Mirror Image

“You can touch it very gently. Don’t hurt Mommy.”

Tears welled up in the child’s eyes. “Mommy’s hurt.” Her lower lip began to tremble and she inclined toward Avery.

Avery couldn’t bear to witness Mandy’s anguish. Responding to a spontaneous maternal urge, she reached up and cradled Mandy’s head with her scarred hand. Applying only as much pressure as her strength and pain would afford, she guided Mandy’s head down to her breasts. Mandy came willingly, curling her small body against Avery’s side. Avery smoothed her hand over Mandy’s head and crooned to her wordlessly.

That inarticulate reassurance communicated itself to the child. In a few moments she stopped crying, sat up, and meekly announced, “I didn’t spill my milk, Mommy.”

Avery’s heart melted. She wanted to take the child in her arms and hold her tight. She wanted to tell her that spilled milk didn’t matter a damn because they had both survived a disaster. Instead, she watched Tate stand and pull Mandy back up into his arms.

“We don’t want to wear out our welcome,” he said. “Blow Mommy a kiss, Mandy.” She didn’t. Instead, she shyly wrapped her arms around his neck and turned her face into his collar. “Some other time,” he told Avery with an apologetic shrug. “I’ll be right back.”

He was gone for a few minutes and returned alone. “I left her at the nurses’ station. They gave her a Dixie cup of ice cream.”

He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and sat with his hands between his knees. Rather than look at her, he stared at his hands. “Sin

ce it went so well, I may bring her back later in the week. At least I felt like it went well. Did you?” He glanced over his shoulder for her answer. She nodded.

He diverted his attention back to his hands. “I’m not sure how Mandy felt about it. It’s hard to tell how she feels about anything. We can’t seem to get through, Carole.” The despair in his voice tore at Avery’s heart. “A trip to McDonald’s used to make her do cartwheels. Now, nothing.” His elbows settled on his knees and he dropped his head into his waiting palms. “I’ve tried everything I know of to reach her. Nothing works. I don’t know what else to do.”

Avery lifted her arm and smoothed back the hair that grew away from his temple.

He flinched and whipped his head around, almost knocking her hand away. She snatched it back so quickly and reflexively that it sent a pain shooting up her arm. She moaned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, instantly coming to his feet. “Are you all right? Should I call somebody?”

She made a negative motion with her head, then self-consciously repositioned the slipping scarf. More than ever before, she felt exposed and naked. She wished she could conceal her ugliness from him.

When he was convinced she was no longer in pain, he said, “Don’t worry about Mandy. Given time, I’m sure she’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just tired. The campaign is escalating and… never mind. Those are my concerns, not yours. I’ve got to be going. I know our visit has been hard on you. Good-bye, Carole.”

This time, he didn’t even brush her fingertips in farewell.

Nine

“Are we boring you, Tate?”

Guiltily, he glanced up at his campaign manager. “Sorry.”

Tate, acknowledging that Eddy had every right to be perturbed with him, cleared his throat and sat up straighter in the leather easy chair. He stopped mindlessly twirling a pencil between his fingers.

They were spending the day at home, holding a powwow to outline campaign strategy for these last few weeks before the primary.

“Exactly where did you drift off?”

“Somewhere between El Paso and Sweetwater,” Tate answered. “Look, Eddy, are you sure that sweep through West Texas is essential?”

“Absolutely essential,” Jack chimed in. “With the price of Texas crude where it is, those folks out there need all the pep talks you can give them.”

“I’ll tell it like it is. You know how I feel about false hopes and empty promises.”

“We understand your position completely, Tate,” Nelson said. “But Senator Dekker is partly responsible for the fix the oil business is in. He favored that trade agreement with the Arabs. Those unemployed roughnecks need to be reminded of that.”

Tate tossed the pencil onto the conference table and stood up. Sliding his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans, he went to stand in front of the window.

It was a spectacular day. Spring was still a fledgling chick, but redbud trees and daffodils were blooming. Grass in the pastures was gradually turning green.

“You don’t agree with Nelson’s observation?” Eddy asked.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Tate replied, keeping his back to them. “I know I need to be out there citing Dekker’s bad judgment and doling out optimism, but I also need to be here.”