Silence prevailed. Margo ate slowly, but her mind raced through every case she’d treated since the war. The same theme kept recurring and recurring: the guilt, the shame. Finally she set down the tongs, unable to finish the meal. There was one question she had to ask. “At the time of Zane’s homecoming, were you involved in any groups that were opposed to the war?”
“Why, yes.” Gloria pushed away the half-eaten plate of crab. “I was doing volunteer work with an advisory committee urging Congress to put an end to the war.”
The picture jelled. How many vets had come home after losing their innocence in a horrible war? A war they believed they were fighting for their country. Only when they returned home they discovered family and friends were ashamed of their involvement; horrified with their duty to kill and refusing to listen to their stories as though by not knowing about the horror they could pretend it didn’t exist. It was a well-worn theme. At least now she knew what direction to take with Zane.
Impatient to return to the center and assimilate this revealing information, Margo forced herself to sit through the rest of the meal. When it was obvious no one was going to eat any more, she made her excuses to return to work.
Gloria insisted on treating the women as her guests. She smiled graciously when Margo and Bettina departed. And why shouldn’t she? She’d accomplished her mission. Margo shook her head, realizing she’d been maneuvered – something that rarely happened to her.
As she drove her Cutlass Supreme across the Bay Bridge she forced herself to reconsider the emotional involvement in this case. Her interest in Dominic Zanelli was beginning to cross professional lines. She kept discovering an insatiable need to know this man. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit her interest stemmed from a deeper level than she was comfortable with.
What strange pull did Zane have on her mind? At odd hours she’d be thinking of him. The look in his eyes haunted her. Maybe she should back out of this case. Whenever she logically considered that option, her emotions would step in and reject it. She simply had to deal with this interest in Zane.
Margo pulled into the basement parking lot of the office building. She parked the car and leaned her head on the steering wheel. Images of his face swam in her mind – blue eyes, dark features, lost and alone. The pull was too compelling and strangely tempting.
A shake brought her out of the disturbing turn of thoughts. Work would get her back on track. Quickly she locked the car and headed for the office. A dash out of the elevator brought her head-on into Fred. “Got a minute?” she asked, never more happy to see her friend than now.
Fred smiled as he ushered her into her office. “I thought I’d missed you.”
Scooting aside another pile of journals that had built up since she’d moved the last stack, she motioned for Fred to be seated. Too keyed up to sit down herself, she tossed aside her hat and began to pace in front of the window.
“I think I’m on to Zane’s problem.”
“And I’m going to hear all about it,” Fred teased.
“I’m positive it stems from his tour of duty in Vietnam.”
“Rather extreme for him to isolate himself that much, isn’t it?” Fred hefted his feet on top of another stack of papers covering the table.
“There were problems within the family. He couldn’t please his father. He was close to his mother, who turns out to be involved in the antiwar movement. And somebody named Al keeps turning up in the picture. He didn’t come home with the best situation to deal with whatever happened overseas.”
“Could be.” Fred rubbed his jaw, a sign that he was deep in thought. “If there were problems before he left, his problems in Nam would magnify on his return.”
Margo stepped to the window. The sunlight reflecting from windows matched the glitter in her eyes. “That’s why I want you to take over this case.”
Fred eyed her closely and Margo schooled herself to appear composed. She’d never turned over a case before. Fred was going to be curious.
“He’d be better off at the V.A. where he could work with other vets,” she said.
“I can’t go up there. I don’t have the time.”
The disappointment came and went. “I’ll bring him in.”
Chapter 7
She’d returned. Zane watched her stretch long legs out of the Bronco. Why was he relieved? He should be annoyed. He schooled his expression to hide whatever was there.
“Any trouble on the road?” he asked as she approached.
Before answering, she straightened her Kelly green beret. “Made it fine. My wheels only spun once.”
“It’ll be your last trip.” He put the gruffness in his voice so she wouldn’t know how glad he was to see her.
She stopped in the middle of rearranging her blouse of black and green zigzags and stared. The serious intent in her eyes seemed to cut right through his determination. “You sound sure.”
“One hundred percent.”
“You thought it all through?”
He hadn’t done anything but think – all last week in the long hours of the night. He’d spent most of his time in the small outlying shed chipping away on the statue. He’d even considered the possibilities of therapy. But later, after waking up in a cold sweat from the age-old nightmare, he’d changed his mind. Whether it was from her probing questions or his argument with Vinnie, the past had reemerged from the dredges he thought he’d buried it in.
“You just going to stay up here in hiding?”
“I belong here.”
“What about your family and friends?”
He had no friends. There were superficial relationships and one-night stands with women. That was all the involvement he wanted. As to family… They’d complained enough about his fits of temper. Even he had noticed that the edginess that plagued him lately was rubbing off on them. They were better off without him.
“You go back to yours. I don’t need this.” He tried anger to punctuate the words. Why didn’t she just turn around and leave? Why did she have to stand there? So open, so confident, so alive and warm. He couldn’t be changing his mind. He refused to want her to stay.
“It was tough driving. You won’t mind if I rest a bit before leaving?” she stated more than asked as she continued to approach.
He eyed the long legs. Her hair brushed her neck as she ascended the steps. He didn’t know he was waiting for her scent to reach him until it did and he hungrily breathed it in.
“I’ll leave if you insist. First, though, I want to give you these.” She lifted a canvas tote that was as colorful as her outfit with big letters spelling San Francisco. “It’s some literature I thought you might like to read.”
He studied her expression. When he saw her brown eyes and the caring, he knew he was going to concede and invite her in. What the blazes? Was he that lonely that all it took was a smile? His fists clenched, the only outward sign of stress.
“There’s coffee inside,” he grudgingly told her. Without waiting, he went through the open sliding glass door and across the large room to the kitchen.
He pushed a freshly filled mug across the counter toward the place she’d used before. She didn’t say a word but slid onto the stool and savored the aromatic brew. Zane didn’t speak nor did he sit beside her. He wanted to, but she smelled too feminine; she looked too soft. He wanted to touch. Instead, he leaned against the counter and stared.
Now what? No way was he going to answer her questions. She wouldn’t find any clues in his expression either. He kept his inner feelings buried.
“I had lunch with your mother yesterday. She was in your restaurant and recognized my name when we booked reservations.”
His cup almost slid through his fingers. He tightened his grip until he feared the handle would shatter.
“We?”
“My mother, Dr. Bettina Devaull. We’re partners.”
“Find out all the family gossip? Ma’s always eager to air the skeletons in the closets.”
“I’m no
t going to pump your family for information about you, Zane. It works better for you to tell me yourself.”
“You telling me Ma didn’t talk?”
Her glance slid from his, but not before he saw the flash of regret. He set down his mug and sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I know how Ma is. So what did she tell you?”
“A little about your father.”
“She tell you I’m not crazy about running Zanelli, Inc.?”
Margo nodded. Her glance bore into his. He schooled himself to keep steady.
“She’s right there. What else did she bring up?”
“She told me about her involvement in the antiwar movement.”
He shrugged that off. He agreed with his mother on that issue. Young American boys shouldn’t be sent to war.
“She kept talking about Al. Who is he?”
Don’t react. Just stand here, immobile. There’s no way she could know. Nevertheless, sweat began to bead under the loose folds of his red sweatshirt. “A friend. Lived next door. We grew up together.”
“Sounds like you were close.”
Zane’s stomach tightened. “His folks were involved in civic projects. They were rarely home. Al hung around our house.”
“Lucky for him. Your family seems very caring. Anyway, I’d like to talk about what happened last weekend.”
The tension knotting his stomach eased slightly. He wasn’t going to talk to her about Al.
She blew on her coffee before taking another sip. “Your outburst is a normal reaction. Posttraumatic stress disorder. It happens in some form or other to all the vets who’ve been in heavy combat.”
Was that supposed to make him feel better? To know there were other poor jerks who freaked out like he did? The idea sickened him.
“Anyway, I have some more articles about both conditions. It’ll help you to understand your reactions. What I don’t understand is why it was triggered by my singing. If a Huey had flown overhead or if we’d heard gunfire…”
Her voice faded as memories crowded into his mind.
“What’re we going to do for pledge night?” Al munched another bite of pizza and glanced at Zane, who was shoving his books off his bed so he could stretch out.
“We could do a skit. How about a put-down of Peterson? I’m ready to ram my fist down that guy’s throat.”
Al’s eyes widened. “Shut up, man. These dorm walls are paper thin. If he hears us you know what’ll hit the fan.”
Zane rolled onto his back. Peterson had come down hard on them. Zane suspected the jerk was jealous of the close bonds the two freshmen had.
Was it really worth the hassle to join a fraternity? He didn’t care one way or the other, but it pleased his father. Tomas Zanelli had belonged to this fraternity. His son should also.
He moved his arm and glanced at Al. Was he gung ho about joining because he really dug it or were his reasons the same? Al worked hard at being another son in the Zanelli family. He succeeded at it too. Tomas had made Zane painfully aware of the fact that he wished Zane were more like Al.
“I’ve got it.” Al tossed the half-eaten piece of pizza back in the box. “You’re a good singer. I could mime the action of a song.”
Zane sat up, liking the idea. “What about the Beatles?”
“Or the Rolling Stones?”
Zane jumped up. “No. I’ve got it. ‘Forever Friends.’”
***
Margo watched Zane closely. She couldn’t see any play of emotion except a stoic determination not to let any feelings show. But they were there. His face was too stiff, too blank. The silence had stretched too long.
At least she’d made it past the first hurdle and had been invited in. For a brief moment, she thought she was going to have to really defend her position. True, he had only conceded to her staying for a bit, but the fact that he’d conceded so easily told her a lot. Zane wanted help. Now all she had to do was figure the best way to provide it.
Halfway through her coffee, she stood and came around into the kitchen. He’d had enough time to consider his dilemma. Now it was time to get to work. She’d ignore his refusal of her help. She’d also have to ignore his size, his strength, and his power. She knew he exuded it to intimidate her. What he didn’t know was she had a power of her own.
“Let me go over the plan of action. It might make it easier for you.”
His mug landed on the counter with a thud. “What’s it take to get the message across to you?”
Margo set her mug beside his. “Vinnie…”
“Vinnie isn’t here now.”
“Which will make it easier for us. What you say to me will be strictly confidential. Vinnie or anyone else for that matter will not be told anything you tell me. Nor will I discuss any professional conclusions.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. She’d thought that might have been part of the problem.
“Won’t you have to report to little brother? He’ll want results for the money he’s dishing out.”
It was her turn to stiffen. She wasn’t used to her integrity being questioned, but her voice managed to stay calm. “My reports to your brother will include a log of time spent together and travel expenses. It will be up to you to tell him whether we’re making progress or not moving forward at all.”
That put the ball back in his court. She rocked back on her heels, waiting to see what he’d do with it.
Nothing.
She clasped her hands into fists, fighting the urge to demand that he respond. The muscles in his hands flexed also and she realized his struggle to remain implacable was as difficult as hers.
In the silence, her awareness intensified. She could feel the heat from his body, hear the catch in his breath, and smell the woods in his clothes. His fingers tightened. She stared.
Suddenly their touch flashed in her mind. When she’d fallen last weekend, he’d reached out for her. Gently and with care he’d set her upright. He was not as unfeeling as he wanted her to think. Every instinct she possessed insisted she reach out to this man. He needed her.
Action might ease the strain. Her tote rested against the counter on the floor where she’d placed it. His glance followed her movements as she retrieved the bright-colored bag and hefted it onto the counter. She spread the contents across the varnished wood.
“These articles should interest you,” she pointed out, trying to ignore the unexpected catch in her voice. “And I thought you might like this book. It’s written by a vet and describes his experiences returning to his prewar life after his tour of duty.”
Still no response; only an unnerving stare from fathomless blue eyes. She had to stem the trickle of annoyance that threatened to creep in. Even his temper would be an improvement to this silent treatment. She took a deep breath and went on.
“You might find something in common with your own experiences. If so, write them down and we can discuss them. Or if any questions occur…”
Her voice trailed off as the false strain of enthusiasm finally dwindled. It was time for a new tack. Slowly, so as not to put him on the defensive, she left the counter and strolled nonchalantly to the couch.
She could feel the intensity of his glare as he followed her progress. From the way it unnerved her, she figured he’d perfected it while in the service. It could have been an effective way to ward off the barrage of ugliness and death.
“This table is very unique.” She sat down on the sofa and smoothed her palm across the satin finish. “The burl gives it dimension and individuality.”
He remained leaning against the counter. The crossed position of his legs pulled tight the material of his jeans. The red sweatshirt hung baggy across his stomach. His face also reflected the contrasts, features tight and closed, eyes alert and wary.
“Someday I’d like you to show me your work. My guess is you’ve done a lot toward self-healing by creating beautiful pieces like this.” She gestured toward the table.
Mention of his craft finally generated a reaction. He
stirred. “Do you honestly believe you’ll be around long enough for that?” His voice sounded odd, as if the effort from staying quiet had strained it.
She ignored his voice and his question. “Vinnie mentioned you carve animals as well. You must get plenty of models out here so far away from civilization.” She stood and moved toward the window to peer out at the meadow. “Have you seen the injured deer?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he’d followed her movement with his eyes only. Without waiting for a reply she went on. “I thought about her all week. It was hard to picture this place when I was struggling through crowded intersections or fighting traffic.”
In fact, she had thought often of the meadow and the cabin and how right Zane had looked in it. He was a rugged man; a part of the outdoors that he claimed as refuge.
How long she stared out at the meadow she didn’t know. It seemed like hours. Oddly enough she didn’t feel uncomfortable with the silence. For those long minutes it seemed that Zane felt the same way. It was a good sign. It was true that it was a slow beginning, but there was still hope.
Reluctantly, Margo moved from the window. She met Zane’s glance and realized he’d just made an obvious effort to conceal what he’d been thinking. That too was a good sign. His control was slipping.
Margo smiled. “I’ll be back around the same time tomorrow. You can read those articles this afternoon and then we can discuss any questions you might have.”
His look of surprise pleased her. She could almost hear him say to himself, “That wasn’t so bad.” Good; let him see she wasn’t a threat.
“Don’t worry about getting to the book right away. I’ll leave it for you to read during the week.”
He was about to protest, but she didn’t wait around to hear it. “Thanks for the coffee.” She passed through the sliding door and moved onto the porch.
Fresh mountain air. She took a deep breath. It would be like this on her retreat. Nature – its quiet serenity would inspire healing. Its beauty would be a garden for hope. Its challenge would strengthen the weak.
Margo cast one last glance across the meadow before she stepped down to the Bronco. She half expected Zane to follow her outside and insist she not come back. The fact that he didn’t wasn’t a surprise. He had a lot to think about. So did she.
Love's Miracles Page 10
