Mirror Image

He rifled through two drawers before finding the black jewelry box with the flip-top lid. A set of onyx studs and a pair of matching cuff links were inside. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Yes.” She moved to block his exit from the room.

“I can do it.”

“And wrinkle your shirt while wrestling with them. Let me.” Waving away his protests and his hands, she inserted the first stud. Her knuckles brushed against the dense hair on his chest. It was soft, damp. She wanted to bury her face in it.

“What’s all that?” She glanced up at him, then followed his indicating chin. “Oh. Mandy’s artwork.” There were several scribbled pictures attached to her mirror with strips of Scotch tape. “Didn’t she give you some?”

“Sure. I just didn’t expect yours to be so prominently displayed. You used to say you couldn’t stand the clutter. Finished?” He bent his head down to check her slow progress. They almost bumped heads.

“One more. Stand still. Is that your stomach growling? Help yourself to a snack.”

He paused for a moment, then reached toward the snack plate for an apple slice and a chunk of cheese. His teeth crunched into the apple. The sound of his munching was wildly erotic.

“Cuff links?”

He passed them to her and extended his left arm. She speared the cuff link through the holes, then flipped it open so it would hold. She patted it into place. “Next?” He gave her his right arm. After it was done, she declined to put distance between them. Instead, she angled her head back and looked up at him from close range.

“What about your bow tie?”

He swallowed the food. “In my room.”

“Can you handle it?”

“I’ll manage. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Then, when he could leave, he didn’t. He stayed for several moments longer, staring down at her, with the lingering mist of her long bath and the smell of her perfume swirling around them.

Finally, he stepped back and moved toward the door. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

* * *

Tate felt like he had just made a narrow escape when he reentered the room he slept in. His shower must have been too hot. Why else couldn’t he cool down? He blamed his clumsiness on necessary haste and the important evening facing him.

He bungled tying his tie several times before getting it right; he couldn’t find matching socks; it took him ten minutes to finish dressing. However, when his wife emerged from her bedroom after his soft tap on her door, she didn’t remark on the delay.

Together they went into the living room, where Zee was reading Mandy a story. Nelson was watching his favorite TV detective chase down the bad guys and bring them to justice.

He glanced up when they walked in and gave a long wolf whistle. “You two look like the bride and groom on the wedding cake.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Tate answered for both of them.

“She hardly looks like a bride in that black dress, Nelson.”

Tate was sure his mother hadn’t meant for her comment to be insulting, but that’s how it sounded. It was followed by an awkward pause that was finally broken when Zee added, “But you do look very nice, Carole.”

“Thank you,” she replied in a subdued voice.

From the day they were introduced, Zee had been reserved in her relationship with Carole. She would have preferred that their love affair had died before it had come to marriage, though she would never have said so.

She had warmed up to Carole while she was carrying Mandy, but that maternal affection soon cooled. For months prior to the plane crash, Zee had been more openly critical than before. Tate knew why, of course. Neither of his parents was stupid or blind, and they had always disparaged anything that hurt Jack or him.

Tonight, however, he had hoped that everything would go smoothly. It already promised to be a strained evening. While his mother’s thoughtless comment hadn’t ruined it entirely, it certainly hadn’t helped relieve any tension.