you what to do?”

“Not
really. Vinnie kept pushing the business at me. I think it was guilt more than
concern. He likes running it.”

“But
you’re the oldest and he thinks you want the reins.” She guessed Vinnie’s
source of guilt.

“He’s
welcome to it.” Zane picked at the ropey strands of bark from a nearby fallen
log. “I don’t want any part of the corporate hassle. I’m much happier here.”

Margo
couldn’t fault his logic. She thought of her friends, their high blood
pressure, stress-related health problems, and their fast pace in the rat race.
It was beautiful and serene here. A butterfly flitted from flower to flower and
bird songs occasionally broke the silence. Maybe Zane had more sense than the
rest of them.

“What
about your mother, Zane? Did her antiwar activities upset you?”

“You
asked me that before. No. She did what she felt was right.”

“But
you felt condemned? Guilty? No support for your actions?”

Zane
tilted his head back against the fallen log. A strange laugh came from deep in
his throat. It wasn’t a laugh, really, she decided, but a sound from hell.
Chills crept along her spine.

“Yeah.
I felt all those things. I still do.” He sat upright in a sudden move that
momentarily startled her. His eyes looked wild, haunted. “My mother has nothing
to do with this. So don’t bring her into it again.”

Margo
stared, frightened by the pain and suffering that showed in his face and
sounded in his voice. She wasn’t frightened for herself, but for him.

“You
have to face…”

He
interrupted her, his voice tight and low. “I mean it.
Ma’s not part of this.
”

“Okay,”
Margo agreed. “But you need to talk about those feelings. No matter where they
come from or who they involve, they’re obviously affecting you in some way.”

He
slammed back against the log in a huff, his eyes shut tight and his breathing
deep.

It
was time to put on the pressure. “You need to go to a center. They have
sessions of group therapy. You can talk to other vets. Men, like you, who’ve
been through the same thing.”

“No
one’s been through what I have,” he growled.

“They
all think that. And you’re right. No one’s experiences are exactly the same.
But you share the same reference point.” He was listening, she could tell.
Quickly, she went on. “No one else. Not your family. Your friends. None of them
can understand what you went through except another vet who was there. You were
in a totally foreign situation. You suffered traumatic experiences.”

He
began picking at the strands of bark again, peeling the pieces into thin
strips. Margo shifted so she could look directly at him.

“I
can imagine that there is something you did or something you saw that still
bothers you. There was so much violence that most have at least one experience
they find hard to live with.”

He
didn’t respond, but she could tell by the way he shuttered all expression that
she was hitting a raw nerve.

“It
could have been a decision you made that you can’t rationalize. It may be the
foundation for your reaction to the poor decision last year with the fishing
boat.”

He
tightened his fist and veins rose under his skin.

“You
may have even dismissed the incident, but doubt of your decision-making
abilities can be subconsciously undermined.”

“Enough.”
Zane bolted to his feet. “You’re guessing in the dark.”

Margo
scrambled up and stood in front of him. “You’re right. I’m hypothesizing.
That’s all.” He visibly relaxed. “But if any of that makes sense to you,
therapy could help.” He didn’t respond, but he hadn’t shut her out either.

“Come
to Berkeley. Try out the groups. See if they can help.”

“I
don’t need help. I do just fine out here.”

“But
you get lonely,” she pointed out.

He
focused cerulean eyes on her. “Yes. Your coming here made me realize that.”

His
gaze captured hers and she felt like she was drowning in a sea of emotion.
Unexpected longing chased away the remnants of their conversation. Margo hardly
remembered what it was. Only the two of them mattered now – not the past, not
the future, only this moment.

“You’re
lonely too. Aren’t you?” Zane reached across the space as if to track his
finger along her cheek, but just before he touched her he paused.

She
waited, wanting the touch. It occurred to her that Zane could be right. Only
how could that be so? She saw her mother almost every day, she had more friends
than she could keep up with, and there were all her patients.
But there’s no
one to love
, a tiny voice whispered inside.

Margo
stood, suddenly wary. As if he suspected she might flee, Zane blocked her away.

Neither
one spoke. They didn’t need to. Margo could read what Zane wanted in the depths
of his eyes. He wanted her.

She
started to turn, but he grabbed her shoulders. She knew she should pull away,
but she stood frozen, unable to move. Zane lowered his head until his breath
whispered across her cheek.

“Don’t
go.”

His
words held her. She stood for endless minutes, their eyes locked, breath
mingling. His loneliness echoed in her own chamber of emptiness.

“I
want to kiss you,” he whispered.

“I
know that.”

He
stepped closer, his thighs bushing against the baggy material of her pants.
“Not in anger this time, but because I need to.”

Her
breath caught as emotions reared up in battle. Every code of ethics she’d lived
and worked by demanded she pull away and put distance between them –
professional distance.

Yet
the woman in her, the part she evidently hadn’t listened to much before, now
demanded her share. There were other things in life besides dedication to a
career.

He
eased his thumbs over the curves of her shoulders. “But you aren’t going to let
me, are you?”

She
should voice her protest, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t
forget the last time he’d kissed her: the longing, desire, and terrifying
confusion. A part of her needed to experience it again.

“It’s
all right.” He lifted his head, breaking some of the tension. “I understand how
it has to be. I wanted you to know.”

He
was stronger than she. If the decision had been left to her she wasn’t sure how
it would have gone. Threads of desire still claimed part of her – enough to
keep her standing close.

His
smile turned ironic. “I think we both have enough anxieties without this.”

“Anxieties?”

“Of
exposing ourselves.” He continued to grip her shoulders. “You’re an expert at
uncovering the secrets of others, but taking a look at your own is a different
matter.”

“You
think it frightens me to do so?”

“I
think maybe you stay involved in other people’s problems so you won’t have to
deal with your own.”

Her
father and her fear of the dark came to mind. She’d never discussed it before,
she admitted to herself, not even with her mother.

“I’d
wager today is the first time you’ve considered your state of loneliness.”

Her
defenses rose. She stepped back, away from the trace of his fingers. “Are you
so sure I’m lonely?”

He
swung his hands to his sides and cocked his head. “I’m an expert on that subject,
remember?”

She
almost reached out to him. He needed her support. She could almost hear his cry
for her touch. But what kept her from doing so was that she heard it as well in
herself. She wanted to deny what he said, but the honesty that was integral to
her kept her silent.

His
lips tilted in a knowing smile. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the cabin.” He
swung away from her, breaking the last binding thread.

Margo
watched him bend and grab the pack. From the way he moved, she suspected his
emotions had affected him too. Her own body trembled.

He
led her down the trail through the stately trees. The forest had grown quiet as
if it held its breath during the emotional interlude.

She
didn’t feel the sense of peace she’d come to associate with the ancient trees.
Too many conflicting thoughts jumbled her senses. She didn’t want to
acknowledge she was lonely; it meant taking action to alleviate it. Was that
was Zane was so afraid of as well? She could certainly understand his
reluctance to leave the hideaway he’d forged for himself. It appealed to her to
find a place for herself in it.

Bright
sunlight momentarily blinded her as they left the shaded woods and stepped out
into the meadow leading to Zane’s cabin. As soon as her eyes adjusted she
focused on the expanse of grassy land stretching off to one side.

“Zane,”
she called as she stopped to stare. “Look at all the flowers. Looks like a
field of sunshine.”

He
returned to stand beside her. “Wild daisies.”

“There
must be thousands.”

“Did
you know daisies stand for lost youth? Days gone by?”

A
cloud of melancholy shadowed the sunny sight. “Do you miss your youth?”

“Not
the age.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind being older. It’s my outlook, I suppose.
In those days I had a clear concept of right and wrong. Good and evil.”

“The
war stripped boys of their innocence,” she agreed.

“And
left us with guilt and self-hatred.”

“Zane.”
She touched his arm, wanting to reassure him.

He
flinched. She pulled her hand back to her side.

“There’s
a beautiful poem I recently memorized about a field of daisies,” he commented,
ignoring the physical reaction. “By Marie Daerr Boehringer.”

To
her surprise he began to quote the poem.

“As
if it knew there is no end

To
its supply, the daisy throws

A
quilt upon the meadow land

As
white and vast as winter’s snows.

It
quite ignores the fact this field

Is
seen by few from dawn to night –

Content
if but one passerby

Is
gladdened by this lovely sight.

Love,
too, can draw on endless stores

And,
though it walk a path apart,

Still
counts it as a victory

If
it can touch one lonely heart.”

Margo
stared at the daisies.

“They
have touched my heart,” she told him. “They’re one of love’s miracles.”

“Now
you see why I need to stay here. Why I can’t go to a center in the city.”

“But
there are other miracles. Friendship. Family. You need those too.”

“And
a lover?”

Her
gaze locked with his. Again she felt the power of his need. “All the miracles,”
she promised. “All the miracles you desire with your heart, those are the ones
you receive.”

He
closed his eyes. She lifted her hand to his but put it back down to her side.
Yes, love held many miracles. She knew it was the answer for Zane’s lonely
heart. It could very well be the answer for hers.

When
they reached the cabin, Margo thought about the purpose of her visit. A small
part of her hoped she could convince Zane this one last time to come into the
city with her. But she knew it had more to do with the fact that she didn’t
want to miss this last bit of time until she was ready to leave. The man
fascinated her – more than he should. She’d steal another couple of hours.

***

A
breeze wafted through the open sliding glass door of the workshop. Margo had
been right, Zane decided. It was too hot for another hike this afternoon. Of
course he knew a few places where they could cool off, like the pools in the
bend of the river, but Zane had a feeling things would get a lot hotter there
and it wouldn’t have anything to do with the atmospheric temperature.