Margo studied her mother’s features in the changing night light as they left the bridge. Something else disturbed her – something that had nothing to do with her father. “What is it? What’s bothering you about this case?”
Bettina began straightening the folds of her cape. “I’m worried. It’s so far. And isolated.”
“Is that all?” Relief brought another chuckle. “You worry too much. You know I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“Maybe I need a grandchild to fret over.”
“You never give up, do you?”
The banter returned to the familiar as they cruised through the night traffic of the university and then wound their way into the Berkeley hills. By the time the cab pulled up in front of Bettina’s apartment building, Margo had eased her mother’s anxiety for her safety, but not her own small curls of unrest.
Both had been unexpected. Her mother’s worry she could understand. But what had caused the momentary discontent with her life? It had to have been Carmen. The lilting French music and the Spanish setting always struck a chord of romanticism; a chord she usually kept buried and out of her practical world because it reminded her of her single status.
She sighed. Often she wondered what her life would be like now if she’d gone ahead and married Paul. He’d never allow her to go to Fort Bragg. But then she might have had children and wouldn’t want to go. However, there were always patients who needed her. Paul never understood that. It was best they’d broken the engagement.
“Come up and have some tea?” Bettina offered as she slid out the door of the cab.
“I’d love to, but you know if I did we’d stay up too late talking.”
“I suppose.” Bettina patted her daughter’s cheek with her gloved hand. “I enjoyed tonight.”
“Me too.” Margo blew her a kiss.
Bettina stepped out into the rain and then bent down to peer into the cab. “I’ll call and make reservations. It’s been a while since we’ve been on the Wharf.”
“Thanks.”
Margo shook her head as she watched her mother enter the well-lit building. It was always like this between them: the continual evaluation of her personal life. And her mother was right. If she was ever going to discover the pleasures of marriage and children she’d better get busy. The years were slipping by. Perhaps she should refer Zane to another psychologist. Fred would…
No. Zane’s image focused. The haunted look in his eyes called to her – the same look she’d seen all week, much too often. Even in her dreams she’d heard his voice call out her name.
Margo shifted uncomfortably. None of her other patients had occupied her thoughts so thoroughly. It must be his isolation, she decided. His loneliness tugged at her heart.
Margo tried not to think anymore about Zane as the cab traveled the short distance to the top of the hill where her own apartment building perched. One look at the darkened doorway sent all thoughts of her new patient on the skid. Her heart raced as she fought down the panic.
“What…what did you say?” she stammered to the cab driver, never taking her eyes from the building.
Impatient and probably tired, the cabbie reminded her of the fare.
“Right.” Margo fumbled with her purse while she tried to think of what to do. There was no way she could step into that hallway without any lights on.
“Here.” She handed the driver some bills. “What do you suppose happened to the light?”
The man took his money and relaxed. Margo didn’t even care that he’d been worried about getting the large fare. “Probably blew out. It isn’t the power. I see other lights in the building.”
There was that at least. Her apartment would be lit. She never left without turning on the lights. But how to get there?
“Look, lady. D’ya mind gettin’ out? I gotta get back to the city.”
“You wouldn’t want to walk with me to my apartment, would you?”
“I don’t have time to play games with ya.”
“No. I didn’t mean…” Great. Desperation had called for desperate measures. Now the jerk thought she was propositioning him. What a crazy notion. He looked like the type who’d be happier under the hood of a car than in her apartment. Margo turned from the door. “You wouldn’t have a flashlight, would you?”
“Yeah, but you can’t have…”
“I’ll give you twenty dollars for it.”
The man whistled and stared at her like she had two heads. She didn’t care, as long as he gave her the light. Quickly she fished out the bills.
“You meet all kinds.” The driver took her money and handed her a beat-up flashlight. She didn’t care what it looked like as long as it worked.
The beam lit up the cab. Margo sighed. “Thanks.”
The driver didn’t respond, but as she shut the door she heard his mumbling from the front of the cab. Just as well she didn’t hear, she supposed. She wished he would have at least stayed to see her in, but before she even reached the building his tires squealed down the curving road.
Margo took a deep breath and stepped inside the building. The usual potted plants were there, the row of mailboxes, the high beam ceiling with the elegant chandelier hanging dark and unlit from its gold chain.
“It’s all right. Just burned-out wiring,” she reassured herself as she headed for the stairwell. As long as the flashlight beamed she would be fine.
In spite of her efforts to control the panic, Margo gave in to it, dashed up the stairs, and made a run for the safety of her well-lit apartment. After she slammed the door and locked the bolts, she leaned against the wall and took deep breaths. “Stupid,” she chided herself. “After all these years you let the darkness still frighten you. Grow up, kiddo.”
Shaking, Margo sank into the plush couch facing the draped window. Rays of light from several lamps filled the room. How foolish, she thought, to be thirty-fives year old and afraid of the dark. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why. She knew that her father’s insistence to hide in darkened rooms had given her a distaste for the dark. But being a psychologist and knowing why she had the fear should have eliminated the problem. The fact that it hadn’t was irritating. This fear put a chink in her façade of strength and control. Margo didn’t like any chinks in her armor.
She shrugged out of her raincoat and tossed the damp cloth on the chair beside her. Everyone had flaws, secrets they wanted to hide. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Zane came to mind. What were his flaws, his secrets?
***
Her mother had come through. It had taken several calls as most of the restaurants were booked, but they had a date – and none too soon. Margo would leave for Fort Bragg tomorrow afternoon.
Her straw hat shifted from the draft as she entered the famous seafood restaurant on the San Francisco Wharf. The aroma of salt air, yeasty bread, and fresh fish wafted in on the breeze that tossed about the skirt of her turquoise dress. Margo smiled. Her favorite food. Might as well mix pleasure with business.
It didn’t take much effort to find her mother. Bettina always asked for a table by the window. The seagulls perched on the forest of masts were always a pleasure to watch.
A woman Margo didn’t recognize, yet who looked familiar, was seated at the table beside Bettina. She had the defined features of her Italian heritage, a voluptuous figure, and thick black hair streaked with silver at the temples. She was stunning, Margo thought as she threaded her way to the two women.
She was greeted by a blue-eyed glance when Margo made her presence known. The hope in the woman’s expression gave Margo pause until she was introduced by Bettina.
“This is Gloria Zanelli.”
“I’m Dominic Zanelli’s mother.”
Margo took the offered hand and noticed the firm grip and confident smile. “What a surprise. It’s nice to meet you.”
Now Margo understood why she looked familiar. There was a strong family resemblance.
“I hope you don’t object to my taking the liberty
to introduce myself. When I saw your names on the reservation list I had to meet you.”
“Can you join us for lunch, Mrs. Zanelli?” Margo offered more out of politeness than desire for the woman’s company. She wanted to discuss Zane with Bettina, but they couldn’t very well do so in front of his mother.
“I’d love to. And please call me Gloria.”
Margo buried her dismay.
“We’re already on a first-name basis.” Bettina smiled and motioned for her daughter to sit down. “We’re finding we have a lot in common.”
Margo noticed the lipstick on the coffee cups, yet there was none on the lips of either woman. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a bit.” Bettina shifted guiltily.
So her mother had decided to take an early break. It was about time. Too bad she hadn’t been able to relax.
“It appears you have a close relationship with your mother,” Gloria said. “My son and I were once friends.”
Just what she was afraid of. She wanted to hear whatever Gloria could tell her about Zane. In fact, she had a long list of questions. Margo slid a glance to her mother before she turned her full attention to her guest.
“You realize Mrs….Gloria. We cannot discuss your son’s case with you.”
Before Gloria could respond, the waiter came and set a stemmed glass of Perrier in front of her. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Zanelli. Will it be your usual? Cracked crab on ice?”
Gloria smiled. “Thanks, Carlos.” Then she explained to Margo, “I come here about once a week.”
“I’m glad to see you get good service,” Bettina commented.
“Always.” Gloria gestured to the room. “My sons own this.”
The fact didn’t surprise Margo. Most of the establishments on Fisherman’s Wharf were owned by old Italian families who’d immigrated to the city when it was still a gold boomtown. She’d known Zane’s family owned one of the restaurants; she just hadn’t been aware which one.
What did surprise her was meeting a member of Zane’s family here. It was her understanding the brothers worked in the corporate office and had managerial help in their numerous restaurants. Did Gloria work here? Remembering the conversation between Zane and Vinnie at the cabin, she didn’t think so.
The women ordered. Margo decided to join Gloria and have cracked crab on ice. After the waiter left, Gloria spoke to Margo.
“I have a nephew who manages the restaurant.” She gestured toward the room with a nod of her head. “We don’t usually bring others in on our business affairs, but it’s too much for Vinnie to handle alone.”
If Zane were here he would probably be in charge of some of the responsibilities, Margo thought.
Gloria sipped her coffee while her brow furrowed in thought. “Dominic never showed much inclination to manage the business when he was young.”
Margo took note that Gloria used Zane’s first name rather than the nickname Vinnie used.
“This was a real disappointment to his father,” Gloria continued as she replaced her cup onto its saucer and leaned back, a wistful expression in her eyes. “He didn’t want any part of the business except the lumbering, and we closed that down before he went off to war.”
Margo cast a glance at Bettina. Both women were uncomfortable with the discussion of Zane. But Gloria was determined to talk. “Dominic didn’t like the hunting either. Oh, he loved the outdoors and the camping, but Tomas would get so angry at Dominic. ‘Why can’t he be like Al?’ he would say. He was always comparing him to Al.”
Margo realized Gloria thought she was being helpful, but it was putting Margo in a very uncomfortable position. “I’d really rather not talk about…”
Gloria ignored Margo and continued. “I never could figure out why he joined the Marines. I think Al talked him into it. His patriotic duty. Al thought it was a game.”
Many veterans were enthralled with being warriors. Even now, men confided that their tour of duty had been the only time they felt important and needed. Margo didn’t think Zane fit that image, but this Al was beginning to sound like he enjoyed the adrenaline rush of thrill-seeking.
Gloria sipped her Perrier and continued. “We tried to talk him out of it. We even offered to get him a safe commission. Tomas had the clout. But Zane wouldn’t hear of it and Tomas was proud of that. I think Zane knew he would be.
“But after he came home, he’d changed. During the first few weeks he stayed at home he was always outside. He rarely slept in his bedroom but would wander the grounds during the night. Restless. Bored. I don’t know.” Gloria fidgeted with the handle of her cup. “We’d find him in the morning asleep in a chaise on the patio. Or out by the pond.”
Margo cast her mother a glance. Bettina shrugged her shoulders. Gloria was so anxious to explain her son that she jumped from one thing to another. It was beginning to confuse Margo and she had to bite her tongue to refrain from asking questions. She could see her mother suffering from the same restraint.
“Things really changed after Tomas died.” Pain surfaced in Gloria’s expression. She began to finger the lapel of her tailored suit. “Tomas’ death was harder on Vinnie than Dominic. They were close. I think Dominic was relieved of a lot of pressure.”
Gloria paused a minute to recover from the emotion that the reminder of her husband’s death had caused. Margo tried to remember if, when Vinnie had reminisced with Zane last Sunday afternoon, she’d sensed a problem regarding their father. It didn’t jell, but that didn’t mean anything. Zane covered his feelings well.
Across the table, she saw that Bettina gauged Gloria’s emotional stability. When their guest seemed composed Bettina motioned to Margo to change the subject, but she was too late.
“Dominic was always closer to me than Vinnie, but that was because we shared common interests. Vinnie and Tomas didn’t care for theater or music.” Gloria’s expression softened. “We loved to sing together. Dominic would play his guitar. I’d play the piano.”
A quick glance at her mother brought a smile to Margo’s lips. She too was thinking of the hours they’d spent singing away their blues.
“‘Forever Friends’? Was that a favorite?” Margo asked, the temptation too much to resist.
“‘Forever Friends’?” A puzzled frown formed on Gloria’s face. “I don’t recall. We sang so many different songs. Whatever was popular at the time.”
It was Margo’s turn to frown in puzzlement. She’d thought for sure that particular song was an important link. “‘Forever Friends’ was a big hit around Dominic’s freshman year at Stanford.”
The older woman thought for several seconds. Bettina shrugged her shoulders. Margo hummed a few bars.
“Now I remember.” Gloria hummed with her.
Margo’s pulse began to quicken as she nodded. “Does that song bring back any particular incidents to mind?”
“Why, yes.”
Margo leaned forward and noticed her mother did too.
“Dominic came home every Tuesday morning that year. He didn’t have classes. He claimed to want to visit, but he always arrived with dirty clothes and left with bags full of homemade cookies.”
So at that time he was still a little dependent on his family. Or perhaps the dirty clothes were an excuse to cash in on some mothering. If there was friction with his father he’d want his mother’s attention all the more.
“Anyway, we’d have such fun. While we waited for the laundry we’d sit in the music room. It’s such a lovely place with sunlight pouring in from the skylight above. I always have lots of plants there.” The look of pleasure on her face indicated the memories were positive. “And of course my piano. There wasn’t anyone around so we’d sing to our heart’s content. I can picture it as if it were yesterday.”
Margo couldn’t. The Zane she knew was hardened and closed. She couldn’t imagine him sitting in a room such as Gloria described. A young man and his mother. Suddenly she wished she’d known him then. Before the war had branded him with its dark sid
e.
It was possible that through the shadows, Zane did remember those times with his mother. But she doubted this was the link.
“Then he went off to war.”
Margo regretted the hurt that came into the woman’s eyes. A quick glance at her mother’s expression of empathy made her feel worse.
Gloria took a deep breath. “When he returned he was very morose and depressed. I tried to get him to open up, but he refused. He never entered the music room. The one time I tried to get him to sing with me he blew up. Started throwing things around.” Gloria’s voice trembled, but she went on. “It was so unlike him. It scared me. I never sang around him again.”
Her voice broke and Margo could hardly hear her next words. “He said he wasn’t fit to be in the same house with me. And he said he…”
Margo placed her hand over Gloria’s trembling fingers.
“He…he said he deserved to be shot. To be dead.”
A shiver coursed through Margo. Her glance locked with Bettina’s as both women absorbed the shock. The same words. So many vets used them, believed them. They’d heard her father cry out in the darkened room, “I want to die.” Finally he’d made his wish come true. On the anniversary of his capture, he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Margo could hardly breathe. Fortunately Carlos arrived with their lunch. The interruption was a timely interlude, giving all three women a chance to regain their composure. If Carlos thought anything about the silence or the paleness of their faces, he didn’t mention it. Carefully he served their food.
Slowly the sounds of silver and crystal clinking at nearby tables penetrated. The murmur of voices soothed the frayed nerves. Margo glanced out at the boats bobbing merrily with each lap of a wave.
“Enjoy your meal.” Carlos bowed and then departed.
The cracked crab on its bed of shaved ice usually appealed to Margo, but today the thought of eating a bite made her stomach tighten. It took effort, but she forced herself to crack one of the pink legs. Bettina picked at her scallops. Gloria slowly started eating.
Love's Miracles Page 9
