“This is becoming an all-too-familiar scene.” Tate angrily confronted Avery the moment she cleared Mandy’s bedroom door. “I’m pacing the floor, not knowing where the hell you are.”

Breathless, she rushed across the room and gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the bed. Mandy was sleeping, but there were tear tracks on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Zee told me she had another nightmare.” Tate’s mother had been waiting for her in the hall when she came in.

Tate appeared even more agitated than Zee had been. His face was drawn and haggard, his hair uncombed. “It happened about an hour ago, shortly after she’d fallen asleep.”

“Did she remember anything?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

“No,” he replied in a clipped voice. “Her own screams woke her up.”

Avery smoothed back Mandy’s hair and murmured, “I should have been here.”

“You damn sure should have. She cried for you. Where were you?”

“I had errands to run.” His imperative tone of voice grated on her, but she was presently more interested in the child than in arguing with Tate. “I’ll stay with her now.”

“You can’t. The men from Wakely and Foster are here.”

“Who?”

“The consultants we hired to oversee the campaign. Our meeting was interrupted by Mandy’s nightmare, and their time is expensive. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

He propelled her from Mandy’s bedroom and toward one of the doors that opened onto the central courtyard. Avery dug in her heels. “What are you most upset over, Tate—your daughter’s nightmare, or keeping the bigwigs waiting?”

“Don’t test my temper now, Carole,” he said, straining the words through clenched teeth. “I was here to comfort her, not you.”

She conceded him the argument by guiltily glancing away. “I thought you were against using professional consultants for your campaign.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Eddy and Jack changed it for you.”

“They had their input, but I made the final decision. Anyway, they’re here, waiting to talk strategy with us.”

“Tate, wait a minute,” she said, laying a restraining hand on his chest when he made to move past her. “If you don’t feel right about this, just say no to them. Up till now, your campaign has been based on you—who you are and what you stand for. What if these so-called experts try to change you? Won’t you feel diluted? Homogenized? Even the best advisers can be wrong. Please don’t be pressured into doing something you don’t want to do.”

He removed her hand from the front of his shirt. “If I could be pressured into doing something, Carole, I would have divorced you a long time ago. That’s what I was advised to do.”

* * *

The following morning she stepped out of her tub and loosely wrapped a bath sheet around herself. As she stood in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair, she thought she saw movement in the bedroom through the partially opened door. Her first thought was that it might be Fancy. She flung open the door, but rapidly recoiled.

“Jack!”

“I’m sorry, Carole. I thought you heard my knock.”

He was standing well beyond the door to her room. If he had knocked, she certainly wouldn’t have given him permission to come in. He was lying. He hadn’t knocked. More angry than embarrassed, she drew the bath sheet tighter around her.

“What do you want, Jack?”

“Uh, the guys left this for you.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he tossed a plastic binder on her bed. His intense gaze made her very uncomfortable. It was prurient, but it was also incisive. The bath sheet left her legs and shoulders bare. Could he detect the difference in her body from Carole’s? Did he know what Carole’s body had looked like?

“What guys?” she asked, trying not to let her discomfort show.

“From Wakely and Foster. They didn’t have a chance to give it to you last night before you stormed out of the meeting.”

“I didn’t storm out of the meeting. I came inside to check on Mandy.”

“And stayed until after they’d left.” She offered no apology or denial. “You didn’t like them, did you?”

“Since you asked, no. I’m surprised you do.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re usurping your position.”

“They work for us, not the other way around.”

“That’s not what it sounded like to me,” she said. “They were autocratic and mandatory. I don’t respond to that kind of high-handedness, and I’ll be amazed if Tate tolerates it for any significant length of time.”

Jack laughed. “Feeling as you do about them and their high-handed advice, you’re going to have a tough time stomaching this.” He gestured down at the folder.

Curious, Avery approached the bed and picked up the folder. She opened it and scanned the first several sheets of paper. “A list of dos and don’ts for the candidate’s wife.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Rutledge.”

She slapped shut the folder’s cover and dropped it back onto the bed.

Again Jack laughed. “I’m glad I’m just the errand boy. Eddy’s going to be pissed if you don’t read and digest everything in there.”

“Eddy can go to hell. And so can you. And so can anybody who wants to make Tate a baby-kissing, handshaking, plastic automaton who can turn a glib phrase but says absolutely nothing worth listening to.”

“You’ve become quite a crusader for him, haven’t you? All of a sudden you’re his staunchest ally.”

“Damn right.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re kidding, Carole?”

“I’m his wife. And the next time you want to see me, Jack, knock louder.”

He took a belligerent step toward her, his face congested with anger. “Playact all you want in front of everybody else, but when we’re alone—”

“Mommy, I drew you a picture.” Mandy came bounding in, waving a sheet of construction paper.

Jack glowered at Avery, then wheeled around and strode from the room. She congratulated herself on holding up remarkably well, but now her weak knees buckled and she sank onto the edge of the bed, gathering Mandy against her and holding on tight. She pressed her lips against the top of the child’s head. It would be difficult to tell who was drawing comfort from whom.

“Mommy?”

“What did you draw? Let me see.” Avery released her and studied the colorful slashes Mandy had made across the page. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, smiling tremulously.

In the weeks since her visit with Dr. Webster, Mandy had made tremendous progress. She was gradually emerging from the shell she had sequestered herself in. Her mind was fertile. Her sturdy little body seemed imbued with energy. Though her self-confidence was still fragile, it didn’t seem quite so breakable as before.

“It’s Daddy. And here’s Shep,” she chirped, pointing to a dark blue blob on the paper.

“I see.”

“Can I have some chewing gum? Mona said to ask you.”

“One piece. Don’t swallow it. Bring it to me when you don’t want it anymore.”

Mandy kissed her moistly. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.” Avery gave her another tight hug, sustaining it until Mandy squirmed free and rushed off in quest of her chewing gum.

Avery followed her to the door and closed it. She considered turning the lock. There were those in the house whom she wanted to shut out.

But there were those she had to leave her door open for, just in case. Mandy, for one. And Tate.

* * *

Van opened a can of tuna and carried it with him back to his video console. His stomach had finally communicated to his brain that one had to have sustenance to stay alive. Otherwise, he would have been so engrossed in what he was doing, he would never have remembered to eat. He conveyed chunks of the oily fish from can to mouth via a reasonably clean spoon.

Clamping the bowl of the spoon in his mouth, he used both hands at once to eject one tape from one machine and insert a new tape into another. In this capacity, he functioned like a well-coordinated octopus.

He replaced the first tape in its labeled box and turned his attention to the one now playing. The color bars appeared on the screen, then the countdown.

Van swallowed the food he’d been holding in his mouth, took a puff of his smoldering cigarette, a gulp of whiskey, then scooped up another bite of tuna as he leaned back in his desk chair and propped his feet on the edge of the console.

He was watching a documentary he had shot several years earlier for a station in Des Moines. The subject was kiddie porn. This wasn’t the watered-down, edited version that had gone out over the air. This was his personal copy—the one containing all the footage he’d shot over a twelve-week period while following around a features producer, a reporter, a grip, and a sound man. It was only one tape of the hundreds in his extensive personal library.

So far, none that he’d watched had justified the niggling notion that he’d seen someone in Rutledge’s entourage before, and it wasn’t the gray-haired man that had Avery so concerned. Van wasn’t even certain what he was looking for, but he had to start somewhere. He wouldn’t stop until he found it—whatever “it” was. Until he went back on the campaign trail with Rutledge, he didn’t have anything better to do except get wasted.

He could always do that later.

* * *

“Where’s Eddy?” Nelson asked from his place at the head of the dining table.

“He had to stay late,” Tate replied. “He said not to wait dinner on him.”

“It seems that we’re never all together at dinner anymore,” Nelson remarked with a frown. “Dorothy Rae, where’s Fancy?”

“She’s… she’s…” Dorothy Rae was at a loss as to the whereabouts of her daughter.

“She was still at headquarters when I left,” Tate said, coming to his sister-in-law’s rescue.

Jack smiled at his parents. “She’s been putting in a lot of long hours there, right, Mom?”

Zee gave him a tepid smile. “She’s been more dedicated than I expected.”

“The work’s been good for her.”

“It’s a start,” Nelson grumbled.

Avery, sitting across from Jack, held her peace. She doubted Fancy was working during all the hours she spent at campaign headquarters. She seemed the only one to attach any significance to Fancy and Eddy often coming in late together.

Mandy asked for help buttering her roll. When Avery finished and raised her head, she caught Jack watching her. He smiled, as though they shared a naughty secret. Avery quickly looked away and concentrated on her plate while the conversation eddied around her.

Fancy arrived several minutes later and flopped into her chair, her disposition as sour as her expression.

“Haven’t you got a civil word for anybody, young lady?” Nelson asked sternly.

“Jesus, cauliflower,” she mumbled, shoving the serving bowl to the other side of the table.

“I will not abide that kind of language,” Nelson thundered.

“I forgot,” she shouted with asperity.

His face turned an angry red. “Nor will I put up with any of your sass.” He shot meaningful glances at Jack, who ducked his head, and Dorothy Rae, who reached for her wineglass. “Show some manners. Sit up properly and eat your dinner.”

“There’s never anything decent to eat around here,” Fancy complained.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Francine.”

“I know, I know, Grandpa. All those starving kids in Africa. Save the sermon, okay? I’m going to my room.”

“You’ll stay where you are,” he barked. “You’re part of the family, and in this family, everyone has dinner together.”

“There’s no need to shout, Nelson,” Zee said, touching his sleeve.

Fancy’s face swelled up. She glared at her grandfather mutinously, at her parents contemptuously, but she remained seated.

As though nothing had happened, Nelson picked up the conversation where it had left off when she had come in. “The Wakely and Foster team is setting up another trip for Tate.” He imparted this piece of information for the benefit of the women, who hadn’t heard it firsthand.

Avery looked at Tate. “I just found out this afternoon,” he said defensively, “and didn’t have time to tell you before dinner. You’ll get a schedule.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just about every corner of the state.”

Zee blotted her mouth. “How long will you be away?”

“A little over a week.”

“Don’t worry about Mandy, Carole,” Nelson said. “Grandpa’ll take care of her. Won’t he, Mandy?”

She grinned at him and bobbed her head up and down. The child never minded being left with them. Ordinarily, Avery would have had no qualms about leaving her. However, Mandy had had another nightmare the night before—the second that week. If she were on the brink of a breakthrough, Avery hated to be away from her. Perhaps Mandy could go with them. It was something she needed to discuss with Tate before final plans were made.

Eddy suddenly appeared in the arched opening of the dining room. Mona, who was clearing away the main course dishes, told him she had kept his dinner warm. “I’ll bring it right out.”

“Never mind.” His eyes darted around the table, lighting briefly on everyone seated. “I’ll have to eat later.”

Fancy’s mood brightened considerably. A light came on behind her sullen eyes. Her sulky pout lifted into a smile. She sat up straight in her chair and looked at him with admiration and lust.

“I hate to ruin everyone’s dinner,” he began.

Nelson waved his hand dismissively. “You seem upset.”

That was a gross understatement, Avery thought. Eddy was bristling with rage.

“What’s the matter? Did we slip in the polls?”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so,” Eddy said, choosing Zee’s question to respond to. “Ralph and Dirk are with me, but I told them to wait in the living room until I’d had a chance to speak with the family privately.”

Ralph and Dirk were the two men from Wakely and Foster who were assigned to Tate’s campaign. Their names frequently cropped up in conversation. Avery always dreaded hearing them referred to, because she usually had a negative reaction to whatever was subsequently said.

“Well?” Nelson prompted impatiently. “Best to get bad news over with.”

“It concerns Carole.” Every eye in the room moved to where she sat between Tate and Mandy. “Her abortionist is about to tell all.”