At the first bank of telephones, she paused to call the shuttle that would take her to her car and then called her office. While her receptionist recited the messages, Margo smoothed a bare foot over the calf of her leg. The massage reminded her how bone-tired she was. There had been two hundred psychologists at the luncheon and not all of them had been receptive to her ideas. The questions had fine-tuned her tension.
It hadn’t been her best presentation. The events of the past weekend in Fort Bragg had scrambled her sense of continuity and flow. Staying focused on the topic at hand proved difficult, but she’d managed to satisfy the association that had hired her.
If the Seattle conference hadn’t been so soon after the weekend with Zane, she would have canceled, but there hadn’t been time to get a replacement speaker. At least she’d learned her lesson.
“Cancel my engagements for next week and call the airline to change my ticket. They can credit the Dallas fare onto my Denver ticket next month.” Margo slipped her shoes back on as she instructed her receptionist.
After hanging up the phone she hurried toward baggage claim. Usually after a consulting job she would run the event over in her mind, evaluating and revising, but not this time. The hyper feeling that always followed a public speaking engagement couldn’t hold her attention. All she could think of was that Zane had returned to the redwoods.
During the wait for the luggage, the ride on the shuttle, and the slow pace from the airport to her office, Margo went over the events of the disastrous weekend. After blowing up like that she knew it would be a long time before Zane would want to see her again.
Margo parked her Cutlass in the garage and punched the elevator button. She’d left instructions for her receptionist to leave a pot of hot water simmering before she went home. A hot cup of tea would go good with the sandwich she’d picked up from the deli on the corner.
Cables hummed behind the door, signaling the elevator was on the way. While she waited, she contemplated calling Ray Smith. She could justify the call with interest in a former patient, but she knew Smith wouldn’t buy that ploy. What she really wanted to do was drive to Zane’s.
As Margo stepped into the elevator, she canceled that idea. The only thing she could do that would be fair to Zane was to leave him alone and let him work it out by himself. If he never called, she’d have to learn to live with that reality.
By the time Margo entered the reception area of Devaull and Devaull, her mood had worsened. It didn’t improve when she saw lights on in her mother’s office. She hoped she was working late and not waiting for Margo.
She had no such luck, however. Just as she scooped up her messages, Bettina walked in. From the furrow in her mother’s brow, Margo knew she wasn’t going to even have time to gather her defenses.
“How was the trip?” Bettina asked.
“So-so.” Margo lifted her bag. “Have you eaten? I have a roast beef on a Kaiser roll. Your favorite.”
“Sounds great. Let’s go in there.” Bettina gestured to the consulting room. “I’ll bring us some tea.”
The fact that Bettina hadn’t looked her directly in the eye warned Margo. So did her mother’s choice of room, where the seating was comfortable. It promised to be a long evening, which she didn’t need – not with her defenses down.
In contrast to Margo’s office, the consulting room was neat and orderly. Plush couches were situated much the same as one would find in the living room of a home. Margo and her mother had designed it that way to induce a sense of relaxed comfort.
There were three sofas facing each other in a U-shape. They weren’t so much for patients to lie down on, though they certainly could use them for that. They had placed three of the long couches in the room so they could conduct group therapy sessions as well as individual consultations.
Margo sat on the burgundy couch and unwrapped the sandwich. When Bettina entered, she set the tea service on the table and traded Margo a cup for half the sandwich.
“This looks marvelous. Sure you don’t mind sharing?” Bettina didn’t wait for a reply but bit into her roll.
In spite of her weariness settling like a weight, Margo smiled. “They had a snack on the plane so I’m not that hungry. A half is perfect.”
By unspoken agreement neither of them mentioned what was really on her mind. There would be time enough for that after they ate. For now they were content to nourish their bodies in a relaxed atmosphere.
“The president of one of those larger practices in Seattle approached me with a proposal.” Margo knew her mother would be pleased with the news. “He wants me to come up for a week and train a team of their new doctors. They’re going to establish an outreach program. Make it a branch of their organization.”
For several minutes Bettina enthused over Margo’s tentative plans for the proposal. The success of that program in such a prestigious practice would lead to expansion of her theories, something Margo had worked hard for.
“Your reputation is building rapidly,” Bettina pointed out after she finished her sandwich. “It’s going to lead to more traveling.”
Margo brushed crumbs off her lap and put her feet on the magazines sitting on top of the table. “Maybe we should look into getting another doctor to take some of my caseload.” The thought of interviewing didn’t appeal to her, but her time was stretching too thin.
“And so – where does Zane fit into the scheme of things?”
Chapter 18
Margo closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Here it comes, she thought. Now we’re getting down to the real reason for this late-night rendezvous.
“Zane doesn’t enter the picture at the moment. I doubt I’ll see him for a long time.” Possibly never, but Margo refused to voice that doubt.
“How is that going to affect you?”
“Probably like it’s affecting me now. I’m going crazy wondering if he’s all right.”
“You care for him a lot.”
“The hardest thing right now is letting him go.”
Bettina sipped her tea, her expression revealing the conflict she must feel. Margo knew her mother wanted to give advice, but both of them were trained enough to know it probably wouldn’t be heeded. The mothering instinct proved stronger than logic.
“We’ve discussed this before. You know you have a deep-seated need to rescue lost souls.”
“I know that.” Margo set her cup on the table and braced herself. “And we both know what it stems from.”
“Are you sure you’re not getting involved with Zane because of your father? Transference won’t help you work through it.”
One advantage of going through training together was that they had opened up locked doors and examined past behaviors. Margo was as good as her mother at self-evaluation. Yet there were always those secret doors one didn’t dare open.
Bettina was determined to knock on them. “Are you sure your interest in Zane isn’t a desire to have your own personal man to rescue?”
“Do I need a man for that, maman? Aren’t there enough people with problems to keep me busy without me looking for one in my private life?”
“Exactly my point.” Bettina sat forward as if she’d won a victory. “Getting involved with a man like Zane won’t be easy for you. How will you be able to separate your psychologist self from the interested partner?”
“You mean the kind of situation like you’re having now? The therapist versus the mother role?”
As if slapped, Bettina sat back against the couch. The barb had hit home, but it didn’t make Margo feel any better.
The pendulum in the crystal clock on the table ticked away the minutes. She could hear her mother breathing and wondered if hers sounded as labored.
Her mother cleared her throat and began to talk. “You know we’ve discussed your father and how his death has affected our lives, but there are some things I’ve never told you about.”
Curiosity tugged at her need to retreat. Margo locked glances with her mother.
&nb
sp; “There were times when I didn’t think I could go on living with him another minute. To my shame I was thankful when you’d climb in his lap and occupy his time. When you were with him, he wasn’t whining and complaining to me.”
Strain showed on Bettina’s features as she stepped back in time. Margo wanted to tell her to stop but couldn’t make the words form. She didn’t want to know there had been times when her mother couldn’t handle it.
“I know it was wrong to use you that way. When I see you now – so compelled to sacrifice and help others – I think it must have been my fault.”
Margo wanted to reach out and soothe away the pain she could see in her mother’s eyes. “Nothing I do is your fault. You know better than that. The circumstances were perhaps partially controlled by you, but I made my own choices as to how I reacted to them.”
“Sometimes choices are not easy to make. Sometimes the need to escape overcomes logic and morality.” Bettina rubbed her forehead. “Were you aware that I almost left your father?”
The surprise must have shown in Margo’s eyes.
“Yes. Gregory Brown was his name. The attorney who helped me settle your father’s claims with the government. He wanted me to leave the abuse and the pain.”
Margo’s words were scarcely a whisper. “When was that?”
“You were only three. Many times I’ve wondered if I made the wrong choice in sticking it out. Gregory would’ve loved you and been a normal father. You were young enough that I could’ve taken you away and you wouldn’t have even remembered…”
“Don’t,” Margo whispered. “The past is done.”
“But you need to understand, cher. There were times when I hated him. I wanted him to die. And God help me” – she made the sign of the cross – “there’s a part of me that was so relieved when he shot himself.”
Her voice caught and tears began to spill down her cheeks. Quickly Margo went over and slid next to her mother. Bettina moved easily into her daughter’s embrace, her quiet sobs sending tremors through them both.
No words were necessary. Her mother needed the release. The new knowledge lodged in Margo’s heart with an ache. She didn’t want to know these things about her mother’s past, yet she understood why they were being brought out in the open.
When Bettina finally quieted, Margo called on the determination she’d been gathering. “I see what you’re driving at, but there is no comparison between the two men. Zane doesn’t begin to have the same kind of problems.”
Bettina straightened and Margo could see her renewing her energy for further argument. “But he does have problems.”
Margo edged to the center of the couch. “Of course, but he’s not suicidal.”
“It doesn’t matter what the problems are or how severe they are. The day-in, day-out living together exaggerates them out of proportion.” Bettina swiveled to face Margo directly. “Will you be able to come home after working all day with sick patients and face yet another wounded hero?”
“I’m sure his problems can be worked through in a year or two. Most P.T.S.D. victims gain control after intensive therapy.”
“But what if he doesn’t? What if you marry him and he never recovers? Will you end up blaming yourself because you failed to rescue him from his hell? Will you suffer the same guilt you deal with because of your father’s death?”
Margo’s hands shook as she pushed off the couch and began to pace in the open space. She tried to block out her mother’s voice, but Bettina persisted.
“There are never any guarantees. You have to understand and face all the possibilities.” Bettina poured herself a cup of tea. The cup rattled in the saucer. It didn’t help to see that her mother’s hands shook as much as hers. “The need you have to be a rescuer will make it that much harder for you to keep out of the role of therapist when dealing with him.”
With her legs apart, Margo stopped and confronted her mother. But before she could open her mouth, Bettina continued speaking.
“You met him under the context of a patient-therapist situation. You are aware of the dangers of continuing those roles in a relationship. Power roles shift. He could begin to blame you, or worse, become dependent on you. Then what will you do if you start losing respect for his weakness?”
“Is that what happened to you?” Margo challenged, even though she knew her mother was right.
“Yes, it did happen to me and I wasn’t even trying to be a therapist.” Bettina stood and walked toward Margo. The action as well as her thickening accent betrayed her growing agitation. “You have to face reality, child. When a patient doesn’t heal, you are sad and concerned as his therapist. But when a partner doesn’t heal, it hurts and damages.”
“It isn’t like that with Zane.” Resuming the pacing helped defer some of the intensity of her mother’s stare. “Zane hasn’t let me ‘rescue’ him. He’s quick to tell me when I’m slipping into the therapist role. I don’t think he’d let that happen, nor will I. We can be happy together.” The vehemence in her voice was designed to convince herself as well as her mother.
Bettina reached a hand to cup her daughter’s cheek. “I understand how you feel. I’m sorry I brought up the ugly past. I just want you to be happy. I don’t want you to suffer any part of what I did.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Margo promised, although she couldn’t say how she would guarantee it. “I understand the potential consequences, but I’m willing to take the risks. I just want to love him.” And for the first time she admitted the full extent of her commitment to Zane.
“Remember, cher, your love isn’t going to save him. He will have to do that himself.”
***
The chisel chipped another piece of the statue as Zane tapped with his hammer. Each blow knotted his gut, but he didn’t stop; he couldn’t. Too much anguish tore at him.
Why had Margo come into his life? Why had he grown to care? Why, Al, why?
He threw the hammer across the room. It clattered against the wall, the noise shattering the eerie silence. The burst of temper didn’t help. He slumped his shoulders and rested his head on the statue.
Fingers traced the lines he’d carved. There were places he’d worn smooth with his touch. Others were rough and splintered. The actual carving was almost done and that frightened him. What would he have to work on to ease his tormented conscience?
Of course there were still the eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to do those; he doubted he ever would. Perhaps next, he’d smooth every plane and angle with the oil of his hands. That would take a lifetime. Would it ever be enough?
He straightened and twisted to ease the cramp in his back. A chill shivered down his bare skin and he realized it was cooling off. He looked up and noticed the light waned. He’d have to turn on the generator if he wanted to work much longer.
Feeling his way across the room, he shoved aside tools and sank against the wall. Maybe he could just close his eyes and rest for a few minutes. He was so tired, but he didn’t dare fall asleep.
The nightmares would come – the same one he always had. Zane stared at the statue. The eyes weren’t carved yet and he knew why. If he tried to form their shape, he’d be forced to see the same accusing glare that he’d seen in his dream.
Zane closed his eyes and rubbed the nape of his neck. The nightmares had occurred every night since he’d been to Fort Bragg. At first he’d thought they were caused by hearing the song, but he’d changed his mind. Part of it was Margo.
He wouldn’t see Margo anymore and that, he decided, was why he again had nightmares. It was after a particularly frightening one that he’d awakened and sat in the dark, thinking. The night shadows had reminded him of Margo’s fears.
Zane groaned, the eerie sound echoing in the room. Why had he sent her away? He needed her. He needed her warmth and caring to fill his soul.
He hammered his fists on the ground beside him. It was no use. She was gone. She didn’t deserve him and his guilt. He’d just have to wait it out. He�
��d buried the past before and he could do it again. Only this time he wouldn’t be foolish enough to think he could leave this place – his haven from hell.
Darkness overtook the forest. Zane continued to sit on the floor of the shed. An owl hooted nearby. In the distance a coyote howled.
The shed was dark, but he could still make out the outline of the statue. Life-size, its form loomed in front of him. He closed his eyes, but the memories wouldn’t go away.
Al lost consciousness and his body became dead weight. Zane strained against the added burden. His arms felt numb, his back ached unbearably, but he didn’t let go. He’d get Al out of there. He had to.
The slimy mud sucked on his boots as he struggled to get through the swamp. If he could find a bank with overhanging roots, he could make a cave to hide in. Then Charlie would pass them by. They’d have a chance.
Vines hung down and swirled around his head and shoulders. Zane tried to sort his way through them, but Al’s legs tangled. Reluctantly Zane let go of his burden. He set Al in the mud and tiredly whacked with the machete.
The vines grew in an endless tapestry, weaving a trap of death. Finally, he reached a clearing. On the far side was a bank. Zane ran back to get Al. When he lifted his friend’s body, Al stirred.
“Do it, Zanelli. Do it now,” Al murmured.
“Shut up and hang on,” Zane muttered as he hefted himself upright. For a second he staggered and almost fell.
“It’s no use. I’m a dead man.”
“No, you’re not. I found a place to hide. It’s got a good view. We’ll know who’s coming.”
“What’s the use? Charlie’s all…over the…place.”
“They’ll send a recon team.”
Zane staggered when Al lost consciousness again and became dead weight. He continued his reassurances, more for his own sake than Al’s.
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