Love's Miracles (42 page)

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!
”

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 material 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.

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.