Mirror Image

hell. Be prepared for that. It will take a few weeks before you’re a raving beauty again.”
    “What about her hair, Dr. Sawyer?” Zee asked.
    “I’ll have to shave off a patch because I’ll be taking a graft from her skull to use as part of her new nose. But if you’re asking if the hair that was burned off will grow back, the burn specialist says yes. That’s the least of our problems,” he said, smiling down into the bandaged face.
    “You won’t be eating solid foods for a while, I’m afraid. A prosthodontist will take out the roots of your teeth during the surgery and install implants. Two or three weeks later, you’ll get your new teeth, which he’ll make to look exactly like the ones you lost. Until you get the replacements, you’ll be fed through a tube from your mouth to your stomach, then progress to a soft diet.”
    Tate noticed, even if the surgeon failed to acknowledge it, that Carole’s eye was roving as though looking for a friend among them, or possibly a means of escape. He kept telling himself that Sawyer knew what he was doing. The surgeon might be accustomed to anxiety like this among his patients, but it was as disturbing as hell to Tate.
    Sawyer extracted a glossy eight-by-ten color photograph from the folder he had carried in with him. “I want you to look at this, Mrs. Rutledge.” It was a picture of Carole. She was smiling the beguiling smile that had caused Tate to fall in love with her. Her eyes were shining and mischievous. Glossy dark hair framed her face.
    “It’ll be an all day, bring-your-lunch operation,” he told her, “but my staff and I will fix you up. Give us eight to ten weeks from the day of your surgery and this is what you’ll look like, only younger and prettier, and with shorter hair. Who could ask for more than that?”
    Apparently Carole could. Tate noticed that, rather than assuaging her fears, the surgeon’s visit had seemed to heighten them.
    * * *
    Avery tried moving her extremities and coaxing motion out of her fingers and toes, but her limbs still felt too heavy to lift. She couldn’t move her head at all. Meanwhile, each passing minute brought her closer to a disaster she seemed incapable of preventing.
    For days—it was difficult to calculate exactly how many, but she guessed around ten—she had tried to figure out a means of letting everyone else in on the truth that only she knew. Thus far, she hadn’t arrived at a solution. As the days passed and her body healed, her anxiety increased. Everyone thought it was caused by the delay of her reconstructive operation.
    Finally, Tate announced one evening that her surgery had been scheduled for the next day. “All the doctors involved consulted this afternoon. They agreed that you’re out of the danger zone. Sawyer issued the go-ahead. I came as soon as I was notified.”
    She had until tomorrow to let him know that a dreadful mistake had been made. It was strange but, even though he was partially responsible for this tragic chain of events, she didn’t blame him. Indeed, she had come to anticipate his visits. She felt safer somehow when he was with her.
    “I guess it’s all right to tell you now that I didn’t like Sawyer at first,” he said, sitting gingerly on the edge of her bed. “Hell, I still don’t like him, but I trust him. You know that he wouldn’t be doing the operation if I didn’t think he would do the best job.”
    She believed that, so she blinked.
    “Are you afraid?”
    She blinked again.
    “Can’t say that I blame you,” he said grimly. “The next few weeks are going to be tough, Carole, but you’ll get through them.” His smile stiffened slightly. “You always land on your feet.”
    “Mr. Rutledge?”
    When he turned his head toward the feminine voice who had spoken to him from the doorway, he provided Avery a rare view of his profile. Carole Rutledge had been a lucky woman.
    “You asked me to remind you about Mrs. Rutledge’s jewelry,” the nurse said. “It’s still in the safe.”
    Avery’s mind quickened. She had envisioned him entering her room and dumping her jewelry onto the bed. “These aren’t Carole’s things,” he would say. “Who are you?” But that scenario hadn’t occurred. Maybe there was hope yet.
    “I keep forgetting to stop by the office and pick it up,” he told the nurse with chagrin. “Could you possibly send somebody down to get it for me?”
    “I’ll call down and check.”
    “I’d appreciate that. Thank