EPILOGUE
"Watching it again?"
Senator Tate Rutledge entered the living room of the comfortable Georgetown town home he shared with his wife and daughter. On this particular afternoon, he caught Avery alone in the living room, watching a tape of her documentary.
The story she had produced, at Tate's insistence, aired on PBS stations across the country six months into his term. The facts were presented fairly, concisely, and without any embellishment in spite of her personal involvement.
Tate had convinced her that the public had a right to know about the bizarre chain of events that had started with the crash of Flight 398 and culminated on election night.
He further stated that no one could report the events with more insight and sensitivity than she. His final argument was that he didn't want his first term as senator to be clouded by lies and half-truths. He would rather have the public know than speculate.
The documentary hadn't won Avery a Pulitzer prize, though it was acclaimed by viewers, critics, and colleagues. She was currently considering the offers she had received to produce documentaries on a variety of subjects.
"Still basking in the glory, huh?" Tate laid his briefcase on an end table and shrugged off his jacket.
"Don't tease." She reached behind her for his hand and kissed the back of it as she pulled him around to join her on the sofa. "Irish called today. He made me think of it."
Irish had survived the heart attack he had suffered in the elevator at the Palacio Del Rio. He claimed that he had actually died and come back to life. How else could Paschal have failed to feel a pulse? He swore that he remembered floating out of himself, looking down and seeing Paschal drag his body into the alcove.
But then, everybody who knew Irish well teased him about his Celtic superstition and closet Catholicism. All that was important to Avery was that she hadn't lost him.
At the conclusion of the piece, before the tape went to black, a message appeared in the middle of the screen. It read, "Dedicated to the memory of Van Lovejoy."
"We're too far away for me to put flowers on his grave," she said huskily. "Watching his work is how I pay tribute." She clicked off the machine and set the transmitter aside.
Nelson's machinations had impacted their lives and they would never be completely free from the memories. Jack was still grappling with his disil-lusionment about his father. He had chosen to stay and manage the law firm in San Antonio rather than join Tate's staff in Washington. Though they were apart geographically, the half brothers had never been closer. It was hoped that time would eventually heal the heartache they had in common.
Tate struggled daily to assimilate Nelson's grand scheme, but also mourned the loss of the man he'd always known asDad, He adamantly kept the two personas separate in his mind.
His emotions regarding Bryan Tate were conflicting. He liked him, respected him, and appreciated him for the happiness he'd given Zee since their marriage. Yet he wasn't quite prepared to call him father, a kinship he could never claim publicly, even if he acknowledged it privately.
During those moments of emotional warfare, his wife's love and support helped tremendously.
Thinking on it all now, Tate drew her into his arms, receiving as much comfort as he gave. He hugged her close for a long time, turning his face into her neck.
"HaveIever told you what a courageous, fascinating woman I think you are for doing what you did, even though it placed your own life in jeopardy? God, when I think back on that night, to whenIfelt your blood running over my hands." He pressed a kiss onto her neck. "I had fallen in love with my wife again, and I couldn't understand why. Before I really ever discovered you, I almost lost you."
"I wasn't sure it would matter," she said. He raised his head and looked at her quizzically. "I was afraid that when you found out who I really was, you wouldn't want me anymore."
He pulled her into his arms again. "I wanted you. I still want you." The way he said it left no doubt in her mind. The way he kissed her made it a covenant as binding as the marriage vows they had taken months earlier.
"I'm still finding out who you really are, even thoughIknow you intimately," he whispered into her mouth, "more intimately than I've known any other woman, and that's the God's truth. I know what you feel like inside, and how every part of your body tastes."
He kissed her again with love and unappeasable passion.
"Tate," she sighed when they drew apart, "when you look into my face, who do you see?"
"The woman I owe my life to. The woman who saved Mandy from emotional deprivation. The woman who is carrying my child." Warmly, he caressed her swollen abdomen. "The woman I love more than breath."
"No, I mean—"
"I know what you mean." He eased her back against the sofa cushions and followed her down, cradling her face between his hands and touching her mouth with his. "I see Avery."