“She was told,” Tate said.
Surprised reaction went through the group like an electric current. Jack was the first to speak. “By whom? When?”
“When I was in the hospital,” she replied, “while I was still bandaged and being taken for Carole.” She explained her involvement from that time up to the
moment the eight before when she had rushed up on the stage. When she finished, she glanced at Bryan and apologetically said, “I thought you were a
hired killer.”
“So you did notice me?”
“I have a reporter’s trained eye.”
“No,” he said, “I was personally involved and not as careful as usual. I took tremendous chances of being recognized in order to stay close to Tate.”
“I still can’t distinguish the voice, but I believe it was Nelson, not Eddy, who spoke to me that night in the hospital,” Avery remarked, “though I’ll admit it
never occurred to me that he would be the one.” On her behalf, Bryan said, “Ms. Daniels couldn’t say anything to anyone at the risk of putting her own life
in danger.”
“And Tate’s,” she added, shyly casting her eyes downward when he glanced at her sharply.
Jack said, “You probably thought I was out to kill my brother. Cain and Abel.”
“It did cross my mind on more than one occasion, Jack. I’m sorry.” Because he and Dorothy Rae were still holding hands, she refrained from mentioning
his infatuation with Carole.
“I think it’s freaking wonderful how you pulled it off,” Fancy declared. “Pretending to be Carole, I mean.”
“It couldn’t have been easy,” Dorothy Rae said, slipping her arm through her husband’s. “I’m sure you’re glad that everything’s out in the open.” She gave
Avery a look that conveyed a silent thank-you. It made sense to her now why her sister-in-law had been so compassionate and helpful recently. “Is that all,
Mr. Tate? Are we free to go and let Avery rest?”
“Call me Bryan, and yes, that’s all for now.”
They filed out. Zee moved to Avery’s side. “How can I ever repay you for saving my son’s life?”
“I don’t want any repayment. Not everything was faked.” The two women exchanged a meaningful gaze. Zee patted her hand and left under Bryan’s
protective arm.
The silence they left behind was ponderous. Tate finally left his position against the wall and moved to the foot of her bed. “They’ll probably get married,”
he remarked.
“How will you feel about that, Tate?”
He studied the toes of his boots for a moment beforeraising his head. “‘Who could blame them? They’ve been in love with each other for longer than I’ve
been alive.”
“It’s easy now to understand why Zee always seemed so sad.”
“Dad kept her an emotional prisoner.” He gave a dry laugh. “Guess I can’t refer to him as Dad anymore, can I?”
“Why not? That’s what Nelson was to you. Whatever his motives were, he was a good father.”
“I guess so.” He gave her a lengthy stare. “I should have believed you yesterday when you tried to warn me.”
“It was too unbelievable for you to accept.”
“But you were right.”
She shook her head. “I never suspected Nelson. Eddy, yes. Even Jack. But never Nelson.”
“I want to mourn his death, but when I hear how cruel he’s been to my mother, and that he hired my best friend to kill me… Jesus.” He exhaled loudly,
raking his hand through his hair. Tears came to his eyes.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Tate. You’ve got a lot to deal with all at once.” She wanted to hold him and comfort him, but he hadn’t asked her to and, until
he did, she had no right to.
“When you do your story, I have one favor to ask.” “There won’t be a story.”
“There’ll be a story,” he argued firmly. He rounded the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “You’re already being hailed as a heroine.”
“You shouldn’t have revealed my identity during the press conference this morning.” She had watched it on the set in her hospital room while it was being
broadcast live from the lobby of the Palacio Del Rio. “You could have divorced me as Carole, as you planned to.”
“I can’t begin my political career with a lie, Avery.”
“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name,” she whispered, left breathless from hearing it on his lips.
Their gazes held for a moment, then he continued. “So far, no one but the people who were in this room, and I guess a few FBI agents, know that Nelson
Rutledge engineered the plot. They’ve surmised that it was all Eddy’s doing and have attributed it to his disillusionment in America after the war. I’m
asking you to keep it that way. for my family’s sake. Mostly for my mother’s sake.”
“If anyone asks, I will. But I won’t do a story.”
“Yes, you will.”
Tears started in her eyes again. Fretfully, she groped for his hand. “I can’t stand having you think I did this to exploit you, or that I did it for fame and glory.”
“I think you did it for the reason you told me yesterday, and which I stubbornly refused to believe because you love me.”
Her heart went a little crazy. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I do, Tate. More than my life.”
He gazed at the bandage on her shoulder and, shuddering slightly, squeezed his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they were misty. “I know.”
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
disillusionment 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 as Dad, 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.
“Have I ever 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 when I felt 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 though I know 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.”
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