Mirror Image

“You look beautiful.”

She moistened her lips, which were already shiny with carefully applied gloss. “The resident cosmetologist came today and gave me a makeup lesson. I’ve been using cosmetics for years, but I figured I needed a refresher course. Besides, the consultation comes with the room.” Again she gave him a nervous little smile.

Actually, she had wanted an excuse to improve Carole’s mode of makeup, which, in Avery’s opinion, had been applied with too heavy a hand. “I tried a new technique. Do you think it looks all right?”

She offered her face up for his review. In spite of his reluctance to come any closer, he did. Placing his hands on his knees, he bent from the waist and gave her uplifted face a thorough inspection. “Can’t even see the scars. Nothing. It’s incredible.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a smile a woman gives her loving husband.

Except Tate wasn’t her husband and he wasn’t loving. He straightened up and turned his back on her. Avery closed her eyes momentarily, tamping down her discouragement. He didn’t have a forgiving nature, she’d learned. Carole had shattered his trust in her. It was going to be difficult to win him back.

“Are you accustomed to my new look yet?”

“It’s growing on me.”

“There are differences,” she remarked in an unsure voice.

“You look younger.” He shot her a glance over his shoulder, then added beneath his breath, “Prettier.”

Avery left the dressing table and moved toward him. She laid her hand on his arm and drew him around. “Really? Prettier?”

“Yeah.”

“Prettier how? In what way?”

Just as she had learned the extent of his inability to forgive, she had also learned the extent of his ability to control his temper. She was waving a red flag at it now. Lightning was flashing in his eyes, but she didn’t back down. She felt compelled to know the discernible differences he saw between her and his wife. Research, she assured herself.

He swore impatiently, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You’re just different. Maybe it’s the makeup, the hair—I don’t know. You look good, okay? Can we leave it at that? You look…” His eyes lowered to take in more than her face. They swept down her body, moved up again, looked away. “You look good.”

He dug into his shirt pocket and produced a handwritten list. “Mom and I got the things you asked for.” Nodding toward the shopping bags, he read off the items. “Ysatis spray perfume. They were out of the bath stuff you wanted.”

“I’ll get it later.”

“Panty hose. Is that the color you had in mind? You said light beige.”

“It’s fine.” She rummaged in the bags, locating the items as he named them. She withdrew the boxed bottle of fragrance from the sack. Uncapping it, she misted her wrist with the atomizer. “Hmm. Smell.”

She laid her wrist against his cheek, so that he had to turn his head toward it in order to sniff. When he did, his lips brushed her inner arm. Their eyes met instantly.

“Nice,” he said and turned his head away before Avery lowered her arm. “A nightgown with sleeves.” Again he questioned her. “Since when have you started sleeping in anything, but especially something with sleeves?”

Avery, tired of being put on the defensive, fired back, “Since I lived through a plane crash and got second-degree burns on my arms.”

His mouth, open and ready to make a quick comeback, clicked shut. Returning to the last item on the list, he read, “Bra, 34-B.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Taking the garment from the sack, she removed the tags and refolded it. The bras that had been brought to her from Carole’s drawers at home had been way too large.

“About what?”

“Coming down a full size.”

“What possible difference could that make to me?”

The scorn in his expression made her look away. “None, I guess.”

She emptied the shopping bags, adding the items to the things she had laid out to wear home the following day. The clothes Zee and Tate had brought her from Carole’s closet had fit fairly well. They were only a trifle large. Carole’s breasts and hips had been fuller, curvier, but Avery had explained that away by the liquid diet she had been on for so long. Even Carole’s shoes fit her.

Whenever possible she kept her arms and legs covered, preferring pants to skirts. She was afraid that the shape of her calve