Mirror Image

Nelson shot Jack a hard look, which he correctly took as his cue to do something about his daughter’s misbehavior. “Fancy, please be nice. This is Carole’s homecoming dinner.”

Avery read her lips as she mouthed, “Big fuckin’ deal.” Slouching in her chair, she lapsed into sullen silence and toyed with her remaining food, obviously killing time until she could be excused from the table.

“I think she looks damn good.”

“Thank you, Eddy.” Avery smiled across the table at him.

He saluted her with his wineglass. “Anybody catch her performance on the steps of the clinic this morning? They aired it on all three local stations during the news.”

“Couldn’t have asked for better coverage,” Nelson remarked. “Pour me some coffee, please, Zee?”

“Of course.”

She filled his cup before passing the carafe down the table. Dorothy Rae declined coffee and reached instead for the wine bottle. Her eyes locked with Avery’s across the table. Avery’s sympathetic smile was met with rank hostility. Dorothy Rae defiantly refilled her wineglass.

She was an attractive woman, though excessive drinking had taken its toll on her appearance. Her face was puffy, particularly around her eyes, which otherwise were a fine, deep blue. She’d made an attempt to groom herself for dinner, but she hadn’t quite achieved neatness. Her hair had been haphazardly clamped back with two barrettes, and she would have looked better without any makeup than she did in what had been ineptly and sloppily applied. She didn’t enter the conversation unless specifically spoken to. All her interactions were with an inanimate object—the wine bottle.

Avery had readily formed the opinion that Dorothy Rae Rutledge was an extremely unhappy woman. Nothing had changed that first impression. The reason for Dorothy Rae’s unhappiness was still unknown, but Avery was certain of one thing, she loved her husband. She responded to Jack defensively, as now, when he tried to discreetly place the wine bottle beyond her reach. She swatted his hand aside, lunged for the neck of the bottle, and topped off the portion already in her glass. In unguarded moments, however, Avery noticed her watching Jack with palpable desperation.

“Did you see those mock-ups of the new posters?” Jack was asking his brother.

Avery was flanked by Tate on one side and Mandy on the other. Though she had been conversant with everybody during the meal, she had been particularly aware of the two of them, but for distinctly different reasons.

After Avery had cut Mandy’s meat into bite-size chunks, the child had eaten carefully and silently. Avery’s experience with children was limited, but whenever she had observed them, they were talkative, inquisitive, fidgety, and sometimes annoyingly active.

Mandy was abnormally subdued. She didn’t complain. She didn’t entreat. She didn’t do anything except mechanically take small bites of food.

Tate ate efficiently, as though he resented the time it took to dine. Once he had finished, he toyed with his wineglass between sips, giving Avery the impression that he was anxious for the others to finish.

“I looked at them this afternoon,” he said in response to Jack’s question. “My favorite slogan was the one about the foundation.”

“ ‘Tate Rutledge, a solid new foundation,’ ” Jack quoted.

“That’s the one.”

“I submitted it,” Jack said.

Tate fired a fake pistol at his brother and winked. “That’s probably why I liked it best. You’re always good at cutting to the heart of the matter. What do you think, Eddy?”

“Sounds good to me. It goes along with our platform of getting Texas out of its current economic slump and back on its feet. You’re something the state can build its future on. At the same time, it subtly suggests that Dekker’s foundation is crumbling.”

“Dad?”

Nelson was thoughtfully tugging on his lower lip. “I liked the one that said something about fair play for all Texans.”

“It was okay,” Tate said, “but kinda corny.”

“Maybe that’s what your campaign needs,” he said, frowning.

“It has to be something Tate feels comfortable with, Nelson,” Zee said to her husband. She lifted the glass cover off a multilayered coconut cake and began slicing it. The first slice went to Nelson, who was about to dig in before he remembered what the dinner was commemorating.

“Tonight, the first slice belongs to Carole. Welcome home.” The plate was passed down to her.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t like coconut any more than she did wine, but apparently Carole had, so she began eating the dessert while Zee served the men and the men resumed their discussion about campaign strategy.

“So, should we go with that slogan and have them start printing up the posters?”