Love's Miracles (12 page)

Still
a little shaken by the near miss, Zane grabbed the bicycle. “You should watch
where you’re…”

“Don’t
mind Zane.” Al motioned for his friend to shut up. “Do you live near here? Let
me help you home.”

After
handing the bike over to Al, Zane returned to the ‘Vette shaking his head. Then
he grinned. They’d be a foursome after all.

***

In
the crowded lobby of the opera house, Margo slid the emerald raincoat over the
billowing folds of her black jumpsuit. Silk on silk. The rustling sound pleased
her.

“The
singing was passable,” Bettina said as she stepped in front of Margo so that
she could help with her velvet cape.

Margo
obliged by lifting the heavy material across her mother’s shoulders. “Very few
sopranos can pull it off with all the low notes required,” Margo said. “I don’t
think she managed them very well. She didn’t have the same fire for the low
notes as she did for the high.”

“You’re
rather critical tonight.”

The
French opera,
Carmen
, was her favorite. Rarely was it performed to
perfection. Perhaps if it had been sung well tonight, she would’ve been able to
concentrate on it more.

“She
was cardboard, standing there with her hand on her hip. Carmen is a Spanish
gypsy. She needs to show fire with allure. She must be charming. Remember her
last fall? That soprano used her eyes to taunt and tease. She portrayed such
tragic stature at the end.”

“I’m
glad someone was able to please you.”

“Are
you implying I’m difficult?”

Bettina
laughed. “I’m not stepping into that trap.”

Margo
smiled, knowing she was difficult, especially tonight. “We’d better hurry or
we’ll never get a cab. I can hear the rain outside. It must be pouring
buckets.”

They
jostled through the crowded lobby of the opera house until they finally reached
the door. People were streaming through the downpour in a mad scramble for the
steady line of taxis that appeared. Margo maneuvered them toward the front of
the informal group and when their turn came up, dashed for the next cab.

Cold
droplets splashed on her skin, but she really didn’t mind. The air felt refreshing
and cool after the stuffy warmth inside. In minutes, after Bettina had slid in
beside her, they were on their way to the Bay Bridge.

“I
checked your calendar and we both have some free time tomorrow. How about lunch
at Fisherman’s Wharf?” Margo said as she watched her mother smooth on her long
gloves. She hadn’t brought hers. Even though the temperature stayed pretty much
the same all year in the coastal city, she’d been determined to think it was
spring and time for more freedom in her dress.

“Why
do I get the feeling there’s an ulterior motive?”

“I
have a hunch about Zane’s self-imposed isolation.” They approached the on-ramp
to the freeway and Margo settled back in her corner of the cab. “I want you to
brainstorm with me.”

Bettina
tugged the last finger in place and sighed. “Work, work, child. Why are we
talking about work? This was supposed to be a time to relax.”

“I
did relax during the opera.”
And thought about Zane
, she silently
admitted. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She glanced across the San
Francisco Bay. The lights from the bridge reflected in the choppy waves below.
“Lunch is a good time to talk. I’ll be busy in sessions all morning and may not
get a chance to see you. In fact, you can call and make reservations.”

Bettina
didn’t reply but fixed Margo with a hard stare. Margo braced herself for the
scolding.

“Did
you hear one word of the opera tonight? Or were you sitting there the whole
time working out your cases in your head?”

“
Maman
.”

“Don’t
give me that innocent look. I know you too well.” Bettina crossed her arms
while Margo tried not to sigh with impatience. Her mother did know her too
well. “Your work. It’s your whole life.”

“It’s
yours too,” Margo reminded the woman who spent twice as many hours at the
center than she should.

“That’s
different. I’ve had my husband and my child. You’ve only had your work.”

The
familiar argument usually slid by her, but tonight for some reason her mother’s
words touched on a raw spot. “Not every woman needs a man in her life. Or
children.” Margo repeated the words, but they rang hollow.

Bettina
sensed the weakening and swept in like a hawk. “You’re a sensitive woman. I
can’t believe love and companionship don’t mean anything to you.”

“Sure
they do. But only with the right person.”

“What
about Fred? You know he would marry you in a minute.”

“I
don’t know any such thing. We’re friends. Colleagues. There’s no romance
between us.”

“You’re
blind. I’ve seen…”

“Nothing,”
Margo finished for her. “Besides, he’s not the man I want for a husband.” And
that was that. There were no doubts or fantasies about her relationship with
Fred. Suddenly Zane’s image came to mind. Margo shifted uneasily. Maybe she
was
working too hard.

“And
how are you going to meet
any
man if you work all the time?”

“Don’t
lecture me about companionship. If it was such a big deal you’d have found
someone also.”

“
Mon
dieu
.” Bettina made the sign of the cross.

Margo
recognized the gesture as Bettina’s attempt to make her daughter feel guilty
about what she’d said. She chuckled, a rich sound that filled the cab. “You’re
so quick to give advice, but never listen to it yourself.”

“A
trait you’ve inherited, I’m afraid.” Bettina sounded aggrieved. “Maybe you
shouldn’t take on this new case. Going all the way to Fort Bragg every weekend
will cut away your only spare time.”

Margo
stiffened. “You know I have to go.”

“Why,
Margo? Because he’s a veteran?”

The
barb cut, but Margo ignored it. The fact that her mother had made it had all of
her attention. Digs like that came often from Fred, but never before from
Bettina. “I thought you shared my concern for vets?”

“You’ve
more than atoned for your father, child.”

Margo
froze. Her father’s death had spurred her into psychology; both women knew
that, but she’d never expected a recrimination from her mother.

“You
think that’s what I’m doing?”

“Isn’t
it?”

“The
man needs help. I can’t let him…”

“You
can’t save everyone. There are other psychologists,” Bettina interrupted. “Have
you ever considered referring this case to one of them and giving yourself a
break?”

Margo
studied her mother’s features in the changing night light as they left the
bridge. Something else disturbed her – something that had nothing to do with
her father. “What is it? What’s bothering you about this case?”

Bettina
began straightening the folds of her cape. “I’m worried. It’s so far. And
isolated.”

“Is
that all?” Relief brought another chuckle. “You worry too much. You know I’m
capable of taking care of myself.”

“Maybe
I need a grandchild to fret over.”

“You
never give up, do you?”

The
banter returned to the familiar as they cruised through the night traffic of
the university and then wound their way into the Berkeley hills. By the time
the cab pulled up in front of Bettina’s apartment building, Margo had eased her
mother’s anxiety for her safety, but not her own small curls of unrest.

Both
had been unexpected. Her mother’s worry she could understand. But what had
caused the momentary discontent with her life? It had to have been
Carmen
.
The lilting French music and the Spanish setting always struck a chord of
romanticism; a chord she usually kept buried and out of her practical world
because it reminded her of her single status.

She
sighed. Often she wondered what her life would be like now if she’d gone ahead
and married Paul. He’d never allow her to go to Fort Bragg. But then she might
have had children and wouldn’t want to go. However, there were always patients
who needed her. Paul never understood that. It was best they’d broken the
engagement.

“Come
up and have some tea?” Bettina offered as she slid out the door of the cab.

“I’d
love to, but you know if I did we’d stay up too late talking.”

“I
suppose.” Bettina patted her daughter’s cheek with her gloved hand. “I enjoyed
tonight.”

“Me
too.” Margo blew her a kiss.

Bettina
stepped out into the rain and then bent down to peer into the cab. “I’ll call
and make reservations. It’s been a while since we’ve been on the Wharf.”

“Thanks.”

Margo
shook her head as she watched her mother enter the well-lit building. It was
always like this between them: the continual evaluation of her personal life.
And her mother was right. If she was ever going to discover the pleasures of
marriage and children she’d better get busy. The years were slipping by.
Perhaps she should refer Zane to another psychologist. Fred would…

No.
Zane’s image focused. The haunted look in his eyes called to her – the same
look she’d seen all week, much too often. Even in her dreams she’d heard his
voice call out her name.

Margo
shifted uncomfortably. None of her other patients had occupied her thoughts so
thoroughly.
It must be his isolation
, she decided. His loneliness tugged
at her heart.

Margo
tried not to think anymore about Zane as the cab traveled the short distance to
the top of the hill where her own apartment building perched. One look at the
darkened doorway sent all thoughts of her new patient on the skid. Her heart
raced as she fought down the panic.

“What…what
did you say?” she stammered to the cab driver, never taking her eyes from the
building.

Impatient
and probably tired, the cabbie reminded her of the fare.

“Right.”
Margo fumbled with her purse while she tried to think of what to do. There was
no way she could step into that hallway without any lights on.

“Here.”
She handed the driver some bills. “What do you suppose happened to the light?”

The
man took his money and relaxed. Margo didn’t even care that he’d been worried
about getting the large fare. “Probably blew out. It isn’t the power. I see
other lights in the building.”

There
was that at least. Her apartment would be lit. She
never
left without
turning on the lights. But how to get there?

“Look,
lady. D’ya mind gettin’ out? I gotta get back to the city.”

“You
wouldn’t want to walk with me to my apartment, would you?”

“I
don’t have time to play games with ya.”

“No.
I didn’t mean…” Great. Desperation had called for desperate measures. Now the
jerk thought she was propositioning him. What a crazy notion. He looked like
the type who’d be happier under the hood of a car than in her apartment. Margo
turned from the door. “You wouldn’t have a flashlight, would you?”

“Yeah,
but you can’t have…”

“I’ll
give you twenty dollars for it.”

The
man whistled and stared at her like she had two heads. She didn’t care, as long
as he gave her the light. Quickly she fished out the bills.

“You
meet all kinds.” The driver took her money and handed her a beat-up flashlight.
She didn’t care what it looked like as long as it worked.

The
beam lit up the cab. Margo sighed. “Thanks.”

The
driver didn’t respond, but as she shut the door she heard his mumbling from the
front of the cab. Just as well she didn’t hear, she supposed. She wished he
would have at least stayed to see her in, but before she even reached the
building his tires squealed down the curving road.

Margo
took a deep breath and stepped inside the building. The usual potted plants
were there, the row of mailboxes, the high beam ceiling with the elegant
chandelier hanging dark and unlit from its gold chain.

“It’s
all right. Just burned-out wiring,” she reassured herself as she headed for the
stairwell. As long as the flashlight beamed she would be fine.

In
spite of her efforts to control the panic, Margo gave in to it, dashed up the
stairs, and made a run for the safety of her well-lit apartment. After she
slammed the door and locked the bolts, she leaned against the wall and took
deep breaths. “Stupid,” she chided herself. “After all these years you let the
darkness still frighten you. Grow up, kiddo.”

Shaking,
Margo sank into the plush couch facing the draped window. Rays of light from
several lamps filled the room. How foolish, she thought, to be thirty-fives
year old and afraid of the dark. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why. She
knew that her father’s insistence to hide in darkened rooms had given her a
distaste for the dark. But being a psychologist and knowing why she had the
fear should have eliminated the problem. The fact that it hadn’t was
irritating. This fear put a chink in her façade of strength and control. Margo
didn’t like any chinks in her armor.