Mirror Image

“No.”

“I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I should have called you to the lectern. You could have given us a firsthand account of what it’s like.”

When she faced him, there were tears in her eyes. “I told you I’d never had an abortion.”

“But I’ll never know for certain which time you were lying, will I?”

“Why are you being this way, Tate?”

Because there is a king-size bed in our room, he thought. Before I share it with you, I’ve got to remind myself of all the reasons I despise you.

He didn’t say that, of course.

He took the cloverleaf at the highway interchange at an indiscriminate speed. Once again on a straightaway, he speeded up even more. If it hadn’t been for some quick thinking and daredevil driving, he would have overshot the exit.

There was a delegation waiting for them at the gate to the automotive plant. Tate parked a distance away so he’d have time to collect himself before having to be civil. He felt like a brawl. He wanted to slug it out. He didn’t feel like smiling and promising to solve labor’s problems when he couldn’t even solve his own marital dilemma. He didn’t want any part of his wife except that part, and he wanted it with every masculine fiber of his body.

“Put your jacket back on,” he ordered her, even though he was removing his tie and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“I intend to,” she replied coolly.

“Good. Your nipples are poking against your blouse. Or is that what you had in mind?”

“Go to hell,” she said sweetly as she shoved open her car door.

He had to give her credit. She recovered admirably from his stinging insults and conversed intelligently with the union bosses who were there to greet them. Eddy and Jack arrived about the time the shift changed and the doors of the plant began to disgorge workers. Those coming to work converged on them from the parking lot. Tate shook hands with everyone he could reach.

Each time he glanced at Carole, she was campaigning just as diligently as he. She listened intently to whomever was speaking with her. As Eddy had said, dressed in her yellow silk, she did stick out in this crowd. Her dark hair reflected the sunlight like a mirror. Her flawless face didn’t distance people, but attracted women workers as well as men.

Tate looked for something to criticize, but could find nothing. She reached for dirty hands and gave them a friendly shake. Her smile was unflagging, even though the crowd was rambunctious and the heat unbearable.

And she was the first one to reach his side when something struck him and he went down.

Twenty-Nine

Avery happened to be watching Tate when his head suddenly snapped backward. Reflexively, he raised his hand to his forehead, reeled, then fell.

“No!”

There were only a few yards separating them, but the crowd was dense. It seemed to take forever for her to push her way through the people. She ruined her stockings and skinned her knees when she landed on the hot pavement beside Tate.

“Tate! Tate!” Blood was oozing from a wound on the side of his head. “Get a doctor, somebody. Eddy! Jack! Somebody do something. He’s hurt!”

“I’m all right.” He struggled to sit up. Swaying dizzily, he groped for support, found Avery’s arm, and held on tight.

Since Tate could speak and make an effort to sit up, she was sure that the bullet had only grazed him and not penetrated his skull. She cushioned his head on her breasts. His blood ran warm and wet down the front of her clothing, but she didn’t even notice.

“Jesus, what happened?” Eddy finally managed to elbow his way through the crowd to them. “Tate?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled. Gradually, Avery released her hold on his head. “Give me a handkerchief.”

“They’re calling an ambulance.”

“No need to. Something hit me.” He glanced around him, searching through a forest of feet and legs. “That,” he said, pointing to the broken beer bottle lying nearby on the pavement.

“Who the hell threw it?”

“Did you see him?” Avery was prepared to do battle with the attacker.