Love's Miracles (38 page)

Images
of him smashing the jukebox focused. Shaking the memory away, she said, “Look,
I have a right to a private life.”

Fred
and Bettina watched her closely. Margo forced herself to still, realizing too
late that she’d given more away than she intended with such an impassioned
statement.

Fred
opened his mouth, about to question her. She quickly stood to avoid it and
spoke to her mother. “I’m exhausted, and I’m going home.” She knew she should
have done that in the first place. “I’ll see you tomorrow,
maman
. Later,
Fred.”

Margo
swept out of the room, aware that she’d left Fred and her mother nonplussed
with her actions. They would find out soon enough how serious her feelings for
Zane were. Right now, they were too fragile to discuss. If she kept busy it
would get her through the day until she’d hear from Vinnie. He’d promised to
call her tonight.

***

Zane
watched his brother disappear down the track. Part of him was relieved to
finally be left alone: no more hassles from the law, no more pretense that he
would be all right, no more reminders that he didn’t belong in the civilized
world. Like the last particles of dust thrown up by the tires and blowing away
in the wind, Zane’s pressures disappeared.

But
part of him hurt unbearably. Now that Vinnie had left and now that he wouldn’t
see Margo again, those spaces he’d begun to fill emptied, leaving raw sores
around the edges of his heart.

He
fought against the urge to lash out and throw any movable object. He’d already
succumbed to that urge once. It had crumbled the new world he’d been foolish
enough to think he could build.

They
were just dreams. He’d been a fool to think he could forget for a moment what
he’d done. It was just as well the incident in Fort Bragg occurred. Now Margo
would understand why she shouldn’t love a man like him. Both of them were
better off. She was out of his life – except in his nightmares. He had a
feeling Margo had just added new ones to the old collection.

Zane
shifted to his other leg and rolled his head to ease the tension tying his
muscles in knots. Would he ever forget the sound of her soothing voice while
she tried to pull him away from the music? Would he stop seeing the look of
confusion and hurt in her eyes?

Zane
headed up the stairs and entered his house. The minute he walked in the door he
could picture her there. He remembered the smell of her perfume. A mug, half
full of coffee, sat on the counter and reminded him of her laughter. His tongue
traced his lips, tasting her in his mind.

Slowly
he took the stairs to the loft. When he could see into the room, he paused,
taking in the rumpled sheets and remembering the way she looked when she slept
there.

Abruptly
he swiveled around and headed down the stairs, out the back door, and across
the meadow. He bypassed the workshop, knowing there would be reminders of her
in there too. He didn’t have to go inside to picture her slender fingers
holding the wood; hands that he wished were holding him.

Grass
brushed against his jeans as he crossed the meadow to the edge of the woods.
The small shed sat in the shadows, dark and haunted and alone – just like him.

His
fingers shook as he fumbled for the key and then tried to fit it in the lock.
Slowly the door swung open. Light shafted into the small room, but it didn’t
brighten the horror of the statue.

Zane
stared at it, knowing deep in his soul that he should never love another human
being. The pain of the loss was too much to bear.

***

Margo
shifted her briefcase to her other hand as she headed down the concourse to the
baggage claim area. It was bad enough that her plane from Seattle had been a
half hour late, but on top of that it was now rush hour. She’d be lucky to get
back to the office by seven.

At
least arriving that late, she wouldn’t run into her mother or Fred. She’d been
putting off his calls all week. Her consulting job in Seattle had kept her away
from his probing questions and accusations. Fred was becoming a real pain, and
that saddened Margo. She didn’t like losing his friendship.

At
the first bank of telephones, she paused to call the shuttle that would take
her to her car and then called her office. While her receptionist recited the
messages, Margo smoothed a bare foot over the calf of her leg. The massage
reminded her how bone-tired she was. There had been two hundred psychologists
at the luncheon and not all of them had been receptive to her ideas. The
questions had fine-tuned her tension.

It
hadn’t been her best presentation. The events of the past weekend in Fort Bragg
had scrambled her sense of continuity and flow. Staying focused on the topic at
hand proved difficult, but she’d managed to satisfy the association that had
hired her.

If
the Seattle conference hadn’t been so soon after the weekend with Zane, she
would have canceled, but there hadn’t been time to get a replacement speaker.
At least she’d learned her lesson.

“Cancel
my engagements for next week and call the airline to change my ticket. They can
credit the Dallas fare onto my Denver ticket next month.” Margo slipped her
shoes back on as she instructed her receptionist.

After
hanging up the phone she hurried toward baggage claim. Usually after a
consulting job she would run the event over in her mind, evaluating and
revising, but not this time. The hyper feeling that always followed a public
speaking engagement couldn’t hold her attention. All she could think of was
that Zane had returned to the redwoods.

During
the wait for the luggage, the ride on the shuttle, and the slow pace from the
airport to her office, Margo went over the events of the disastrous weekend.
After blowing up like that she knew it would be a long time before Zane would
want to see her again.

Margo
parked her Cutlass in the garage and punched the elevator button. She’d left
instructions for her receptionist to leave a pot of hot water simmering before
she went home. A hot cup of tea would go good with the sandwich she’d picked up
from the deli on the corner.

Cables
hummed behind the door, signaling the elevator was on the way. While she
waited, she contemplated calling Ray Smith. She could justify the call with
interest in a former patient, but she knew Smith wouldn’t buy that ploy. What
she really wanted to do was drive to Zane’s.

As
Margo stepped into the elevator, she canceled that idea. The only thing she
could do that would be fair to Zane was to leave him alone and let him work it
out by himself. If he never called, she’d have to learn to live with that
reality.

By
the time Margo entered the reception area of Devaull and Devaull, her mood had
worsened. It didn’t improve when she saw lights on in her mother’s office. She
hoped she was working late and not waiting for Margo.

She
had no such luck, however. Just as she scooped up her messages, Bettina walked
in. From the furrow in her mother’s brow, Margo knew she wasn’t going to even
have time to gather her defenses.

“How
was the trip?” Bettina asked.

“So-so.”
Margo lifted her bag. “Have you eaten? I have a roast beef on a Kaiser roll.
Your favorite.”

“Sounds
great. Let’s go in there.” Bettina gestured to the consulting room. “I’ll bring
us some tea.”

The
fact that Bettina hadn’t looked her directly in the eye warned Margo. So did
her mother’s choice of room, where the seating was comfortable. It promised to
be a long evening, which she didn’t need – not with her defenses down.

In
contrast to Margo’s office, the consulting room was neat and orderly. Plush
couches were situated much the same as one would find in the living room of a
home. Margo and her mother had designed it that way to induce a sense of
relaxed comfort.

There
were three sofas facing each other in a U-shape. They weren’t so much for
patients to lie down on, though they certainly could use them for that. They
had placed three of the long couches in the room so they could conduct group
therapy sessions as well as individual consultations.

Margo
sat on the burgundy couch and unwrapped the sandwich. When Bettina entered, she
set the tea service on the table and traded Margo a cup for half the sandwich.

“This
looks marvelous. Sure you don’t mind sharing?” Bettina didn’t wait for a reply
but bit into her roll.

In
spite of her weariness settling like a weight, Margo smiled. “They had a snack
on the plane so I’m not that hungry. A half is perfect.”

By
unspoken agreement neither of them mentioned what was really on her mind. There
would be time enough for that after they ate. For now they were content to
nourish their bodies in a relaxed atmosphere.

“The
president of one of those larger practices in Seattle approached me with a
proposal.” Margo knew her mother would be pleased with the news. “He wants me
to come up for a week and train a team of their new doctors. They’re going to
establish an outreach program. Make it a branch of their organization.”

For
several minutes Bettina enthused over Margo’s tentative plans for the proposal.
The success of that program in such a prestigious practice would lead to
expansion of her theories, something Margo had worked hard for.

“Your
reputation is building rapidly,” Bettina pointed out after she finished her
sandwich. “It’s going to lead to more traveling.”

Margo
brushed crumbs off her lap and put her feet on the magazines sitting on top of
the table. “Maybe we should look into getting another doctor to take some of my
caseload.” The thought of interviewing didn’t appeal to her, but her time was
stretching too thin.

“And
so – where does Zane fit into the scheme of things?”

Margo
closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Here it comes,
she thought.
Now
we’re getting down to the real reason for this late-night rendezvous.

“Zane
doesn’t enter the picture at the moment. I doubt I’ll see him for a long time.”
Possibly never, but Margo refused to voice that doubt.

“How
is that going to affect you?”

“Probably
like it’s affecting me now. I’m going crazy wondering if he’s all right.”

“You
care for him a lot.”

“The
hardest thing right now is letting him go.”

Bettina
sipped her tea, her expression revealing the conflict she must feel. Margo knew
her mother wanted to give advice, but both of them were trained enough to know
it probably wouldn’t be heeded. The mothering instinct proved stronger than
logic.

“We’ve
discussed this before. You know you have a deep-seated need to rescue lost
souls.”

“I
know that.” Margo set her cup on the table and braced herself. “And we both
know what it stems from.”

“Are
you sure you’re not getting involved with Zane because of your father?
Transference won’t help you work through it.”

One
advantage of going through training together was that they had opened up locked
doors and examined past behaviors. Margo was as good as her mother at
self-evaluation. Yet there were always those secret doors one didn’t dare open.

Bettina
was determined to knock on them. “Are you sure your interest in Zane isn’t a
desire to have your own personal man to rescue?”

“Do
I need a man for that,
maman
? Aren’t there enough people with problems
to keep me busy without me looking for one in my private life?”

“Exactly
my point.” Bettina sat forward as if she’d won a victory. “Getting involved
with a man like Zane won’t be easy for you. How will you be able to separate
your psychologist self from the interested partner?”

“You
mean the kind of situation like you’re having now? The therapist versus the
mother role?”

As
if slapped, Bettina sat back against the couch. The barb had hit home, but it didn’t
make Margo feel any better.

The
pendulum in the crystal clock on the table ticked away the minutes. She could
hear her mother breathing and wondered if hers sounded as labored.

Her
mother cleared her throat and began to talk. “You know we’ve discussed your
father and how his death has affected our lives, but there are some things I’ve
never told you about.”

Curiosity
tugged at her need to retreat. Margo locked glances with her mother.

“There
were times when I didn’t think I could go on living with him another minute. To
my shame I was thankful when you’d climb in his lap and occupy his time. When
you were with him, he wasn’t whining and complaining to me.”

Strain
showed on Bettina’s features as she stepped back in time. Margo wanted to tell
her to stop but couldn’t make the words form. She didn’t want to know there had
been times when her mother couldn’t handle it.

“I
know it was wrong to use you that way. When I see you now – so compelled to
sacrifice and help others – I think it must have been my fault.”

Margo
wanted to reach out and soothe away the pain she could see in her mother’s
eyes. “Nothing I do is your fault. You know better than that. The circumstances
were perhaps partially controlled by you, but I made my own choices as to how I
reacted to them.”