TWENTY-FIVE
"Don't feel too bad, Mrs. Rutledge. Your guilt over past mistakes won't help Mandy now."
"How am I supposed to feel, Dr. Webster? You've all but said that I'm responsible for Mandy's retarded social development."
"You made some mistakes. All parents do. But you and Mr. Rutledge have already taken the first step toward reversing that trend. You're spending more time with Mandy, which is excellent. You're praising even her smallest achievements and minimizing her failures. She needs that kind of positive reinforcement from you."
Tate was frowning. "That doesn't sound like much."
"On the contrary, it's a lot. You'd be amazed how important parental approval is to a child."
"What else should we do?"
"Ask for her opinion often. 'Mandy, do you want vanilla or chocolate?' Force her to make choices and then commend her decisions. She should be made to vocalize her thoughts. My impression is that up till now she's been discouraged to."
He regarded them from beneath rust-colored eyebrows that would have better befitted a cattle rustler with a six-shooter strapped to his hip than a child psychologist with a benign demeanor.
"Your little girl has a very low opinion of herself." Avery pressed her fist to her lips and rolled them inward. "Some children manifest low self-esteem with bad behavior, drawing attention to themselves in that way. Mandy has retreated into herself. She considers herself transparent—of little or no significance."
Tate's head dropped between his shoulders. Bleakly, he glanced at Avery. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She was apologizing for Carole, who didn't deserve his forgiveness.
"It's not all your fault. I was there, too. I let lots of things slide when I should have intervened."
"Unfortunately," Dr. Webster said, directing their attention back to him, "the airplane crash only heightened Mandy's anxiety. How did she behave on the flight here the other day?"
"She raised quite a ruckus when we tried to buckle her into her seat," Tate said.
"I was having a difficult time buckling my own seat belt," Avery confessed honestly. "If Tate hadn't talked me through it, I doubt I could have stood the takeoff."
"I understand, Mrs. Rutledge," he said sympathy- etically. "How was Mandy once you took off?"
They glanced at each other, then Avery answered. "Come to think of it, she was fine."
"That's what I figured. See, she remembers you fastening her into her seat, Mrs. Rutledge, but doesn't remember anything beyond the crash. She doesn't remember you rescuing her."
Avery laid a hand against her chest. "You're saying she blames me for putting her through the crash?"
"To an extent, I'm afraid so."
Shuddering, she covered her mouth with her hand. "My God."
"It will be a real breakthrough when she allows her mind to live through that explosion again. Then she'll remember you rescuing her."
"That would be hell for her."
"But necessary for a complete cure, Mr. Rutledge. She's fighting her memory of it. My guess is that her recurring nightmares lead her right up to the moment of impact."
"She said the fire was eating her," Avery said softly, remembering Mandy's last nightmare. "Is there anything we can do to prod her memory?"
"Hypnosis is a possibility," the doctor said. "What I'd rather do, however, is let her memory evolve naturally. Next time she has one of these nightmares, don't wake her up."
"Christ."
"I know that sounds cruel, Mr. Rutledge, but she's got to experience the crash again to get to the other side of it, to reach safety in the arms of her mother. The terror must be exorcised. She won't overcome her subconscious fear and dread of your wife until then."
"I understand," Tate said, "but it's going to be tough.'
"I know." Dr. Webster stood, signaling that their time was up. "I don't envy you having to stand by and let her relive that horrifying experience. I'd like to see her back in two months, if that's convenient."
"We'll make it convenient."
"And before that, if you think it's necessary. Feel free to call anytime."
Tate shook hands with Dr. Webster, then assisted Avery from her chair. She wasn't the mother Mandy had the subconscious fear and dread of, but she might just as well be. Everyone would lay Carole's blame on her. Even with the support of Tate's hand beneath her elbow, she could barely find the wherewithal to stand.
"Good luck with your campaign," the psychologist told Tate.
"Thank you."
The doctor clasped Avery's hands, sandwiching them between his. "Don't make yourself ill with guilt and remorse. I'm convinced that you love your daughter very much."
"I do. Did she tell you that she hated me?"
The question was routine. He heard it a dozen times a day, particularly from mothers harboring guilt. In this instance, he could provide a positive answer. He smiled a good ole boy's smile. "She speaks very highly of her mommy and only gets apprehensive when referring to events that took place before the crash, which ought to tell you something."
"What?"
"That you've already improved as a parent." He patted her shoulder. "With your continued tender loving care, Mandy will get through this and go on to be an exceptionally bright, well-adjusted child."
"I hope so, Dr. Webster," she said fervently. "Thank you."
He escorted them to the door and pulled it open. "You know, Mrs. Rutledge, you gave me quite a start when I first met you. A young woman did a television interview with me about a year ago. She bears a remarkable resemblance to you. In fact, she's from your area. By any chance, do you know her? Her name is Avery Daniels."
Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels.
The crowd was chanting her real name as she and Tate made their way through the crowd toward the dais.
Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels.
There were people everywhere. She stumbled and became separated from Tate. He was swallowed by the crowd. "Tate!" she screamed. He couldn't hear her over the demonic recitation of her name.
Avery, Avery, Avery.
What was that? A shot! Tate was covered with blood. Tate turned to her and, as he fell, he sneered, 'Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels, Avery Daniels."
"Carole?"
Avery Daniels.
"Carole? Wake up."
Avery sat bolt upright. Her mouth was gaping open and dry. She was wheezing. "Tate?" She fell against his bare chest and threw her arms around him. "Oh God, it was awful."
"Were you having a bad dream?"
She nodded, burrowing her face in the fuzzy warmth of his chest. "Hold me. Please. Just for a minute."
He was sitting on the edge of her bed. At her request, he inched closer and placed his arms around her. Avery snuggled closer still and clung to him. Her heart was racing, thudding against his chest. She couldn't eradicate the image of a blood-drenched Tate turning to her with contempt and accusation burning in his eyes.
"What brought this on?"
"I don't know," she lied.
"I think I do. You haven't been yourself since Dr. Webster mentioned Avery Daniels." She whimpered. Tate threaded his fingers up through her hair and closed them around her scalp. "I can't believe he didn't know she died in that crash. He was so embarrassed by mentioning it, I felt sorry for him. He had no way of knowing how much the comparison would upset you."
Or why, she thought. "Did I behave like a fool?" All she remembered after the doctor had spoken her name was the clamorous ringing in her ears and the wave of dizziness that had knocked her against Tate.
"Not like a fool, but you almost fainted."
"I don't even remember leaving his office."
He set her away from him. Her hands slid onto his biceps. "It was a bizarre coincidence that you were on the same airplane with the Daniels woman. Strangers often mistook you for her, remember? It's surprising that no one has mentioned her to you before now."
So he had known who Avery Daniels was. That made her feel better somehow. She wondered if he had liked watching her on TV. "I'm sorry I caused a scene. I just get. . ."She wished he was still holding her. It was easier to talk when she didn't have to look him in the eye.
"What?"
She laid her head on his shoulder. "I get tired of people staring at my face all the time. It's an object of curiosity. I feel like the bearded lady in a sideshow."
"Human nature. No one means to be cruel."
"I know, but it makes me extremely self-conscious. Sometimes I feel like I'm still wrapped in bandages. I'm on the inside looking out, but no one can see past my face into me." A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and splashed onto his shoulder.
"You're still upset over the dream," he said, easing her up again. "Would you like something to clrink ? There's some Bailey's in the bar."
"That sounds wonderful."
He divided the small bottle of Irish cream between two drinking glasses and returned to the bed with them. If he was self-conscious about having only his underwear on, he gave no outward sign of it.
It pleased her that he sat back down on her bed, not the one he had been sleeping in before her nightmare woke him up. Only a narrow space separated the beds, but it might just as well have been the Gulf of Mexico. It had taken an emergency to get him to cross it.
"To your victory, Tate." She clinked her glass with his. The liquor slid easily down her throat and spread warmly through her belly. "Hmm. This was a good idea. Thanks."
She welcomed this quiet interlude. They shared all the problems inherent to any married couple, but none of the intimacy. Because of the campaign, they were always in the public eye and under constant scrutiny. That put an additional strain on an already difficult relationship. They shared no counterbalancing pleasure in each other.
They were married, yet they weren't. They occupied the same space, but existed in separate spheres. Until tonight, Mandy had served as a buffer between them in the confines of the hotel room. She'd slept with Avery.
But tonight Mandy wasn't here. They were alone. It was the middle of the night. They were sipping Irish cream together and discussing their personal problems. For any other couple, the scene would result in lovemaking.
"I miss Mandy already," she remarked as she traced the rim of her glass with her fingertip. "I'm not sure we did the right thing by letting her go home with Zee and Nelson."
"That's what we had planned all along—that they'd take her home after her appointment with Webster."
"After talking to him, I feel like I should be with her constantly."
"He said a few days of separation wouldn't hurt, and Mom knows what to do."
"How did it happen?" Avery mused aloud. "How did she become so introverted, so emotionally bruised?" She asked the questions rhetorically, without expecting a response. Tate, however, took them literally and provided her with answers.
"You heard what he said. He told you how it happened. You didn't spend enough time with her. What time you did spend with her was more destructive than not."
Her temper surged to the surface. In this instance, Carole was getting a bum deal, and Avery felt compelled to take up for her. "And where were you all that time? If I was doing such a rotten job of mothering, why didn't you step in? Mandy has two parents, you know."
"I realize that. I admitted it today. But every time I made the slightest suggestion, you got defensive. Seeing us fight sure as hell wasn't doing Mandy any good. So I couldn't step in, as you put it, without making a bad situation even worse."
"Maybe your approach was wrong." Giving Carole the benefit of the doubt, she played devil's advocate.
"Maybe. But I've never known you to take criticism well."
"And you do?"
He set his glass on the nightstand and reached for the lamp switch. Avery's hand shot out and grabbed his. "I'm sorry. Don't. . .don't go back to bed yet. It's been a long, tiring day for many reasons. We're both feeling the pressure. I didn't mean to lash out at you."
"You probably should have gone home with Mom and Dad, too."
"No," she said quickly, "my place is with you."
"Today was just a sample of what it's going to be like between now and November, Carole. It's only going to get tougher."
"I can handle it." Smiling, she impulsively reached up and ran her finger across the cleft in his chin. "I wish I had a nickel for every time today you said, 'Hi, I'm Tate Rutledge, running for U.S. senator.' Wonder how many hands you shook?"
"This many." He held up his right hand. It was bent into a cramped claw.
She laughed softly. "I believe we bore up very well during that visit to the Galleria, considering we'd just ended our visit with Dr. Webster and told Mandy good-bye."
As soon as they had returned to the hotel from the psychologist's office, they had given Mandy over to her grandparents. Zee went beyond being a white-knuckle flier. She refused to fly altogether, so they had come to Houston by car. They had wanted to start the drive home so they would arrive before dark.
No sooner had she and Tate waved them off than Eddy hustled them into a car and sped toward the sprawling, multilayered shopping mall.
Volunteers, under Eddy's supervision, had heralded their arrival. Tate made a short speech from a raised platform, introduced his wife to the crowd that had gathered, then moved among them, shaking hands and soliciting votes.
It had gone so well that Eddy was mollified after having to decline the Rotary Club's invitation. Even that had turned out well. The civic club had extended Tate an invitation to speak at one of their meetings later in the month.
"Eddy went nuts over all the television coverage you got today," Avery said, reflecting on it.
"They gave us twenty seconds during the six o'clock broadcast. Doesn't sound like much, but I'm told that's good."
"It is. So I'm told," she hastily added.
She'd been stunned to see Van Lovejoy and a political reporter from KTEX at the longshoremen's breakfast. All day, they'd stayed hot on Tate's trail. "Why did they come all the way from San Antonio?" she had asked Eddy.
"Don't knock the free publicity. Smile into the camera every chance you get."
Instead, she tried to avoid Van's camera. But he seemed bent on getting her image on tape. The cat-and-mouse game she played with him all day, coupled with the shock Dr. Webster had dealt her, had chafed her nerves raw. She had been so nervous that, later, when she couldn't find a pair of earrings, she had overreacted.
"I know they were in here the day before I left," she cried to Tate.
"Look again."
She did better than that. She upended the satin pouch and raked through the contents. "They're not here."
"What do they look like?"
They were due to leave for a fund-raising barbecue dinner being hosted by a wealthy rancher outside the city. Tate had been dressed and waiting for half an hour. She was running late.
"Big silver loops." Tate gave the room a cursory onceover. "You won't find them lying on the surface," she had told him with exasperation. "I haven't worn them yet. I brought them specifically for this outfit."
"Can't you substitute something else?"
"I guess I'll have to." She made a selection from the pile of jewelry she'd spilled onto the dresser. By then she was so flustered, she had had difficulty fitting the post into the back. Three attempts proved to be misses. "Shit!"
"Carole, for heaven's sake, calm down," Tate said, raising his voice. Up till then he'd been infuriatingly calm. "You forgot a pair of earrings. It's not the end of the world."
"I didn't forget them." Drawing a deep breath, she faced him. "This isn't the first time something has mysteriously disappeared."
"You should have told me. I'll call hotel security right away."
She caught his arm before he could reach for the telephone. "Not just here. At home, too. Somebody's been sneaking into my room and going through my things."
His reaction was what she had expected. "That's ridiculous. Are you crazy?"
"No. And I'm not imagining it, either. I'm missing several things—small, insignificant things. Like this pair of earrings that I know damn good and well I packed. I checked and double-checked my accessories before I put them in the suitcases."
Sensitive to any criticism of his family, he folded his arms across his chest. "Who are you accusing of stealing?"
"I don't mind the missing objects so much as the violation of my privacy."
Just then a knock had sounded on their door—the perfect culmination for a frazzling day. "Case in point," she had said irritably. "Why can't we ever finish a private conversation before we're interrupted?"
"Keep your voice down. Eddy'll hear you."
"To hell with Eddy," she had said, meaning it.
Tate pulled the door open and Eddy came striding in. "Ready, guys?"
By way of explanation for their being late, Tate said, "Carole lost her earrings."
She shot him a look that clearly stated she had not lost them.
"Well, wear some others or go without, but we've got to get downstairs." Eddy held the door open. "Jack's waiting with the car. It's an hour's drive."
They rushed for the elevator. Thankfully, another hotel guest saw them coming and politely held it for them. Jack was pacing the length of the limo parked in the porte-cochere.
For the duration of the drive they discussed polls and campaign strategy. She could have been invisible, for all the attention she was given. Once, when she offered an unsolicited opinion, it was met with three impassive stares, then summarily ignored.
Surprisingly, the party had been fun. No press was allowed. Since she didn't have to concentrate on dodging Van's camera, she relaxed and enjoyed herself. There was a plethora of good Texana food, friendly people who likened Tate to a young John Kennedy, and live music. She even got to dance with Tate. Eddy had pressured him into it.
"Come on. It'll look good to the crowd."
For the time Tate held her in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, she pretended it had been his idea. Heads thrown back, they had smiled at each other as their feet kept time to the lively tune. She believed he was actually enjoying himself. As the music reached a crescendo, he lifted her against him and whirled her around to the exuberant applause of everyone watching. Then he had bent down and kissed her cheek.
When he pulled back, there was an odd expression on his face. He appeared surprised by his own spontaneity.
On the return trip into the city, however, she sat in the corner of the limousine's backseat, staring through the dark patch of tinted window while he, Jack, and Eddy analyzed how well the day had gone and assessed what effect it might have on the outcome of the election.
She had gone to bed feeling exhausted and glum. She'd had difficulty falling asleep. The nightmare—and she could count on one hand the others she had had in her lifetime—was the product of a physically and emotionally taxing day.
She treasured this uninterrupted moment with Tate. They were continually surrounded by other people. Even in their own suite, they were rarely alone.
"I think the Bailey's is going to do the trick." She handed him her empty glass and lay back against the pillows.
"Feeling sleepy?"
"Hmm." She flung her arms up so that her hands were lying on either side of her head, palms up, fingers curled inward, a position both provocative and defenseless. Tate's eyes turned dark as they moved from her face down the front of her body.
"Thank you for dancing with me," she said drowsily. "I enjoyed you holding me."
"You used to say I had no rhythm."
"I was wrong."
He continued to watch her for a moment, then switched out the lamp. He was about to leave her bed when she laid a restraining hand on his bare thigh. "Tate?"
He froze. His motionless silhouette was limned by the bluish light leaking through the drapes from the parking lot. Invitingly, she repeated his name on a breath of a whisper.
Slowly, he lowered himself to the mattress again and leaned over her. With a soft exclamation, she bicycled her legs to kick off the covers so there would be nothing between them.
"Tate,I—"
"Don't," he commanded gruffly. "Don't say anything to change my mind." His head moved so close that she felt his breath against her lips."Iwant you, so don't say a word."
Fiercely possessive, his lips rubbed hers apart. His tongue probed and explored, dipping into her mouth on deep and daring forays. Avery clutched handfuls of his hair and pressed her mouth up into his kiss.
He relaxed his arms, which had been stiffly bridging her head. Gradually, his body stretched out along hers. His hard thigh crowded her hip; she turner her lower body into it. He nudged her moist cleft with his knee.
"Is it me you're wet for?"
Avery gasped, unspeakably aroused by his boldness. "You told me not to say anything."
"Who are you wet for?"
She ran her hand down his thigh, placed it beneath his hip, and invitingly drew him closer.
Groaning in need, he ended the kiss with several rough glances of his lips across hers. He kissed his way down her throat and chest and nuzzled her breasts as he filled his hands with them. His open mouth sought the raised center of one and tugged on it through the fabric of her gown. It beaded against his flicking tongue.
Reflexively, her body bowed off the bed. His hands slid between the pillow and her head, his palms cradling it, his thumbs meeting beneath her chin. He tilted her face up and fastened his mouth to hers again, giving her a scorching, searching kiss as he moved to lie between her spreading thighs.
Avery's body quickened to the splendor of feeling the full extension of his sex stroking the dell of her femininity. There was even a certain sexiness to the friction of his cotton briefs sliding against her silk underpants.
Heat shimmied through her and was conveyed to him through her skin. His kiss delved deeper, and the rocking motions of his body grew more desperate. Too impatient to be leisurely and inquisitive, her hands clutched his sleek, supple back. She fitted his calf muscles into the arches of her feet and receptively angled her hips up.
Hostile, hard, and hot, Tate slid his hand into the damp silk prohibiting his entrance.
The telephone rang.
He withdrew his hand, but she still lay trapped beneath him. While they lay breathing heavily against each other, the phone continued to ring.
Eventually, Tate rolled to the edge of the bed and jerked the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" After a brief pause, he cursed. "Yeah, Jack," he growled. "I'm awake. What is it?"
Avery emitted a small, anguished cry and moved to the far side of the bed, putting her back to him.