“Zane,” Margo whispered as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I love you.”
Her words disappeared into the silence. Light waned. The trees rimmed the meadow like dark walls. He was out there – alone; she knew he had to be. If she walked to the dream pool or maybe the grove…but no, not in the dark.
She could check the workshop, but because it was dark she doubted he was there. Nevertheless, she walked to the larger of the buildings and peered inside. There was no sign of Zane. Maybe he’d gone to the outreach center in Eureka.
A lot of good it did to come all this way tonight, she thought. She wanted to talk to Zane. She had to find out how his feelings about his blowup tied into his feelings for her. She needed to reassure herself that there could still be love between them, but it was difficult to do when the man had disappeared.
Maybe he’d left for good. If he wanted to hide from her, wouldn’t he find another place? That could be it; there was food in the kitchen and coffee in the pot on the stove. Maybe she’d go back and heat it up. A cup of hot coffee sounded good.
Margo started toward the house when the sight of the shed near the edge of the woods caught her eye. She stared. Something was different. The door was open.
Slowly she walked toward the building that Zane had forbidden her to go near. As she approached she heard the sound. She stopped and listened.
A low keening drifted across the meadow, sending her pulse into a fast pace. The chilling sound reminded her of the first time she’d come here, with the deer crying out in pain. Only this time it sounded human. Zane.
Heedless of the sticks and rocks in the grass, Margo tore barefoot across the meadow. At the entrance of the shed, she paused and tried to peer into the shadows.
Her heart pumped painfully in her chest, but she ignored it and slowly stepped inside the shed. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, and then she saw it. The sight made her forget the sound that had brought her.
A huge statue stood lifelike in the middle of the room. It filled most of the limited space. Margo halted, suddenly afraid to see what was there.
After taking a deep breath, she stepped closer and studied the intricate lines and extensive detail. Now she knew with absolute certainty what Zane had been doing all these months. She stood at a man’s feet as he lay sprawled in tangled grass. Another man whose back was to her kneeled besides him. Both men wore combat helmets and jungle fatigues that were carved so they looked tattered from warfare.
Slowly she stepped around the life-size carving, her gaze following the lines from the man’s feet, along the length of his twisted legs to where he was held in the arms of the kneeling man. His chest, legs, and head were wrapped with crude bandages.
Even in the dim light, she recognized the man on his knees – Zane. For long minutes she stared at the features of his face. They were filled with agony and pain. It was plain to see he felt sorrow for the man in his arms.
The man he held had to be someone he knew; it had to be the death of a friend, the source of his trauma. Had the man died in his arms, or had Zane found the broken pieces and held him together?
She looked at the man’s face and frowned. There were no features, which was strange because the rest of the statue was carved in such fine detail. Perhaps that was the source of the traumatic shock. Had his head been blown off?
Another of her patients suffered terrible posttraumatic stress reactions after seeing one of his buddies blown in half. Even to this day he couldn’t discuss how he’d seen his friend reaching out for help, conscious and screaming in pain, only to arrive to his aid and find that there was nothing to him below the waist. Margo shuddered and prayed Zane wasn’t plagued by similar memories.
She knelt beside the statue and touched the Marine’s hand where it rested on Zane’s chest and gripped his shirt. It was smooth as if it had been polished with hand-rubbed oils. Again her glance traveled to the faceless head, and then she saw the gun.
She froze, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. And then it seemed her heart stopped beating. No. She wanted to deny what she saw, but the scream lodged in her throat.
Hesitant but unable to stop the movement, she reached toward the .38 and traced the lines. It couldn’t be pointed at the faceless man’s head. It had to be a trick of the light.
She bent lower and examined the gun, the hand that held it, and the finger holding the trigger back in the fired position. Her glance flew to the carving of Zane’s face, and when she saw again the agony in the expression, she suddenly knew Zane’s private hell.
She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it didn’t stop the moan of sorrowful agony that emerged.
A movement by the door startled her. She swung around and tried to stand up, but the action was too fast and she tripped, falling against the far wall. A man shadowed the doorway, his large frame looming in the semidarkness.
“Zane.” She could hardly speak his name.
He emitted a low sound followed by harsh words. “You saw! You know!”
Margo flattened against the wall. Every cell in her body registered danger. Mentally and physically she prepared for what she’d been trained to do in situations like this. She started to speak, but before the words could be uttered Zane swung around and staggered out of the shed.
Stunned, Margo stared after him. Then she knew what he was doing: running again, hiding from the truth.
Raw anger took control. No longer was she a rational psychologist. She wasn’t even a woman in love. At this point she was too furious to be either. Zane was not going to run away.
Margo rose and charged after him. He hadn’t gone far. She reached him easily and began beating him on the back with her fists.
“You coward! Don’t you dare run from this and hide away! I won’t let you.”
He swung around to face her, his hands swiping at her fists as if they were a pesky insect. It infuriated her more.
“You’re just like my father! A quitter. Why don’t you just do like he did and take a gun and shoot yourself?”
“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Her temper broke. The last shred of sanity disappeared as she put all her weight into her thrust and slapped him across the face. Zane staggered backward, clutching his jaw. He stared, and then he charged.
Margo screamed, but it was too late. All of a sudden she was flat on her back and pinned to the ground. She struggled, but he was too big and strong. Her efforts to escape were useless. With one hand he pinned both of hers above her head.
The anger had disappeared, the fury had dissolved; in its place loomed fear. Again she struggled, trying to free her hands. When she almost got one loose, he grabbed it with his other hand. She twisted, trying to free herself. With a hand around each wrist he slammed them into the ground and leaned forward, pinning her with the weight of his shoulders.
His face loomed above, the angles and planes harsh in the last rays of light. Anger and hatred gleamed in his eyes, but they seemed more against himself than her.
“No, Zane,” she panted. “Let me go.”
He grinned, the slash across his face ugly and feral. She started to edge away from him, but he slung his leg over her thighs, the hard thrust bruising her muscles.
She was helpless and couldn’t match the power in him; power that was fueled by guilt, shame, and anger. Regret set in. She fought for freedom.
“Please don’t do this,” she cried. “Not like this. Not with anger and hate.”
***
Zane snarled, her words making him more furious. She’d exposed him, seen his sin. She’d pay for that.
Filled with hatred now, he thought about fastening his hand around her throat. He shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes. He blinked and then stared.
Her face was so beautiful and pure. It was everything he wanted. He couldn’t have it because of what he’d done. Waves of loneliness, despair, and guilt washed through him.
She stopped struggling and stared at him.
Her eyes grew wide.
Suddenly he paused. Good God. What was he doing? His body started trembling. He glanced back at the shed and then at Margo. He’d killed his best friend, a friend he’d loved. Now he was doing it again.
Horrified, he stared down at her face. Her hair splayed on the wet grass. Her skin, damp from tears, glistened in the dusk. Her lips were drawn tight – lips he’d kissed with love.
He jerked his hands free. With a cry of anguish he struggled upright, closing his eyes to the sight of torture he’d inflicted in a moment of blind rage. She didn’t deserve this. He was the one who should be punished.
All the furies of hell were after him. He ran and didn’t look back. Tears welled and blinded him as he tore into the woods.
***
For endless seconds, Margo lay unmoving in the grass as she listened to the heavy tread of Zane’s footsteps as he charged into the forest. This time she didn’t try and stop him. With cold certainty she knew Zane had wanted to kill her. Tears streaked down the sides of her face and into her tangled hair.
It was her fault; she’d provoked him, she admitted that. Knowing it didn’t ease the remnants of pain still chasing through her heart.
The crash of Zane’s footsteps became swallowed in the dark forest. The meadow grew silent as if it had never been filled with the grunts and cries of struggle. She became aware of the chill from the cold and wet ground creeping deeper into her body.
Slowly she struggled upright, ignoring the pain from her bruises. Relief was too overwhelming for her to care, but slipping into the relief was a growing concern. Where was Zane going? What would he do now?
A small whimper escaped as she attempted to rise and pull her wet and rumpled clothes back into place. Finally she straightened and stared at the path Zane had taken – toward the dream pool. She should follow him; find him before he went too far into himself to ever come back.
She took a step and hesitated. Darkness had settled during their struggle. She could scarcely make out the path. Overhead, a full moon provided the only illumination. Behind her the cabin beckoned in the moonlight, safe and secure. She could see the dim glow of the candles through the window.
Zane would come back; he would have to. She’d wait until he did and then they could talk. Reluctantly she turned toward the cabin and headed in the direction of the light.
She paused. Had she heard a sound, or was it her imagination? Again she stared at the wall of trees, its darkness eerie and threatening. Zane was in there. She could almost hear his cries of agony.
Then she remembered where she’d heard the sounds before. It was earlier that evening, and they’d drawn her to the shed. The moans had been his; Zane was hurting inside. She had to go to him and comfort his wounded heart, his tortured soul.
She couldn’t give up on him. It had nothing to do with her father or her need to be a rescuer. She loved him and he needed her. It was as simple and complicated as that.
Gathering her courage, she retraced her steps and headed down the trail to the dream pool. Moonlight glimmered on the meadow, giving her some light. But when she came to the edge where the grasses met the forest, she paused.
Her heart raced with apprehension, yet something compelled her onward. She took one last longing glance at the cabin and then lost sight of it as she entered the silent stillness of the redwood trees.
Shadows seemed to jump out at her. Shapes loomed in the dark. Her heart pumped and her breathing became irregular as she determined to ignore the common sense that told her to run back. Instinct kept her moving forward. Zane needed her.
She knew it was only a short hike to the river, yet it seemed like she’d been walking for an hour. Maybe she was lost. She came to a break in the trees where welcome moonlight splashed down on the ferns. It glistened on her skin and created shadows on the ground. Seeing them reminded her of the urgency of her mission. Zane. Where are you?
Finally she recognized where she was. Ahead, moonlight sparkled on moving water. It was the waterfall. She’d made it.
Her eyes were adjusted to the dark now. She searched the patches of the sandbar that she could see through the trees. Carefully she made her way so as not to make a sound. She didn’t want to startle Zane. He might run again and she didn’t know if she could follow this time.
Rocks and twigs poked at her bare feet, but she’d long since ignored that. She slipped between the last two trees and stood on the edge of the sandbar. Her heart sank with dismay; he wasn’t there.
A movement to her right caught her eye. She looked and gasped. Her heart skipped a beat as terror assailed her.
She ran across the sandbar, but it seemed as though she were doing it in slow motion. He was kneeling at the base of a giant redwood, his hands lifted to his head. She took another step closer, yet she was still too far to stop him. His bare chest gleamed in the moonlight and heaved as he took a deep breath.
She screamed, “Don’t shoot!”
Chapter 20
Sand flew in the air as she tore across the sandbar to Zane. A cry of relief escaped when she saw him lower his hands. She’d made it – just in time. In a mad rush she dashed in front of him, dropped to her knees, and threw herself into his arms.
“Don’t do it,” she cried. “I didn’t mean it when I said you were like my father. Please say you’ll live.”
Tears streaked down her cheeks and into the sparse hairs on his chest. When his arms came around her she cried harder still. Unlike the last time he’d touched her, his embrace was protective and gentle. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.
“Hold me, Zane. I love you so much.”
His chest heaved against her cheek as he took a deep and shaky breath. “What are you doing here? You should’ve gone. Far away from me.”
“No.” She shook her head in protest. “I belong with you. You know that. I won’t let you leave me. Not like my father.”
He leaned back and brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face to his. “Look at me, Margo.” His breath fanned her cheek. “I wasn’t going to shoot. I don’t have a gun.”
His eyes glistened as if there were tears when he stared into hers, willing her to believe. Slowly she drew back and grasped both his hands. They were empty. She peered around his legs and searched the ground. No heavy metal object was in sight. Her glance flew to his.
“I saw your hands… I thought…”
He shook his head, sadness showing on his moonlit features. “I couldn’t do it. I tried years ago. You were right about one thing: I’m a coward.”
She clasped his face between her hands. “No. Not a coward. Death is the easy way out. It takes courage to live.”
“You can say that after knowing what I did?”
“Especially knowing what you did.”
“I killed a man. My best friend.”
“It’s in the past.”
“How can I forget? How can you?”
“By forgiving yourself.”
“What about you? Can you forgive me?” His disbelief sounded in his voice, showed on his face.
She nodded.
“Right. Like you’ve forgiven your father for all these years.”
His words struck like a blow, bringing a halt to her tears. She dropped her hands from his face and hung her head. It was true. All these years she’d never forgiven her father for leaving her and her mother.
She lifted her head and studied Zane. The tracks of his tears reflected despair and anguish in the moonlight; the same feelings she’d seen on her father’s face. Had he felt as lost as Zane? Without hope? Without the miracles of love?
“He didn’t think he had anything to live for. He was ugly and deformed. But there are others like that and they don’t choose death.”
“Most of those people are born with defects. Your father had the world by the tail and then the rug was snatched out from under him.”
Margo fell back on her heels. Zane reached out, but dropped his hand.
“Those were mate
rial things,” she murmured as she shook her head back and forth. “They didn’t matter.”
“Not to you,” Zane agreed. “But you can’t judge what mattered to him.”
He was defending her father. Her head came up so she could pierce him with her glare. “Do you think looks and popularity are important to a five-year-old child? What about love, Zane? Love.”
Zane rocked back on his heels as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Love? Is that something to live for? All it does is cause unbearable pain.”
Moonlight tracked across the hardened angles of his face. Had her father believed that? Had her childish adoration hurt his bitter heart?
“Love creates peace and joy.” She refused to believe otherwise. “Without that there’s no hope.”
“And how can you say you loved him when you won’t forgive him his sin? There is no peace or joy in that.”
He was right. She could see that now. Had Zane known that all along? No wonder he didn’t want to risk his love on her. She must learn to truly absolve the ghosts of her past.
“I need to forgive,” she whispered into the night. “It wasn’t because of me or maman that he died. There was nothing we could do. We did the best we could, and so did he.”
A weight she hadn’t even known she carried lifted from her heart. Suddenly she felt free and, most importantly, at peace. For the first time in her life, her memories didn’t haunt or torment.
“You’ve got to forgive yourself, Zane.” It was the only way he could find the same peace.
He remained unmoving and silent. Margo waited. There was time. Then, suddenly, his arms came around her again. He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. Margo’s eyes filled with tears while she held on to him.
On their knees they remained physically together, yet emotionally apart – each with their own fears and nightmares. Margo had put one fear to rest, but a new one was emerging. She’d found Zane’s love and she was terribly afraid that tonight she was losing it.
Love's Miracles Page 29