Finally he calmed. He started to ease away from their embrace. She wanted to cling, but she relaxed her hold. It would only make it harder for him if he knew she was afraid.
“Talk to me, Zane. Tell me what happened.”
Conflicting emotions showed in his moonlit face.
She went on. “It doesn’t matter now. I know the truth. You don’t need to hide it anymore.”
Indecision continued to plague him. She struggled against the urge to use therapy techniques. He reached behind his neck and rubbed his muscles, which must have ached from tension. Finally, he slumped down so that he sat with his back against the tree.
Margo edged across the forest duff and settled beside him. He wasn’t alone; she wanted him to know that.
He remained silent. The only sounds were the breaths they took and the splash of the falls in the distance. The urge to hold him was strong, but she remained still with her hands holding the ends of her sweater together in front of her.
She tried to see his face, but the shadows were deep under the giant redwood. Moonlight reflected off the river, making it dance like a silver ribbon. Light sparkled in the sand at their feet, but their bodies were pooled in darkness.
Finally, Zane spoke, his voice low and agitated. “I suppose I owe you at least the story after what I did back there at the shed.”
She started to tell him he didn’t owe her a thing, but he lifted his hand. She fell silent.
“Who knows? Maybe it will help.” He took a shaky breath and began to tell her about his and Al’s enlistment together and their immature excitement to be stationed in the same vicinity.
“We thought we were lucky to be so close, but it almost broke up our friendship. I was disillusioned with war from the start. Al loved it. He always wanted to be the hero.”
His voice echoed through the giant trees and was eventually drowned out with the splash of the waterfall. “When we were kids, he always wanted to play the soldier. In Nam he still thought it was one big game.”
He bent his knee and rested his arm on it. The position looked casual, but Margo could feel the tension radiating from him.
“Our friendship fell apart. Al resented my attitude. I hated his.”
She could hear the traces of bitterness that still remained. It must have hurt to have close bonds torn apart by a vicious war, she thought. She listened while he explained what had finally happened to Al to change his friend’s attitude, and how they’d gone together to Hong Kong on R and R and finally resolved their differences.
“It was not long after that when it happened. We were dispatched to pick up the platoon Al was in. There’d been an ambush. Several wounded reported. But the skirmish was only part of it. Charlie had guns waiting for us.”
Margo understood. In that war, a red cross had been a target to shoot at, not a pass to help the wounded.
“I fired to keep them away. We got everyone on board and started to lift off. We hadn’t gone more than a couple hundred feet. Our nose was still down when we got hit.”
He leaned his head against the trunk of the tree. She could see it silhouetted in the shadows. Was he seeing the stars overhead, or was he back in the steamy jungle?
Zane took a deep breath and continued telling her the grim tale. Again she was tempted to hold him. The picture he painted sounded familiar to her. How many times had she heard similar stories while working in the V.A. Center? But she’d been able to remain detached and composed through the telling. With Zane, every word tore at her heart.
“For two days we hid. Charlie moved off so we headed out in pairs. I stayed with Al. We had to find some of our guys. We’d barely split up when the other two tripped a mine.” Zane pounded his fists on his knee. “They were blown across the field. Al got his leg chewed up and a huge gash in his head. The other two were dead. I don’t even remember their names.”
“Were you hurt?”
Zane hit his knee again. “I was protected from the main blast because I was carrying Al. He got hit with the shrapnel.” He paused and Margo remained silent.
His voice sounded husky when he continued. The night shadows moved in the breeze, making it easy to picture the scene Zane painted with his words.
Unable to prevent herself, she let go of the end of her sweater and placed her hand on top of his fist. He stilled, but she could feel the tension.
“Al went from bad to worse.”
She remembered the bandages carved in the statue.
“He kept begging me to shoot him, but I put him off. I kept promising we’d be rescued and then prayed he’d fall unconscious again until we were.”
His fingers tangled between hers to grip her hand. She held on tight even though the pressure was painful. She doubted he was even aware that he’d grabbed her.
“We were out there for two weeks of living hell. There were times I’d wish he would die so I wouldn’t have to hear his screams. There were times I’d wish I were dead. But after that I’d be sick because deep inside I was glad it was Al shot up and not me.” Again he paused, his grip tightening.
The horror unfolded and Margo forgot to notice the pain of his grip. Her mind traveled to the jungles on the other side of the world where she relived the sordid details of Zane’s description.
***
It was as if he were there. No longer was he aware of the woman beside him, nor the redwood trees that towered above in a protective ring. He was back in time, back in the hell of his nightmare of reality and dreams.
The last refrain of the song mingled with the shouts as Charlie closed in. Zane tore his gaze from Al’s and looked around to see Vietcong, dressed in black, forming a circle around him and Al.
Someone shouted, but he didn’t understand the lingo. It didn’t matter. He knew what the man wanted.
Inside he screamed his protest, but he said nothing. He glanced back at Al. Their eyes locked.
“Friends we’ll be forever,” he whispered as he pulled the trigger of the gun.
The shot rang out and silenced the men surrounding him. He lifted the gun to his own head, but before he could pull the trigger a sharp pain flashed through his skull and welcome blackness overtook him.
Zane shook his head as he took in his surroundings. Across the sandbar, the pools in the river reflected the moonlit ferns lining the edge. He took deep breaths and focused on the peace. Absorbing the stillness of the redwood forest was something he had learned to do years ago.
As he calmed, awareness of Margo’s presence grew. Her fingers entwined with his. The heat from her body warmed his side. He could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing.
He glanced toward her, but it was too dark to make out her features. He could see white skin gleaming here and there on her body, reminding him of what he’d done back at the shed. It was just as well he couldn’t see her face; he couldn’t bear the sight of condemnation and revulsion.
He couldn’t do anything to erase it now. It was too late; she knew his sin. At least she’d been right about one thing: Talking about the past had helped in some strange way. The guilt didn’t seem so overwhelming now, but there was more. She had to know all of it.
He felt her start when he began talking again. He squeezed her hand, more to bolster his courage than to reassure her.
“The worst part of it was, it didn’t have to happen.”
“I’m sure none of the deaths were planned.” Her voice was low and even, not revealing any clues to her feelings. “It’s the hell of war.”
“You don’t understand. I was knocked unconscious, but by the time I woke up we had been rescued. A reconnaissance team had moved into the area. They’d been tracking the enemy. My gunshot brought them on the double.”
Zane braced himself to continue. “If I’d only hung on for a few more minutes, Al would still be alive.”
“Are you sure? His wounds were infected. He’d lost blood.”
“I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times in the night. It doesn’t matter. If I hadn’t shot him, we’d k
now the answer.”
“I can understand your feelings. I suppose if I were in your shoes, the same question would run through my mind.”
He could hear the genuine empathy in her voice. Warmth from her hand traveled to his, touching every raw nerve. She did that to him – lifted his feelings right out of the depths of his soul.
“For a long time it was hard to face anyone. I had to break my engagement with Rita. She was Al’s sister. I had promised her I’d bring him back safe and unharmed.”
She shifted and then positioned herself to face him. “That was a promise you couldn’t be expected to keep. Don’t you see that? You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“My father blamed me. He never came out and said it, but I always knew he thought I should’ve gotten Al out of there.”
Resentment unfurled to chase away the semblance of calm he’d managed to achieve. He let go of her hand and rubbed the stubble of his beard, suddenly feeling tired and beaten. “In a way it was my fault.
“It was my idea to go out that morning. You see, the two others wanted to stay holed up. I wanted to try and make it back to base.”
He paused as memories again took him back in time. How often over the years had he replayed this scene, wishing it could have been different, yet at the same time knowing he’d do it again?
“Anyway, those two got all spooked. Didn’t want to go. I insisted and Al backed me up.”
He waited for her to comment. When she didn’t he continued. “Al objected at first. But I talked him into it.”
Again he waited. Again there was silence. “If we’d stayed in hiding we would’ve been rescued.”
Her cry broke the silence and in that instant she was in his arms. “You and Al made a decision. It was right for the time you made it.”
He wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the warmth from her body. “It was too big of a sacrifice. Al’s life. The other two men.”
“No, you can’t say that. You were willing to give yours.”
“But Al wasn’t willing. He didn’t want to go and he’s the one who bought it.”
He couldn’t see, but her hands were on his face again. “Don’t you understand? All the should-have-beens don’t matter. It’s what did happen that counts. Maybe they wouldn’t have survived like you did.”
“I wish to God I hadn’t.”
“Don’t ever say that. What would my life be like without knowing you?”
“You can ask that after what I did to you back there?”
“You stopped, Zane. You never hurt me.”
He started to protest, but she grasped his face again. “I love you,” she whispered, and then her lips covered his.
He remained still, unable to absorb the shock and surprise. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be happening – not after what he’d done to her, not after what she knew. What kind of torture was this? He tried to draw back.
“No. Don’t pull away from me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck so that he couldn’t move.
“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured.
She clung to him and buried her face in his neck. Her breath was hot on his skin while she went on and on.
“You and Al went on that mission. It was war, Zane. Al died. He wouldn’t fault you for that.”
“But I killed him.”
“He was wounded. They would have tortured him. Did you honestly want that to happen?”
“No. I…”
“Forgive yourself and be done with this shame. You have to remember the positive aspects.”
She didn’t know what she was talking about. He wished it was as easy as she made it sound.
“You saved many men. You saved Al from torture. You survived. And if your survival doesn’t mean anything to you, I’m telling you it means everything to me.”
The vehemence in her voice was no surprise. Margo was a fighter. Her father had given her a bum rap, but she hadn’t let that get her down. No, she fought right back, helping others and making her own sacrifices. He had a feeling she refused to let any of her patients give up. Maybe he should consider the example she set.
But there was still the matter of his violence. “You know that what happened at the shed…”
“Shh, shh.” She put her finger to his lips.
He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake. “I tried to hurt you. I wanted to kill you.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, yet she had to know the truth.
“I read all those studies. Remember? You gave me enough of them. It’s the syndrome. You don’t know what will set me off.”
“We’ll deal with it as it comes. Once you start therapy again you’ll gain more control.”
“I could hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”
She gripped his shoulders and shook him, much like he’d just done to her. “I know what could happen. I’m a psychologist. But those things are physical. Even if you don’t stop yourself in time, you’ll only hurt my body.”
She paused to take a breath and grip his shoulders tighter. He flinched from the force of her determination.
“But hear me, Dominic Zanelli. If you run away and hide again, if you leave me, you’ll do more than physical damage. You’ll tear apart my soul.”
He reached up and smoothed back her hair from her face, memorizing her features by touch. “Do you mean that?”
Her cry became muffled as she punctuated her “yes” with another kiss. This time Zane opened up to her and let her love and caring pour into his shell of a body and begin to fill the empty holes.
He wrapped his arms around her and shifted her against his chest. She fit into his embrace like she was made to be there. Maybe she was. He was finally beginning to believe that she was right. Maybe there was a chance for him.
***
Margo didn’t know how much strength she had left in her, but she held onto Zane with every ounce she had. She’d been so afraid that she’d lost him for good. He’d gone deep within himself, into his private hell, and there were moments this past couple of hours when she thought he’d gone past the point of no return. But he was here, holding her.
His arms tightened and then his touch gentled. She curved closer, needing to feel every part of him, needing to be reassured that he was there.
For several minutes she just stayed there in his arms, absorbing the masculine smell and heat of him, listening to the thump of his heart. Would she ever get enough of this man?
He traced his fingers up and down her back in a lazy motion that gentled the aches in her heart. She wanted more from him, much more, but there would be time. Right now they needed these moments of peace.
The night song played for them. A melody of crickets and the loud cry of frogs mingled with the splash of water from the falls. The moon had tracked across the sky, and its beams found their way under the redwood giant.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Promise me we’ll always have this.”
He didn’t answer. She tilted her head back and saw the doubts and uncertainty in his expression. She cupped the side of his face.
“Is a promise so hard to give?”
He shook his head and then turned into her palm and kissed it. “Promises? I don’t know if I can keep them.”
“You can if you learn to forgive and to love.”
“The miracles you’re always talking about?”
She nodded.
“The forgiving will take some work, but the loving…” He sighed. “I do love you, Margo.”
She smiled as she placed her head back on his chest. Yes, more than one of love’s miracles had happened tonight.
Epilogue
Two years later.
For the fifth time Margo checked the pumpkin pies in the oven. In spite of the spicy aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the large kitchen, they still weren’t done. According to the clock they wouldn’t be ready for another ten minutes. She’d check them anyway.
Where was Zane? He should hav
e been home an hour ago. She looked at the clock again and forced herself not to open the oven door until the timer went off.
He’d be home any time now. He probably got stuck in a traffic jam. After all, it was the day before Thanksgiving, and that meant a monumental exodus to and from the Bay Area. She could imagine what the traffic looked like – probably as bad as her kitchen.
Margo glanced around at the piles of dirty dishes, spice containers, and boxes of ingredients ready to be fixed tomorrow. She supposed she should clean up, but the thought didn’t appeal to her.
Margo went to the living room window and glanced out at the meadow. She wasn’t worried about Zane making the trip. He wouldn’t have a choice but to drive carefully with Gloria and Bettina along to back-seat drive. Zane found it easier to comply with their demands for a slow pace than to argue the point.
What had her uptight was her curiosity about Rita. Had Zane’s visit worked out? Zane needed to talk to his former fiancée, needed to tell her about her brother’s death. It was a good indicator of Zane’s mental health to know he could voluntarily do this.
The timer rang and Margo hurried back to the kitchen. Heat flushed her skin when she bent to take the golden pies out of the oven. They were beautiful and smelled delicious. She couldn’t help puffing up with pride. Wait until Zane saw them, she thought. He’d have to eat his words about her cooking ability.
She went to the hall and looked in the mirror. Her dark brown hair curved around her chin, framing her face. She still looked the same as she had two years ago – except for the laugh lines beside her eyes; those hadn’t been there before.
An engine sounded out front. Zane was home. Quickly she went to the bathroom, ran a comb through her hair, and put on more lipstick. The raglan-sleeved neckline of the orange sweater slid off her shoulder as she returned to the living room. Margo let it remain there. The wool skirt swished around her legs as she opened the door.
Zane strode up the walk, his expression tired but peaceful. Part of her relaxed – the psychologist part that had been worried about the trip into his past.
His face lit up when he saw her, but between greeting her mother and mother-in-law, she didn’t have an opportunity to do anything but smile reassuringly at Zane.
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