Love's Miracles (40 page)

With
mixed emotions, she greeted Bettina who stood pouring the brew. Bolstering her
courage, she braced her hands on the edge of the table and directed her full
attention to her mother.

“I’m
going to drive up and see him.” Margo gripped the table’s edge and went on
before she lost her nerve. “Don’t ask me how I’m going to resolve all the
questions you raised. Maybe they are the reason I need to go there so badly.”

Slowly
Bettina set down the cup in her hand. She didn’t respond but stood waiting.

“I’m
not going up there for treatment, therapy, or counseling. I’m going up there
because I have to talk to him.”

“You
want a confrontation.”

“He
has to get it out.”

“In
therapy, Margo. With a noninvolved professional.”

She
was right and Margo knew it, but there was no hope for changing her mind. She
had to talk to Zane. If nothing else, she had to reaffirm the feelings between
them.

“Don’t
go up there. You’ll only make it harder for his therapist.”

Margo
didn’t respond. Instead, she began clearing dirty cups off the table and
running water to wash them. Her mother came up beside her and turned off the
water. Margo braced her hands against the sink when Bettina reached for her
chin and pulled her face around to look at her.

“I
know you’re upset if you start cleaning up around here.”

“I’ve
had enough warnings.”

“The
things I told you meant nothing?” Hurt showed in Bettina’s eyes.

Margo
cupped her mother’s cheek and softened the tone in her voice. “They meant
everything.”

Bettina
raised a questioning brow. “But you’re still going?”

“Last
night you told me about your trials and your moments of weakness. You told me
about Gregory Brown and how you and I could have escaped. But you didn’t tell
me this,
maman
. Why
didn’t
you leave?”

Bettina
stepped back as if she’d been slapped. She walked to the table and grasped the
back of a chair.

“Why
did you stay with him?”

Bettina
swung around, a mixture of defiance and defeat in her expression. “
I loved
him.
In spite of all the heartache and pain, I still loved your father.”

“Exactly
my point,” Margo said. “I love Zane and I’ll stand by him. He needs to know
that.”

For
a brief moment Bettina’s shoulders sagged, but then just as quickly she rallied
and straightened. “Why don’t you let me drive up with you?”

“I
need to talk to him alone.”

Bettina
put her hands up and stopped her protest. “Okay. But I can at least go as far
as Fort Bragg with you and wait there.”

Margo
managed a smile. “It’s sweet of you, and I know you’re offering because you
care. Let me have this weekend. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t go back.”

“Promise?”

“I
promise.” She grabbed Bettina’s fingers and squeezed them.

Bettina
held Margo’s hands for seconds longer than necessary and finally gave them a squeeze.
“Don’t let him hurt you.”

“I
don’t plan on it.” But she knew there were no guarantees.

After
cleaning the lounge, Margo went to her office. Bettina followed her.

Margo
walked over to the window where rain splashed on the glass. It was pouring so
hard she couldn’t make out the city across the bay. It was hidden behind a
curtain of dismal moisture. Moody and nervous, she turned from the gloomy sight
and hugged her mother, drawing strength from the contact as well as giving it.

“I
have to go to him. We need to talk about this.”

Bettina
clutched her daughter’s arm. Margo saw understanding in her eyes, as well as
worry and doubt.

“He
needs me. I’m afraid that if I don’t go up there, he’ll wall himself in so far
that no one will be able to reach him. I can’t let that happen. For his sake or
mine.”

Margo
punctuated her statement with a flurry of activity. She hurried around the
small office, shoving papers here and there to get to the important last-minute
details before she took off.

“I
packed my bag this morning. I’m going to try and leave in an hour,” she
informed her mother. “I should be able to get these cleared by then.”

“It’s
raining cats and dogs out there.”

“Since
I’m leaving so early I’ll be there before dark. Besides, the highway to Fort
Bragg will not be a problem. I’ll stay overnight and that way I’ll have an
early start in the morning. The storm’s supposed to be cleared up by then.”

Bettina
helped Margo wind up her business obligations. As Margo had hoped, in an hour
she was on her way. It took only a half hour to rent another Jeep, and by one
o’clock she was heading north.

She
made better time on the highway now that fall was here and the summer tourists
were no longer on the road. By the time she reached Fort Bragg, it was only
five o’clock. It hadn’t rained in the last hour.

Margo
cruised by the motel she and Ray Smith had stayed at. The thought of spending
the night in the stuffy room seemed like torture, and she was too restless to
check in now.

There
were two hours of daylight left and the ground didn’t look too wet. Maybe she
could make it to Zane’s cabin before nightfall. The thought of spending the
evening talking to Zane definitely appealed to her, especially in comparison to
the lonely room at the motel.

The
time it took to get gassed up and stop at a fast food burger stand was enough
to settle the inner debate. Common sense lost out. Margo was too anxious to see
Zane. Nosing the Jeep north, she headed up the coast.

At
the turnoff she eyed the mud and rocks and debated again about going. Carefully
she inched off the pavement and onto the graveled dirt. The Jeep moved easily.
She picked up speed and realized the off-road vehicle would make it.

Slipping
into second gear, Margo headed up the hill. With the sun going down, it wasn’t
going to be much drier in the morning anyway.

Margo
patted the dash. “You’re doing fine, kiddo.”

Suddenly
the Jeep slid sideways. Margo gripped the leather-covered wheel with both hands
and brought the vehicle back on the track. Her heart beat in a wild tattoo against
her ribs.

“I’m
going to make it, Zane. I promise,” she muttered, her voice determined and
strong.

It
was Friday night. Zane stood on the deck and watched the sun disappear behind
the mountain. It would be dark in an hour, but he didn’t care. For the first
time in years he wished he had a bottle of Scotch, the kind his father had kept
in the bar for guests. It was strong enough to knock a man on his ear by the
time he finished the bottle.

Oblivion
appealed to Zane tonight. Before the fiasco at the inn, he had made plans to
spend another weekend with Margo. That date had been shot to hell. Again he
rubbed his fingers through the stubble growing back on his chin. It felt as
rough as his emotions did.

Behind
him, the house was a mess. He hadn’t made that bed since he’d returned. He
hadn’t slept much in it for that matter. Every time he stretched out on the
rumpled sheets, all he could think of was Margo. He’d lie there for several
minutes, remembering the scent of her and imagining the way her body would feel
curled into his. Frustrated, he would get up and rummage around in the kitchen.

It
looked in worse shape than the loft. Dirty dishes filled the sink and were
spread across the counter even though he hadn’t bothered to eat much. Every
time he’d tried, thoughts of Margo would interfere: the way her lips wrapped
around that fresh peach, the juices dribbling down her chin and fingers; or the
way she laughed when telling him about whipping up a chocolate pudding in the
middle of the night and eating it all herself.

Zane
swore out loud, hoping to chase away the echoes of her laughter. The sound
haunted him as much as the memories of Al.

Disgusted
and restless, Zane sauntered down the steps. He should go clean up the pigsty
forming inside the cabin, but he needed to work on the statue. Grass brushed
his jeans as he crossed the meadow to the shed.

Memories
of Al were torture, but so were memories of Margo. At least the old ones were
familiar and he knew how to handle them. Tonight’s torment was new and raw. He
wanted Margo.

At
the entrance to the shed, he pushed the door that creaked on its rusted hinges.
The statue loomed in the shadows, revealing his dark secret. Zane debated
whether to go inside. Memories called to him, drawing him in. They battled with
thoughts of Margo. Her smile beckoned, but it made him ache with fresh pain. He
slammed the door shut and leaned against the hard wood, staring at the statue,
forcing himself to remember.

“Remind
me, Al. Make me remember why I can’t love her.”

He
fell to his knees, the sorrow making him weak. Behind him the door swung open,
evidently not catching the latch. He didn’t bother with it but let the last
rays of sunlight illumine the face with no eyes.

Zane
swiped at the sweat with his bandanna and shifted to wipe Al’s face. The
bleeding from the gash on his forehead had stopped that first day, but blood
was caked on his skin and clothes.

In
a weak moment, when Charlie had been near, Zane had almost surrendered. Just to
get it over with. But he knew better. They’d be skinned alive and left to rot,
staked out for the insects to feast on. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets as
he crouched in the stinking cave. For two weeks they’d been holed up. Zane
didn’t think he could stand another minute. If the Vietcong didn’t spot them,
they’d sure as hell smell out there hiding place.

Zane
glanced at Al’s leg. It had turned green and reeked of rotten flesh. The
unconscious man was going to lose the leg. If he didn’t get help soon, he’d
lose his life.

Zane
batted at another mosquito. Wasn’t that what they were doing now? Rotting in
the fetid heat? He looked at Al. His breathing was labored from broken ribs. He
wouldn’t make it much longer.

Maybe
he should leave. Try to find a patrol and bring back help. But every time he thought
about it, Al would stir. Sometimes Al screamed in pain. No. He couldn’t leave
Al alone. Charlie would find him for sure.

Zane
shifted, straightening his cramped leg. Al opened his eyes.

“Thirsty?”
Zane asked. At least he’d been able to go get water every night from a nearby
stream.

Al
nodded and Zane breathed a sigh of relief. This time Al was lucid. He held the
canteen to Al’s lips.

Al
drank and then spoke. “Do it, Zane. You’ve got to shoot me. I can’t stand this
pain.”

Al
struggled briefly and Zane looked down to stare into the barrel of Al’s .38. In
spite of the steamy heat, his blood turned to ice. “You don’t know what you’re
asking.”

“You
have to, Zane.” Sweat beaded on Al’s brow. His hand shook as he tried to grip
the heavy weapon. But his eyes were steady, determined. “I want it quick and
clean.”

“We’ve
been through too much.” Zane sought desperately for an alternative – a solution
– anything but…

“Brothers,
Zane. We’re like blood.”

A
shout sounded through the dense foliage. Close – too damned close. Zane hugged
Al’s broken body to his chest. “I can’t do it. Man, I love you.”

“You
have to.”

Zane’s
fingers shook as he reached for the gun. It fit easily into the curve of his
palm, but he couldn’t lift the deadly weight. He buried his face in Al’s neck
and thought of the song he’d started to sing earlier. “Forget mistakes of
yesterday. We’ll dream another dream.”

Outside
the cave he heard it. He didn’t understand Charlie’s lingo, but he recognized
the shout of victory. They’d been found.

Suddenly
the fear fell away and so did all emotion. His voice rang loud and clear as he
stared into Al’s steady gaze.

“Tomorrow
discover truth and promise on the tides of destination. Friends we’ll be
forever.”

Zane
jumped up as his memories continued to torture him. He had to get out of here,
away from the statue, away from the pain. He tore out the door and started
running across the meadow.

***

The
tires spun out on the edge of the meadow. The ground was still too muddy, but
Margo didn’t care. In the last pink rays of light she could see the A-frame.
She’d made it.

Relieved
and shaky, she crossed her arms and leaned them and her head against the
steering wheel. Her muscles ached from tension and her body shuddered with
nervous tremors. Never in her life had she been as tense as she’d been slipping
and sliding on that road.

After
several deep breaths she swung her legs out the door, ignoring the splatter of
mud on her wool pants. Her matching peach pumps were a lost cause. She’d have
to throw them away, but she’d worry about all that later.