Love's Miracles

by Sandra Leesmith

  Chapter 10

  Zane stood quickly and steadied her with his hand at her elbow. “Let me get my pack and we’ll go.”

  She nodded and tried to control the distaste. Don’t look down, she said silently. She focused on Zane and ignored what she knew was hundreds of feet below her.

  “Is it the cliff? Are you afraid of heights?” he asked as he led the way down the path.

  Margo followed his steps. “It’s this place. I don’t want to be here with that plane. It’s morbid and depressing.” She didn’t mention the ghosts of her past that haunted her; ghosts brought to mind by the sight of the mangled mass of metal below.

  They traveled as fast as they could without sacrificing safety. The minute they crossed the ridge and entered the quiet of the redwoods, Zane halted and turned to her.

  “We’re almost home. The rest of the trail is fairly level and through the forest. Do you want to go on or rest a minute?”

  Margo took several deep breaths of the cool air. The stillness edged away some of her uneasiness. “I’ll make it,” she told Zane. “Let’s go on back.”

  There was enough of the dark feeling to push her onward. Any semblance of civilization appealed to her. She needed to think about Zane and get her mind off the past.

  Zane gave her an assessing glance before turning and continuing on. “It’s this way. We’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes.”

  To Margo’s relief they arrived in less than fifteen. Zane motioned her into the chaise and went inside to get glasses of cool cranberry juice. Tired and stiff, she slipped off her shoes and rubbed her sore feet.

  Fine psychologist she was. How did she expect to make progress with Zane when the sight of a plane that had crashed over forty years ago could bring to mind things she preferred to forget? She glanced at the flower-strewn meadow and wondered if the place held some mystical power that exhumed one’s ghosts.

  She closed her eyes to shut out the sight. Right now she wanted to be home or back at the center involved with her patients. It was her usual remedy to keep shadows at bay. By dealing with everyone else’s problems, she didn’t have to deal with her own. As a psychologist she understood that attitude wasn’t healthy, but as a person, she easily embraced the trade-off.

  Today it wasn’t working. Images of her father focused. From the photos she’d seen of him, taken before she was born, and the stories she’d heard, she knew he had been a handsome and popular man: A varsity football player, a major in civil engineering, and member of a fraternity, he’d graduated from the University of California at Berkeley with the promise of a golden future. To celebrate, he’d toured Europe. It was while visiting distant relatives in France that he’d meet Bettina and they married.

  The clink of glassware coming from Zane’s kitchen brought her back to the present. Margo shifted to a more comfortable position on the longue and tried to focus on the way the tall redwoods spired into the blue sky, but the plane came to mind and her thoughts drifted in time.

  When the Korean War began, her father had joined the Air Force and was sent into action where he was shot down. He survived the crash but suffered several broken bones and was severely burned when the plane caught fire. In the prisoner-of-war camp in North Korea, there had been no medical supplies. Without the right care, his wounds didn’t heal properly and he ended up crippled and scarred.

  The scars hadn’t mattered to Bettina. She was thankful to finally know he was still alive after two frightening and lonely years without communication. But Margo’s father hadn’t believed anyone could love a man as deformed as he now was. Bettina had tried everything to convince him, but it was no use. Not even Margo’s birth had brought him out of his depression.

  Memories swirled. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled her father’s strange behavior: the closed shades and dark rooms, his lonely moans in the night, and her mother’s soothing voice as she tried to ease him out of his nightmares.

  A footstep on the deck alerted her that Zane had returned. Glad for the distraction, she turned and started to rise.

  “Don’t move fast,” Zane whispered. “Look out over the meadow.”

  Margo shifted carefully until she could see. “It’s a fawn,” she whispered.

  Zane pointed farther up the meadow. “There’s the buck and two does.”

  As if in a sylvan dream, the deer inched across the open field, nibbling on the shoots of tender grass. She watched the animals in silence until they entered the dark shadows of the forest.

  “This is how you see them. So close and tame. Do they come by every day?”

  “Most of the time.”

  She slid her glance from the disappearing wildlife to Zane. He set the glasses of juice on the table and sat at the top of the steps, his expression thoughtful. Slowly he turned to meet her stare. He grew serious and started to speak.

  “You are going to come back, aren’t you?”

  “Are you committing yourself to treatments?”

  A frown furrowed across his brow. He went to tug on his beard, but when his fingers came up empty, he placed his hand beside him on the deck. He shook his head no.

  “There’s no point in my returning,” she said.

  “Would you come as a friend?”

  It was Margo’s turn to contemplate the answer to a difficult and loaded question. She glanced across the meadow where the deer had been, not really seeing the empty field.

  Strangely, Zane’s suggestion appealed to her.

  “If I come back, it’ll be as a consultant. I’ll continue to do everything in my power to convince you to go in for therapy. You have to understand. That would make it impossible for me to come as a friend.”

  ***

  Zane fought the urge to argue with her. He should tell her to leave.

  Suddenly she stood, the action startling him from his thoughts. Quickly she slipped on her shoes.

  “I’d better go now. It’s getting late and I have a long drive to the city.”

  An icicle of fear formed. He stood on the steps, blocking the way. “You’re sure you’re up to driving? You could…”

  “I’m fine. I need to go now.”

  His throat constricted. He gathered up his nerve. “You are coming back next weekend?” He hated the hesitancy that sounded in his voice. Wasn’t this what he really wanted – the chance to get rid of her for good?

  She paused and stared. Zane could feel her probing gaze and then the recognition. When did he become so transparent?

  “We made a lot of progress today.” It was a small comfort that she didn’t sound any steadier than he felt. “You opened up. It’s a good sign.”

  “Is it worth it, though?”

  Her expression hardened. “Don’t give up on yourself. I won’t let you.”

  She brushed past him then and headed down the steps.

  “Margo,” Zane called when she reached the ground.

  She turned. “I’ll be back, Zane. Next Saturday.”

  Her glance locked with his. He saw the determination, but he also saw something else – support, appeal. His heart lurched into a gear rusted from nonuse.

  He shifted and broke eye contact. She walked to the Bronco, climbed in, and drove down the track into the trees.

  Zane didn’t move but remained immobile against the rail. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the turmoil of emotions that gripped his sense of reason. It was all happening too fast.

  For years he’d managed to make a life for himself; a life free of nightmares, a life where he didn’t have to face accusations or complications. And suddenly he found himself on a roller coaster of fear, tension, release. His nightmares had returned, the past dredged for reexamination, and the most frightening of all, an awakening of emotions he wasn’t prepared to feel again.

  The breeze rustled across the meadow and tossed his hair as easily as it swayed the wildflowers. He rubbed his jaw where it itched from the unaccustomed shave – another evidence of change. He couldn’t justify the action except to ad
mit he did it to impress Margo. To be honest, he’d hoped for another opportunity to kiss her.

  He shifted his weight to his other leg. So much for that big plan. Instead of kissing her he’d wanted to spill his guts.

  Disgusted with himself and the way the day had progressed, he swiveled around and headed through the house and out the back door. There was only one thing he could do to ease the tension that gnawed: He’d work on the statue.

  After grabbing the key from its hiding place above the door, Zane entered the small shed at the edge of the forest. The corners were lit by the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the skylight, the only opening besides the door. He had a reason for the solid enclosure: He wanted no one, not even Vinnie, to see this statue.

  Determined and grim, Zane picked up the chisel and mallet and knelt at the base. Methodically he began to chip at the wood. With each thump of the mallet, a small piece of his tension eased, as it always did. He worked for hours, unaware that the sun had set, until finally he couldn’t see his hand.

  With stiff movements, he stood and turned on the lights. He knew he’d be there until dawn.

  ***

  Coastal fog wafted across the path as Margo walked toward the main building. She turned to Fred who walked beside her. “This’ll be perfect. We can use these buildings for classes. We’ll set up an art studio in the attic. That wing to the left can house the crafts.”

  “You have a good imagination, Margo. That looks like a rattle-trap building, which adds up to repairs and more expense.”

  “Don’t be so realistic.”

  “Someone has to be.”

  Margo paused and stared at the house. The weather-beaten wood did need paint. The fence was down in several places where wild blackberry bushes had climbed over it. Water dripped off the hanging limbs of the willow tree.

  “It does look gloomy,” she conceded.

  Fred raked his fingers through his hair. “Now I’ve done it. I brought you here to snap you out of your blue funk. You were getting all excited and now look.”

  Surprised, Margo glanced at Fred. “Blue funk? What’re you talking about?”

  “For the past month you’ve been wandering around as if your mind were a million miles away.” Fred placed his hand at her waist and continued toward the main building of the old resort. “On top of flying all over the country for your consulting jobs, these weekend trips are wearing you out. You’re exhausted.”

  With measured steps, Margo walked with Fred. He was right. Her mind was miles away, but not a million – more like two hundred: up the coast and on a dirt track to Zanelli land, to Zane.

  “I brought you here, hoping to give you a lift and a rest from work. I’m getting worried about you.”

  She knew Fred’s concern was based on their friendship, but she couldn’t very well tell him about her feelings for Zane.

  “It won’t be for much longer. I told you that.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to what happened than what you’ve told me?”

  Margo stepped away from Fred’s hand and stopped in the path. “Sounds like it’s your imagination that’s getting carried away.”

  “Come on, Margo. We’ve known each other for years. Don’t pull that on me. What’s really happening up there?”

  “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you, Fred. But the honest truth is, I’m not sure.”

  Ever since last weekend, the same question had played over and over in her mind. Zane had reacted to the question of his manhood. The emotional reaction had crumbled the wall of his protective reserve. He was talking about the past. On the surface, this all sounded like a normal progression of events, but there was more.

  Underlying Zane’s behavior were pools of emotions. Some of them related to his problems, but some were connected to her. They pulled on her in ways that weren’t entirely professional. They were feelings that were strong enough to crumble her own walls of reserve. She found herself as exposed and vulnerable as Zane.

  Fred spoke again, interrupting her thoughts. “Has he had more outbursts like that day with Vinnie? Maybe I should come up with you from now on.”

  “Yes. Do come.” She could tell by the widening of Fred’s eyes that she responded too quickly. “He needs your expertise.”

  Fred didn’t buy that and it was too late to retract the statement.

  “Just how bad off is this guy?”

  “Not bad at all,” she assured him. “In fact, from all outward appearances I’d say he was normal. Maybe some delayed stress, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Then why the continued treatment?”

  “Instinct. I sense there’re buried problems. Deep-seated denial.”

  Fred stared until she became uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Finally he reached across the charged space between them and laid his hand on her shoulder. “You aren’t getting emotionally involved, are you?”

  Margo glanced away, hating to admit to herself, let alone to Fred, that she’d crossed those boundaries.

  Fred’s grip tightened. “Do you realize what’s at risk? Your career? Your professional reputation?”

  She met his stare and saw the anger and hurt. It added to her own confusion. “I need you up there, Fred.”

  Fed’s curse became lost in the heavily misted air as he dropped his hold and swung away. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do? I care about you, Margo.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not going to take him for a patient. I might want to strangle his throat.”

  “Fred,” she whispered, unable to offer him the words he wanted or needed. “I can’t continue…”

  Fred faced her, anger glittering in his eyes. “Then get someone else. If he has any interest in you, I wouldn’t want to be hearing about it.”

  That hurt Margo. She had always kept her reputation scrupulously clean. Sure, she’d operated out of orthodox bounds, but she’s always kept her patients’ interests aboveboard. Zane was presenting more problems than just the tug on emotions.

  “I’ve already written the letter, Fred. He’s no longer my patient.”

  “At least you’re managing to show some sense.”

  “Give me a break. I don’t need any harassment from you. You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  Remorse flickered across his face. “Why do you think I’m so upset?”

  True concern sounded in his voice. Margo felt a twinge of guilt because she knew he wanted more than friendship, but she couldn’t offer false hope. It was time to change the subject, so she brightened her expression and smiled. “Enough discussion of work. I thought you brought me here to relax. Let’s go explore and dream up our plans for the retreat.”

  Fred shook his head, but he took the hand she offered and followed her up the path.

  “This is an ideal location,” he conceded. “There’s a freeway from the Bay Area to Santa Cruz and then it’s only a short drive up to here.”

  “We can use those cottages to house our married patients who come with their families. And we’ll use that barn to build an auditorium. Can’t you just picture it? Concerts. Stage plays. It’ll be a healthy release for our patients.”

  “You never allow any doubts to creep in, do you?”

  “You do enough of that for both of us,” she teased. “Besides, after seeing how Zane has used the peace and serenity of the forest to soothe his rough edges, I know this is going to be right.”

  The mention of Zane brought another silence. She studied the drawn look on his face and saw the touch of jealousy. Margo sighed. There were no assurances she could give Fred, but she could put thoughts of Zane aside and focus on their dream for a country retreat. The old resort was perfect. Plans should be filling her head, not haunting memories of a lonely man’s embrace.

  ***

  In spite of her resolve to extricate herself from the case, Saturday morning found her driving across the track to Zane’s place. The rented Jeep didn’t have all the options Vinnie’s had and was more difficult to
maneuver.

  Margo approached the clearing with mixed feelings. Officially she’d terminated business with the Zanellis, but she felt it was her responsibility to tell Zane in person. After all, she’d promised to return. In her bag was a list of reliable colleagues and their addresses. She’d make one last attempt to convince Zane that he needed therapy.

  The trip had nothing to do with her personal interest in Zane. She was not coming to see him as a friend – at least that’s what she repeated over and over in her mind.

  Zane stood on the porch and watched her approach. Even at this distance she could feel his questioning stare as she got out of the Jeep.

  “Something happen to the Bronco?” he asked.

  Margo paused at the foot of the stairs, surprised at how difficult this was going to be. She shook her head. “The Bronco’s fine. I rented the Jeep because I wrote your brother a letter last week. Officially I’m not working for him – or you.”

  For long seconds he didn’t speak but stared. Margo waited, using the time to formulate all the reasons for her decision.

  To her surprise he didn’t question it but asked, “Does that mean you’re going to turn around and leave?”

  She knew she should say “yes” but instead she said, “I’m here. I can answer questions in case you want to plan where to go from here.”

  Zane’s welcoming smile blew her own doubts away. “Come on up then. I made plans for today.”

  Instinct told her to refuse. Logic insisted she turn around and get into the Jeep, but today her heart ruled. She could talk to the man and give one last shot at convincing him he needed therapy.

  Proudly she showed off her brand-new hiking boots she’d bought before she’d decided to drop the case. “I feel like Smokey the Bear.” They were lightweight but still awkward as she clumped up the steps to the deck and stood before him. Olive-dun pants hung loose on her hips. A blood red shirt with olive slashes in it looked like it was ten sizes too big. “These will give me protection and be cool at the same time.”

  A grin twitched on Zane’s mouth. She noticed he’d shaved again. The fact he’d gone to the trouble pleased her. It shouldn’t have, but it did.