Authors: Sandra Leesmith
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 side.
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.
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.