Love's Miracles (39 page)

“Sometimes
choices are not easy to make. Sometimes the need to escape overcomes logic and
morality.” Bettina rubbed her forehead. “Were you aware that I almost left your
father?”

The
surprise must have shown in Margo’s eyes.

“Yes.
Gregory Brown was his name. The attorney who helped me settle your father’s
claims with the government. He wanted me to leave the abuse and the pain.”

Margo’s
words were scarcely a whisper. “When was that?”

“You
were only three. Many times I’ve wondered if I made the wrong choice in
sticking it out. Gregory would’ve loved you and been a normal father. You were
young enough that I could’ve taken you away and you wouldn’t have even
remembered…”

“Don’t,”
Margo whispered. “The past is done.”

“But
you need to understand,
cher
. There were times when I hated him. I
wanted
him to die. And God help me” – she made the sign of the cross – “there’s a part
of me that was so relieved when he shot himself.”

Her
voice caught and tears began to spill down her cheeks. Quickly Margo went over
and slid next to her mother. Bettina moved easily into her daughter’s embrace,
her quiet sobs sending tremors through them both.

 No
words were necessary. Her mother needed the release. The new knowledge lodged
in Margo’s heart with an ache. She didn’t want to know these things about her
mother’s past, yet she understood why they were being brought out in the open.

When
Bettina finally quieted, Margo called on the determination she’d been
gathering. “I see what you’re driving at, but there is no comparison between
the two men. Zane doesn’t begin to have the same kind of problems.”

Bettina
straightened and Margo could see her renewing her energy for further argument.
“But he
does
have problems.”

Margo
edged to the center of the couch. “Of course, but he’s not suicidal.”

“It
doesn’t matter what the problems are or how severe they are. The day-in,
day-out living together exaggerates them out of proportion.” Bettina swiveled
to face Margo directly. “Will you be able to come home after working all day
with sick patients and face yet another wounded hero?”

“I’m
sure his problems can be worked through in a year or two. Most P.T.S.D. victims
gain control after intensive therapy.”

“But
what if he doesn’t? What if you marry him and he never recovers? Will you end
up blaming yourself because you failed to rescue him from his hell? Will you
suffer the same guilt you deal with because of your father’s death?”

Margo’s
hands shook as she pushed off the couch and began to pace in the open space.
She tried to block out her mother’s voice, but Bettina persisted.

“There
are never any guarantees. You have to understand and face all the
possibilities.” Bettina poured herself a cup of tea. The cup rattled in the
saucer. It didn’t help to see that her mother’s hands shook as much as hers.
“The need you have to be a rescuer will make it that much harder for you to
keep out of the role of therapist when dealing with him.”

With
her legs apart, Margo stopped and confronted her mother. But before she could
open her mouth, Bettina continued speaking.

“You
met him under the context of a patient-therapist situation. You are aware of
the dangers of continuing those roles in a relationship. Power roles shift. He
could begin to blame you, or worse, become dependent on you. Then what will you
do if you start losing respect for his weakness?”

“Is
that what happened to you?” Margo challenged, even though she knew her mother
was right.

“Yes,
it did happen to me and I wasn’t even trying to be a therapist.” Bettina stood
and walked toward Margo. The action as well as her thickening accent betrayed
her growing agitation. “You have to face reality, child. When a patient doesn’t
heal, you are sad and concerned as his therapist. But when a partner doesn’t
heal, it hurts and damages.”

“It
isn’t like that with Zane.” Resuming the pacing helped defer some of the
intensity of her mother’s stare. “Zane hasn’t let me ‘rescue’ him. He’s quick
to tell me when I’m slipping into the therapist role. I don’t think he’d let
that happen, nor will I. We can be happy together.” The vehemence in her voice
was designed to convince herself as well as her mother.

Bettina
reached a hand to cup her daughter’s cheek. “I understand how you feel. I’m
sorry I brought up the ugly past. I just want you to be happy. I don’t want you
to suffer any part of what I did.”

“I
won’t let that happen,” Margo promised, although she couldn’t say how she would
guarantee it. “I understand the potential consequences, but I’m willing to take
the risks. I just want to love him.” And for the first time she admitted the
full extent of her commitment to Zane.

“Remember,
cher
, your love isn’t going to save him. He will have to do that
himself.”

***

The
chisel chipped another piece of the statue as Zane tapped with his hammer. Each
blow knotted his gut, but he didn’t stop; he couldn’t. Too much anguish tore at
him.

Why
had Margo come into his life? Why had he grown to care?
Why, Al, why?

He
threw the hammer across the room. It clattered against the wall, the noise
shattering the eerie silence. The burst of temper didn’t help. He slumped his
shoulders and rested his head on the statue.

Fingers
traced the lines he’d carved. There were places he’d worn smooth with his
touch. Others were rough and splintered. The actual carving was almost done and
that frightened him. What would he have to work on to ease his tormented
conscience?

Of
course there were still the eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to do those; he
doubted he ever would. Perhaps next, he’d smooth every plane and angle with the
oil of his hands. That would take a lifetime. Would it ever be enough?

He
straightened and twisted to ease the cramp in his back. A chill shivered down
his bare skin and he realized it was cooling off. He looked up and noticed the
light waned. He’d have to turn on the generator if he wanted to work much
longer.

Feeling
his way across the room, he shoved aside tools and sank against the wall. Maybe
he could just close his eyes and rest for a few minutes. He was so tired, but
he didn’t dare fall asleep.

The
nightmares would come – the same one he always had. Zane stared at the statue.
The eyes weren’t carved yet and he knew why. If he tried to form their shape,
he’d be forced to see the same accusing glare that he’d seen in his dream.

Zane
closed his eyes and rubbed the nape of his neck. The nightmares had occurred
every night since he’d been to Fort Bragg. At first he’d thought they were
caused by hearing the song, but he’d changed his mind. Part of it was Margo.

He
wouldn’t see Margo anymore and that, he decided, was why he again had
nightmares. It was after a particularly frightening one that he’d awakened and
sat in the dark, thinking. The night shadows had reminded him of Margo’s fears.

Zane
groaned, the eerie sound echoing in the room. Why had he sent her away? He
needed her. He needed her warmth and caring to fill his soul.

He
hammered his fists on the ground beside him. It was no use. She was gone. She
didn’t deserve him and his guilt. He’d just have to wait it out. He’d buried
the past before and he could do it again. Only this time he wouldn’t be foolish
enough to think he could leave this place – his haven from hell.

Darkness
overtook the forest. Zane continued to sit on the floor of the shed. An owl
hooted nearby. In the distance a coyote howled.

The
shed was dark, but he could still make out the outline of the statue. Life-size,
its form loomed in front of him. He closed his eyes, but the memories wouldn’t
go away.

Al
lost consciousness and his body became dead weight. Zane strained against the
added burden. His arms felt numb, his back ached unbearably, but he didn’t let
go. He’d get Al out of there. He had to.

The
slimy mud sucked on his boots as he struggled to get through the swamp. If he
could find a bank with overhanging roots, he could make a cave to hide in. Then
Charlie would pass them by. They’d have a chance.

Vines
hung down and swirled around his head and shoulders. Zane tried to sort his way
through them, but Al’s legs tangled. Reluctantly Zane let go of his burden. He
set Al in the mud and tiredly whacked with the machete.

The
vines grew in an endless tapestry, weaving a trap of death. Finally, he reached
a clearing. On the far side was a bank. Zane ran back to get Al. When he lifted
his friend’s body, Al stirred.

“Do
it, Zanelli. Do it now,” Al murmured.

“Shut
up and hang on,” Zane muttered as he hefted himself upright. For a second he
staggered and almost fell.

“It’s
no use. I’m a dead man.”

“No,
you’re not. I found a place to hide. It’s got a good view. We’ll know who’s
coming.”

“What’s
the use? Charlie’s all…over the…place.”

“They’ll
send a recon team.”

Zane
staggered when Al lost consciousness again and became dead weight. He continued
his reassurances, more for his own sake than Al’s.

“They’ll
get us out of here,” Zane promised.

Zane
shifted uneasily. He wanted Margo to come back. When she was here, he didn’t
think of the past. Her voice drowned out the sound of voices that kept spinning
over and over in his tired brain. Would he ever forget those horrible weeks
when Charlie surrounded them?

Slowly
he stood and staggered to the door. He ran his fingers over the stubble of
beard that he’d let grow back since the weekend. He supposed he should eat. But
the thought of food made his stomach turn. Maybe a shower would wash away some
of the anguish. He had to get himself back together – soon.

***

Rain
was still splashing against the window of her office when Margo finished taping
her notes on the session she’d just concluded. Her thoughts should have been on
her patient, but they weren’t. She couldn’t stop thinking of Zane and her
conversation last night with her mother.

Sometime
during the course of the conversation she’d come to realize she loved Zane, but
her mother’s words tore at her assurance. Was it love for him as a man, or was
she indeed transferring onto Zane her need to rescue her father?

Doubts
swam in and out of her thoughts. Memories clouded her reasoning. She could hear
his baritone echoing across the meadow; feel his touch on her sensitive skin.
There were the tender moments when he showed her the wild animals, or his
teasing abandon when he’d trapped her in the surf.

How
could she doubt it was love when these images came so clearly to mind? It had
to be more than transference reaction. And even if there was some inner desire
to help Zane overcome his problems, was that so bad? Most women wanted to be
there for their men in time of need.

Margo
shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing her legs and pushing up the
sleeves of her bulky sweater. The peach color of the sweater and the matching
wool slacks had brightened her mood. With the rain and wind that were blowing
today, she’d needed the boost.

The
rewind button clicked off on the transcriber, and Margo turned off the machine.
She pulled up another chair across from the one she sat in and put her feet on
it. When was the last time she’d stopped for a break? It seemed hours ago and
probably was. Closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples, she wondered what
Zane was doing now.

Was
he in his workshop carving animals with the rain providing a background rhythm?
Or perhaps he sat by the fire sipping on a cup of hot chocolate. Was he
thinking of her?

With
her head resting against the back of the chair, Margo stared at the raindrops
as they hit the pane and drizzled down the glass. Her mother had hit upon thought-provoking
issues. Margo was experienced enough to realize her mother was also right.
Could she handle a relationship with Zane if he never changed?

Yes
, her heart
screamed the answer in spite of her mind’s doubts. Thinking back on their times
together, she knew she could accept him as he was. He had a way of soothing her
nerves. His easygoing manner made her slow down and take stock of what was
going on around her.

She
needed that. Most of the time she was so wrapped up in her patients she rarely
took a look at the simple pleasures life had to offer.

She
was lonely. She needed companionship and Zane’s was the only company she longed
for. She’d never met a man who had affected her as much as Zane had. And like
the daisies in the field, if their time together was only for another day it
would be enough to simply touch her lonely heart.

Swinging
her feet to the ground, Margo stood. After retrieving the finished tape from
the transcriber, Margo stretched and left her office. She dropped off the tape
on her secretary’s desk and then went to the lounge for a cup of coffee.