Free Mirror Image by Sandra Brown Page A

say much of anything.”
    Dejectedly, he bent his head down and studied his hands. Avery stared at the crown of his head. His hair grew around a whorl that was slightly off-center. She enjoyed looking at him. More than her gifted surgeon, or the hospital’s capable nursing staff, Tate Rutledge had become the center of her small universe.
    As promised, sight in her left eye had been restored once the shelf to support her eyeball had been rebuilt. Three days following her surgery, the sutures on her eyelids had been taken out. She’d been promised that the packs inside her nose and the splint covering it would be removed tomorrow.
    Tate had had fresh flowers delivered to her private room every day, as though to mark each tiny step toward full restoration. He was always smiling when he came in. He never failed to dispense a small bit of flattery.
    Avery felt sorry for him. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, she could tell that these visits to her room were taxing. Yet if he stopped coming to see her, she thought she would die.
    There were no mirrors in the room—nothing in fact that would reflect an image. She was sure that was by design. She longed to know what she looked like. Was her ghastly appearance the reason for the aversion that Tate tried so hard to conceal?
    Like anyone with a physical disability, her senses had become keener. She had developed an acute perception into what people were thinking and feeling. Tate was being kind and considerate to his “wife.” Common decency demanded it. There was, however, a discernible distance between them that Avery didn’t understand.
    “Should I bring her or not?”
    He was sitting on the edge of her bed, being careful of her broken leg, which was elevated. It must be a cold day out, she reasoned, because he was wearing a suede jacket over his casual shirt. But the sun was shining. He’d been wearing sunglasses when he had come in. He had taken them off and slipped them into his breast pocket. His eyes were gray-green, straightforward, disarming. He was an extremely attractive man, she thought, mustering what objectivity she could.
    How could she refuse to grant his request? He’d been so kind to her. Even though the little girl wasn’t her daughter, if it would make Tate happier, she would pretend to be Mandy’s mother just this once.
    She nodded yes, something she’d been able to do since her surgery.
    “Good.” His sudden bright smile was sincere. “I checked with the head nurse and she said you could start wearing your own things if you wanted to. I took the liberty of packing some nightgowns and robes. It might be better for Mandy if you’re wearing something familiar.”
    Again Avery nodded.
    Motion at the door drew her eyes toward it. She recognized the man and woman as Tate’s parents. Nelson and Zinnia, or Zee, as everybody called her.
    “Well, looky here.” Nelson crossed the room ahead of his wife and came to stand at the foot of Avery’s bed. “You’re looking fine, just fine, isn’t she, Zee?”
    Zee’s eyes connected with Avery’s. Kindly she replied, “Much better than yesterday even.”
    “Maybe that doctor is worth his fancy fee after all,” Nelson remarked, laughing. “I never put much stock in plastic surgery. Always thought it was something vain, rich women threw away their husbands’ money on. But this,” he said, lifting his hand and indicating Avery’s face, “this is going to be worth every penny.”
    Avery resented their hearty compliments when she knew she still looked every bit the victim of a plane crash.
    Apparently Tate sensed that she was uncomfortable because he changed the subject. “She’s agreed to let Mandy come see her tomorrow.”
    Zee’s head snapped toward her son. Her hands met at her waist, where she clasped them tightly. “Are you sure that’s wise, Tate? For Carole’s sake, as well as Mandy’s?”
    “No, I’m not sure. I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”
    “What does Mandy’s