Mirror Image
Tate spun around and confronted his brother with more anger than Avery had ever seen him exhibit for anyone in his family. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “Shut up, Jack.”
“Don’t tell him to shut up,” Dorothy Rae cried, slamming the vodka decanter back onto the cabinet. “It’s not his fault your wife’s a slut.”
“Dorothy Rae!”
“Well, isn’t she, Jack? She got rid of a baby on purpose, while mine… mine…” Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her back to the room.
Jack blew out his breath, lowered his head, and mumbled, “Sorry, Tate.”
He went to his weeping wife, placed his arm around her waist, and led her from the room. For all the aversion she felt toward Jack, Avery was touched by this kind gesture. So was Dorothy Rae. She gazed up at him with gratitude and love.
Dirk and Ralph, impervious to the family drama, had been talking between themselves. “You’ll sit this trip out,” Dirk told Avery peremptorily.
“I second that,” Eddy said.
“That’s up to Tate,” she said.
His face was cold and impassive. “You stay.”
Tears were imminent, and she’d be damned before she cried in front of Dirk, his sidekick, and the indomitable iceman, Eddy Paschal. “Excuse me.”
Proudly, but quickly, she walked out. Tate followed her from the room. He caught up with her in the hallway and brought her around to face him. “There’s just no limit to your deceit, is there, Carole?”
“I know it looks bad, Tate, but—”
“Bad?” Bitter and incredulous, he shook his head. “If you’d already done it, why didn’t you just own up to it? Why tell me there’d never been a child?”
“Because I could see how much it was hurting you.”
“Bullshit. You saw how much it was hurting you!”
“No,” she said miserably.
“Call her bluff. No corroborating witness. Falsified records,” he said, quoting her previous suggestions. “If you got caught, you had your escape route all thought out, didn’t you? How many other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”
“I made those suggestions so you’d be protected. You, Tate.”
“Sure you did.” His lips curled with cynicism. “If you’d wanted to do something for me you wouldn’t have had an abortion. Better yet, you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. Or did you think a baby would be your ticket to Washington?”
He released her suddenly, flinging off his hands as though he couldn’t bear to touch her. “Stay out of my way. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
He returned to the living room, where his advisers were waiting for him. Avery slumped against the wall and covered her mouth with her hands to hold back the sobs.
In another attempt to atone for Carole’s sins, she had only driven Tate farther away.
* * *
The following morning, Avery woke up feeling groggy. Her head was muzzy, and her eyes were swollen and stinging from crying herself to sleep. Pulling on a light robe, she stumbled toward the bathroom.
As soon as she cleared the door, she flattened herself against the wall and, with horror, read the message that had been written on the mirror with her own lipstick.
Stupid slut. You almost ruined everything.
Fear held her paralyzed for several moments, then galvanized her. She ran to the closet and dressed hastily. Pausing only long enough to wipe the message off the mirror, she fled the room as through chased by demons.
It took only a few minutes in the stable for her to saddle a horse. She streaked across the open pasture at a full gallop, putting distance between her and the lovely house that harbored such treachery. Even though the sun’s first rays warmed her skin, goose bumps broke out on Avery’s arms when she thought of someone sneaking into her bedroom while she slept.
Perhaps Irish and Van were right. She was certifiably insane to continue with this charade. She might pay with her life for another woman’s manipulations. Was any story worth that? It was foolish not to leave before she was discovered.