Mirror Image

imagine what it would feel like to have them burned and bandaged. “Do you think she remembers the crash?”
    “She indicated that she did, although I’m not sure how much she remembers. I left out the grisly details and only told her that she and Mandy and twelve others had survived.”
    “They said on the news tonight that they’re still trying to match up charred pieces and parts of bodies and identify them.”
    Tate had read the accounts in the newspaper. According to the report, it was a scene straight out of hell. Hollywood couldn’t have created a slasher picture more gruesome than the grim reality that faced the coroner and his army of assistants.
    Whenever Tate remembered that Carole and Mandy could have been among those victims, his stomach became queasy. He couldn’t sleep nights for thinking about it. Each casualty had a story, a reason for being on that particular flight. Each obituary was poignant.
    In his imagination, Tate added Carole’s and Mandy’s names to the list of casualties:
The wife and three-year-old daughter of senatorial candidate Tate Rutledge were among the victims of Flight 398.
    But fate had dictated otherwise. They hadn’t died. Because of Carole’s surprising bravery, they had come out of it alive.
    “Good Lord, it’s coming down in buckets out there.” Nelson’s voice boomed through the silence as he came in, balancing a large, square pizza box on his shoulder and shaking out a dripping umbrella with his other hand.
    “We’re famished,” Jack said.
    “I got back as soon as I could.”
    “Smells great, Dad. What’ll you have to drink?” Tate asked as he moved toward the small, built-in refrigerator that his mother had stocked for him his first night there. “Beer or something soft?”
    “With pizza? Beer.”
    “Jack?”
    “Beer.”
    “How were things at the hospital?”
    “He told Carole about her injuries,” Jack said before Tate had a chance to answer.
    “Oh?” Nelson lifted a wedge of steaming pizza to his mouth and took a bite. Around it, he mumbled, “Are you sure that was wise?”
    “No. But if I were where she is, I’d want to know what the hell was going on, wouldn’t you?”
    “I suppose.” Nelson took a sip of the beer Tate had brought him. “How was your mother when you left?”
    “Worn out. I begged her to come back here and let me stay with Mandy tonight, but she said they were into their routine now, and for Mandy’s sake, she didn’t want to break it.”
    “That’s what she told you,” Nelson said. “But she probably took one look at you and decided that you needed a good night’s sleep more than she does. You’re the one who’s worn out.”
    “That’s what I told him,” Jack said.
    “Well, maybe the pizza will help revive me.” Tate tried to inject some humor into his voice.
    “Don’t make light of our advice, Tate,” Nelson warned sternly. “You can’t let your own health deteriorate.”
    “I don’t intend to.” He saluted them with his can of beer, drank from it, then solemnly added, “Now that Carole’s regained consciousness and knows what’s ahead of her, I’ll rest better.”
    “It’s going to be a long haul. For everybody,” Jack remarked.
    “I’m glad you brought that up, Jack.” Tate blotted his mouth with a paper napkin and mentally braced himself. He was about to test their mettle. “Maybe I should wait another six years to run for office.”
    For the beat of several seconds, there was an air of suspended animation around the table, then Nelson and Jack spoke simultaneously, each trying to make himself heard over the other.
    “You can’t make a decision like that until you see how her operation goes.”
    “What about all the work we’ve put in?”
    “Too many folks are counting on you.”
    “Don’t even think of quitting now, little brother. This election is the one.”
    Tate held up his hands for silence. “You know how badly I want it. Jesus, all I’ve ever wanted to be was a legislator. But I can’t sacrifice the welfare of my family to anything, even my political career.”
    “Carole doesn’t deserve that kind of consideration from you.”
    Tate’s razor-sharp gray eyes found his brother’s. “She’s my
wife,
” he enunciated.
    Another taut silence ensued. Clearing his throat, Nelson said, “Of course, you must be at Carole’s side as much as possible during the ordeal she’s facing. It’s admirable of you to think of her first and your political career second.