MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER TEN

''After that, we intend to send him up to the panhandle for a speech at Texas Tech." As Jack detailed Tate's itinerary to his sister-in-law, a fresh thought occurred to him.  "You know, Tate, there are a lot of cotton farmers in that region. I wonder if Eddy's considered having you speak to a co-op or something?''

"If he hasn't, he should. I definitely want to."

"I'll make a mental note to have him schedule something." From her bed, Avery observed the two brothers. There was enough resemblance to place them in the same family, but enough difference to make them drastically unlike each other.

Jack appeared more than three years older than Tate. His hair, several shades darker than Tate's, was thinning on top. He wasn't exactly paunchy, but his physique wasn't well as honed as Tate's was.

Of the two, Tate was much better looking. Although there was nothing offensive about Jack's appearance, there wasn't anything distinguishing about it, either. He faded into the woodwork. Tate couldn't if he tried.

''Forgive us for taking him away from you for so long, Carole." She noticed that Jack never looked directly at her when speaking to her. He would always address some other area of her body besides her face--her chest, her hand, the cast on her leg. "We wouldn't  if we didn't  feel it was important to the campaign."

Her fingers closed around the oversized pencil in her hand and she scrawled "okay" on the tablet. Jack tilted his head, read what she'd written, shot her a weak smile, and nodded curtly. There were unpleasant undercurrents between Jack and his sister-in-law. Avery wondered what they were.

''Tate said you managed to say some words today,'' he said. "That's great news. We'll all be glad to hear what you've got to say once you can talk again."

Avery knew Tate wouldn't be glad to hear what she had to say. He would want to know why she hadn't written down her name, why she had let him go on believing that she was his wife, even after she'd regained enough coordination in her hand to use the pencil on the tablet.

She wanted to know that herself.

Anxiety over it brought tears to her eyes. Jack immediately stood and began backing toward the door. "Well, it's getting late, and I'm facing that long drive home. Good luck, Carole. You coming, Tate?"

"Not quite yet, but I'll walk you to the lobby." After telling her that he would be back in a few minutes, he accompanied his brother from the room.

"I think I upset her by talking about your trip," Jack remarked.

"She's been touchy the last few days."

"You'd think she'd be glad she was getting her voice back, wouldn't you?"

"I guess it's frustrating to try and speak plainly when you can't." Tate moved to the tinted glass doors of the exclusive clinic and pulled one open.

"Uh, Tate, have you noticed something weird when she writes?"

"Weird?"

He moved aside to admit a pair of nurses into the lobby, followed by a man carrying an arrangement of copper chrysanthemums. Jack stepped outside, but used his hand to prevent the door from closing behind him.

"Carole's right-handed, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"So why is she writing with her left hand?" As soon as Jack posed the puzzling question, he shrugged.  "I just thought it was odd." His hand fell to his side and the hydraulic door began to close. "See you at home, Tate."

"Drive carefully."

Tate stood staring after his brother until someone else approached the door and looked at him inquiringly. He pivoted on his heels and thoughtfully retraced his steps toward Carole's room.