Mirror Image

Dutifully, the stranger reported on another stranger. “Mandy ate most of her breakfast this morning. They sedated her last night so she would sleep better. The cast on her arm bothers her, but that’s to be expected, I suppose. She’s the sweetheart of the pediatric wing, and has the entire staff wrapped around her little finger.” Tears formed in her eyes and she blotted at them with a tissue. “When I think of what…”

Tate Rutledge placed his arm across his mother’s shoulders. “But it didn’t happen. Thank God it didn’t.”

Avery realized then that it must have been Mandy Rutledge she had carried from the plane. She remembered hearing the child’s screams and frantically trying to unfasten her jammed seat belt. When it came free, she had gathered the terrified child against her and, with the assistance of another passenger, had plunged through the dense, acrid smoke toward an emergency exit.

Because she had had the child, they had assumed she was Mrs. Carole Rutledge. But that wasn’t all—they had been in each other’s seats.

Her mind clumsily pieced together a puzzle of which only she was aware. She recalled that her boarding pass had designated the window seat, but when she had arrived, a woman was already sitting there. She hadn’t pointed out the error, but had taken the seat on the aisle instead. The child had been sitting in the seat between them.

The woman had worn her dark hair shoulder length, much like Avery wore hers. She also had dark eyes. They bore a resemblance to each other. In fact, the flight attendant, who had made a fuss over the little girl, had asked who was the mother and who was the aunt, implying that Avery and Carole Rutledge were sisters.

Her face had been smashed beyond recognition. Mrs. Rutledge had probably been burned beyond recognition. They had misidentified her on the basis of the child and a seating rearrangement that no one knew about. My God, she had to tell them!

“You’d better go back now before Mandy becomes anxious, Mom,” Tate was saying. “Tell her I’ll be there shortly.”

“Good-bye for now, Carole,” the woman said to her. “I’m sure when Dr. Sawyer’s done, you’ll be as pretty as ever.”

Her eyes don’t smile either, Avery thought as the woman moved away.

“Before I forget it,” Tate said, stepping close to the bed so that she could see him again, “Eddy, Dad, and Jack send their regards. I think Dad’s coming to the meeting with the plastic surgeon this afternoon, so you’ll see him then.

“Jack went home this morning.” Tate continued talking, not knowing he wasn’t speaking to his wife. “I’m sure he’s worried about Dorothy Rae. God only knows what Fancy is up to without any supervision, although Eddy has got her working as a volunteer at the headquarters. None of them will be allowed to see you until you’re moved to a private room, but I don’t think you’ll miss them, will you?”

He assumed that she knew who and what he was talking about. How could she convey that she hadn’t the foggiest idea? These people were unknown to her. Their comings and goings were no concern of hers. She must contact Irish. She must let this man know that he was a widower.

“Listen, Carole, about the campaign.” By the motion his shoulders made, she thought he had probably slid his hands into his hip pockets. He bowed his head for a moment, almost resting his chin on his chest, before looking at her again. “I’m going ahead with it as planned. Dad, Jack, and Eddy agree. They’ve pledged their support. It was going to be a tough fight before, but nothing I was afraid to tackle. Now, with this, it’s going to be even tougher. Still, I’m committed.”

Tate Rutledge had been making news recently. That’s why his name and face were familiar to her, though she had never met him personally. He was hoping to win the primary election in May and then go up against an incumbent senator in the November election.

“I won’t shirk any of my responsibilities to you and Mandy while you’re recovering, but going to Congress is what I’ve been preparing for all my life. I don’t want to wait another six years to run or I’ll lose the momentum I’ve built. I need to do it now.”

After consulting his wristwatch, he said, “I’d better get back to Mandy. I promised to feed her some ice cream. With her arms bandaged and all, well,” he added, glancing toward her bandaged hands, resting in their splints, “you can understand. The psychologist has the first session with her today. Nothing to worry about,” he rushed to say. “More precautionary than anything. I don’t want her to be permanently traumatized.”

He paused, looking down at her meaningfully. “That’s why I don’t think she should see you just yet. I know that sounds cruel, but these bandages would scare her half to death, Carole. Once the surgeon rebuilds your face and you start looking like yourself, I’ll bring her in for short visits. Besides, I’m sure you don’t feel up to seeing her now, either.”

Avery struggled to speak, but her mouth had the breathing tube taped inside it. She had overheard a nurse say that smoke inhalation had rendered her vocal cords temporarily inoperable. She couldn’t move her jaw anyway. She batted her eye to convey her distress.

Misconstruing the reason for it, he laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. “I promise that your disfigurement is temporary, Carole. Dr. Sawyer says it looks much worse to us than it actually is. He’ll be in later today to explain the procedure to you. He knows what you looked like before and guarantees that you’ll look the same when he gets finished.”

She tried to shake her head no. Tears of panic and fear over

flowed her eye. A nurse came in and edged him aside. “I think you’d better let her rest now, Mr. Rutledge. I’ve got to change her bandages anyway.”

“I’ll be with my daughter.”

“We’ll call if you’re needed,” the nurse told him kindly. “Oh, and while I’m thinking of it, they called from downstairs to remind you that Mrs. Rutledge’s jewelry is in the hospital safe. They took it off her when she arrived in the emergency room.”

“Thanks. I’ll get it later.”

Now! Get it now, Avery’s mind screamed. It wouldn’t be Carole Rutledge’s jewelry in the hospital safe—it would be hers. Once they saw it, they would realize that a horrible mistake had been made. Mr. Rutledge would learn that his wife was dead. It would come as a blow to him, but it would be better that he discover the error now rather than later. She would lament the Rutledges’ tragic loss, but Irish would be overjoyed. Dear Irish. His bereavement would end.

But what if Mr. Rutledge failed to retrieve his wife’s jewelry before the plastic surgeon began to change her face into Carole Rutledge’s?

That was her last conscious thought before the pain-relieving medication claimed her once again.

* * *

Tate will never live to take office.