Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down

by Stone, Danika

  Cole shifted in his seat and Ava unconsciously moved with him. She smiled as it happened: this synchronicity. While she would miss Cole this afternoon, she was proud of him for taking therapy so seriously. His small black notebook was now full of memories and thoughts. Cole shared them with her as he wrote and they’d discovered a new understanding of each other as he did.

  Ava was a bit nervous, as Cole had decided to bring up his mother during today's session. Ava knew it was for the best, but she also knew there would be hell to pay for this one. Cole planned to take his bike downtown so that he could leave if he needed to.

  Eyes still closed, Ava felt the jitter of gravel rising through her feet resting on the frame of the bike, up through her legs, all the way to her torso. The tang of salt air sharpened her senses. She forced herself to wait, eyelids tightly closed, wanting to have the full experience of this place.

  The motor of the bike shifted down, wheels rolling to a stop.

  “We’re here,” Cole called.

  Her eyes opened to a sight so bright and sun-drenched it left her blinking.

  They were at the top of a wide cliff, the water below like a shimmering sheet beyond the rocks, waves crashing loudly. Ava felt the back of her legs tighten as her body reacted to the height. The image of fourteen-year-old Cole cliff diving with his sister flashed through her mind and her chest tightened in dismay. But it was the water that drew and kept her gaze. Seen from above, the endless expanse rippled and moved like...

  Ava shivered.

  …The ripples of grass in her dream.

  : : : : : : : : : :

  Ava perched on a cream-coloured couch in the upstairs library, Nina nearby at the bookshelf. While the den reflected Frank’s masculine tastes, this room was definitely Nina’s domain. It had heavy oriental rugs, velvet drapes, and elegant furniture laden with multicoloured throw pillows. Nina insisted on flopping down onto chairs like they were thrift store rejects, kicking her feet up onto the narrow-legged coffee table while she read.

  Ava smiled seeing it, knowing she'd have felt uncomfortable otherwise.

  Right now, Nina was searching for a book, tapping her manicured fingernails on the shelf in front of her.

  “I thought it was The Rose of Martinique...” she said irritably, “but that’s not right. This one was non-fiction. Something else. Hmmm...” She moved to another shelf, chattering quietly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ava answered, glancing up from her phone. Suzanne had texted her with the updated information for their flight. They were leaving for the Caribbean – Martinique to be exact – next Friday afternoon. Their week in the sun was suddenly a reality.

  “No,” Nina said, pulling out another book. “I’m sure it’s here, I just need a better filing system than by size.”

  Ava grinned.

  “Really, it’s no problem. I can just grab a paperback from the airport.”

  Nina scoffed, raising a thin eyebrow in disdain.

  “Really dear, this would be much more appropriate, given your destination.”

  With a decisive nod, she stepped to the next shelf, her fingers dancing along the books. She knew them by feel as much as title.

  “You know,” Nina said as she moved through the volumes, “I was thinking of throwing Cole a graduation party at the end of the year, but I wanted your opinion. I know Frank and Cole had been making strides.” She glanced back at Ava. “Honestly, they are talking for the first time I can really remember. A party might be nice... unless you think it’d be too much.”

  She ran her fingers nervously along the books. Ava chuckled.

  “I dunno about Frank,” she answered. “But I could ask Cole if you want.”

  “Please... I would like to do something, but I don’t want him to feel obliged.” She peered over her shoulder. “Is your father going to be back for the grad ceremonies?”

  Ava nodded.

  “He made his itinerary last year with that in mind.” She closed her phone, and stood up, stretching. “I can’t wait for him to get back.”

  Nina smiled wistfully.

  “You have a good relationship with your father...” her face rippled briefly. “I don’t even know him,” she added, waggling a finger at Ava, “I can tell by listening to you.”

  Ava grinned at the truth of the statement. She walked up to the shelf, hands on her hips.

  “Alright, Nina,” she said. “Let’s stop pissing around. What am I looking for here?”

  Nina burst into laughter.

  “You know, if you and Cole have kids someday, you’ll have to learn to watch your language.”

  Ava felt the blush rush up her face, but she stepped toward Nina with a veneer of indifference.

  “Stop changing the subject and tell me what the hell I need to find. Title... colour... author...” Ava listed brusquely. “I want this book you keep harping about.”

  Nina’s hands dropped from the shelf.

  “It has a picture of Josephine on it... an old painting of her on the dust cover, on a chaise lounge, I think. She’s young in the image. A little sad…”

  “Josephine who?”

  Nina smiled conspiratorially.

  “Why Josephine Bonaparte, dear. You are going to Martinique after all. She was born there.”

  Ava laughed.

  “Really? I thought she was French.”

  Nina clucked.

  “French by heritage, but born in the Caribbean.” She turned back to the shelf as she talked. “The author’s name starts with ‘G’… Garren… Gorum… something like that.”

  Ava went through the books in sequence, searching for an image of a young woman on a couch. Nina talked as the two of them worked.

  “She was born Marie-Josephe Tascher,” she explained, speaking in a warm, gossipy tone (as if Josephine was coming for dinner tonight, not some faraway figure from history). “Her father was a dandy and a wastrel, but she married up.” She laughed. “Sadly her husband wasn’t much better.”

  “Napoleon?” Ava asked, pulling out another book.

  “Oh no, her first husband.” Nina's voice dropped as if she was telling a scandalous secret. “You know, they say he was the author of Les Liaisons Dangereuses... though of course no one really knows for sure. It was published under the pen name of de Laclos and caused quite a scandal in its day!”

  “And Josephine was from Martinique,” Ava said quietly. “Huh. Small world.”

  Nina nodded.

  “The book is excellent. It talks about the predictions that an old slave-woman made about her future when she was a child… that she’d wear the crown of France.”

  Ava's eyes widened.

  “Really? Someone predicted that?”

  Nina nodded.

  “When she was a badly-dowered girl from the colonies with few hopes of marrying well. It’s a very good story. Full of romance and adventure…” Nina paused, frowning. “... though the author does tend to see Josephine’s story through rose-coloured glasses.”

  She stopped, fingers on her lip, eyebrows pulled together.

  “Gull-something… Gullen… Gallen…” she clapped her hands in triumph. “Gulland! That’s it! The author’s name.”

  “So it’s a cleaned-up story of Josephine? Like the PG version,” Ava prompted, giggling.

  Nina brushed her shirt, removing imaginary flecks of dust.

  “Yes, well, affairs of the heart don’t make the most wholesome heroines or the cleanest sort of adventures.”

  Ava's fingers caught on a well-worn novel, spine broken, pages frayed. She pulled it out, holding her breath. There was a dark-haired woman in a long empire-waist dress on the cover. She wore a circlet on her head, the dark canvas making her pale skin glow. It reminded Ava of the paintings of Ingres... though less stilted. More informal... perhaps more like the court paintings of Vigée LeBrun. Josephine was staring to the side – ‘worried? waiting?’ – her hazel eyes wise beyond what her years suggested. The sharpness of her gaze alongside the beauty of her
setting reminded Ava of Nina.

  “People forget sometimes that love doesn’t always come at the most convenient moments,” Nina continued, “and that when you find love, it isn’t necessarily with the person you’re married to…” Her words became quieter, “or meant for...”

  The words set the hair on Ava’s scalp crawling. Her hands tightened around the book. Her mind went back to Cole and Frank, talking right now in Marta’s office.

  “...Life’s messy sometimes, and it’s the privilege of the writer to clean that up.” Nina straightened, rolling her shoulders tiredly and catching Ava’s eyes. “I, on the other hand would rather have the real story.”

  Ava nodded warily.

  “The whole truth, no matter who gets hurt?” she asked.

  Nina paused, as if considering her words. A smile lit her face.

  “Why, Ava,” she exclaimed. “You’ve found the book!”

  Chapter 21: Burned in Effigy

  Cole looked from his father to Marta and back again. The three of them sat in a circle, taking turns talking. They’d been doing this for most of the hour, chatting about various topics – some guided, some naturally occurring – easing their way into deeper waters.

  Cole was just starting to get uncomfortable with the discussion.

  Marta had followed this routine for several sessions, gradually letting Cole and his father become adept at sharing. Frank had learned to listen far more in the last few weeks, and Cole had learned not to shut down when things got difficult.

  Marta nodded.

  “Frank,” she said, “you and Cole have both been doing some writing for me in the last few weeks. Both of you have different things you’d like to work through, and we’ve spent the last couple sessions talking about your daughter, Hanna. I know that’s been very important for you.”

  Frank nodded wearily. Next to him, Cole shifted. As much as he knew this issue needed to be released, he still wasn’t sure he was ready. Marta caught his eyes, smiling in support.

  “Cole’s also been working on his own challenges. He has an issue he’d like to discuss today.” She paused. “I’ve left my next session open so if we would like to talk longer, we can. There’s no rush.”

  Cole swallowed hard. His hands were clammy, heart rioting against his chest.

  “Cole, would you like to begin?”

  He closed his eyes, thinking back to Ava and their talk on the step. He knew without a doubt that she’d be running straight into this. She’d already told his father off more than once. The thought gave him strength. Cole opened his eyes, turning to look directly at his father.

  “Dad, I know we’ve talked about Mom in our previous sessions…” His father’s face became suspicious and cool. “I know that we have different memories of our time with her because we all see and experience things differently.”

  Marta nodded, urging him on. Cole could see that his father’s face had darkened. Usually, that would have been enough warning for him to retreat.

  This time he didn’t stop.

  “I was a kid when you two got divorced, but—”

  “I don’t see how this is supposed to change anything,” Frank interrupted. “Angela and I had our troubles, but that was a long time ago.”

  Marta smiled patiently.

  “That’s true, Frank, but issues can come from numerous sources, and if Cole would like to talk about this, then you owe him the chance to talk it through.” She paused, voice hardening. The smoothness was gone, the steel underneath appearing. “He has been more than willing to talk about your perceptions of Hanna for many sessions now.”

  Frank sat back in his chair, stone-faced.

  “Alright then,” he grumbled.

  Cole stared at the black notebook, his fingers tight and bloodless around it. His body was reacting in panic long before his mind had formed thoughts. He nervously cleared his throat.

  “Um… so I… I know the stuff with Mom isn’t something you and I have ever talked a lot about. But I had some questions.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “I, um… I wanted to ask you about Mom... about her depression.”

  He wavered at the edge. Sunk deep into his chair, eyes hooded and furious, Frank listened wordlessly. ‘Progress,’ Cole’s mind added. The last time that word – depression – had been mentioned, Frank had exploded. Right now he was just a mine floating in dark water. ‘Waiting to go off…’

  “You had some questions, Cole,” Marta repeated, easing him through the silence.

  Cole struggled for coherence, his mind fishtailing from thought to thought. There was so much he wanted to ask his father, but the real questions were the hardest ones... they were tangled up inside him.

  “Yes, well... I’ve never really understood,” Cole began again, voice strained, “what happened... why she went out of control. I wanted to know if you—”

  His throat constricted. This felt like the moment in his childhood before he’d jump off the cliff, hoping against hope that Hanna had chosen the spot right, that he wouldn’t be killed by landing on the rocks below.

  “Go on, Cole...” Marta prompted. “Frank’s listening.”

  His father's narrowed eyes were angry, ready for a fight.

  Cole jumped...

  “Dad, the summer before she died, Hanna told me you were cheating on Mom. Is that true?”

  : : : : : : : : : :

  Walking back from the bookshelf – which had been halfway reorganized in the attempt to locate a single book – Nina handed Ava a novel. It was by the same author as the first. The image on the front was a woman standing with her back to an open balustrade. Josephine. She was older in this painting, stronger. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, a weight to her figure. She was worldly and a little more weary.

  The resemblance to Nina was even more striking.

  “Here’s the second in the series,” Nina said, “Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe. It’s also a very good read, though the first was my favourite... so full of hope. Josephine young and bright.”

  She sighed, settling down into a wing-back chair.

  “Thanks,” Ava said with a smile. “This way I’ll have something to read on the flight back.”

  She was about to say more when the buzz of an engine caught their attention. It was getting louder as someone gunned the engine. ‘Cole’s motorcycle.’ Ava frowned at the wall clock. He was back early.

  “Don’t they usually go a bit longer?” Nina asked in concern.

  Ava headed down the wooden stairs, Nina was at her side, their footsteps a staccato beat.

  “They were going to talk about Angela today,” Ava said anxiously, catching Nina’s eyes. “Cole wanted to know what happened before she died.”

  Nina’s hand darted out to Ava’s wrist.

  “Did Frank know Cole was bringing it up today? Did he offer to talk about what happened?”

  Ava shrugged as she heard Cole’s tread hit the front steps.

  “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Nina stood uncertainly on the stairs, her hand slowly rising to cover her throat. Her eyes dropped nervously. Footsteps crossed the porch; Cole was just about to reach the door. Nina spun on her heel, jogging up the stairs, leaving Ava staring after her. The front door opened just as she disappeared around the corner. Ava turned to see Cole, his face haggard.

  “Hey,” Ava said, walking toward him. “You’re back early.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. As she reached his side, he pulled her forward, burying his face against her hair and wrapping his arms around her.

  “Cole?” she asked, rubbing his back. “Is everything alright?”

  Cole was shaking; his whole body was alive with it. He pulled back to see her, his throat bobbing as he struggled to find words.

  “I, um... I am alright... or at least sort of...” He coughed, shaking his head like a dog trying to free itself of water. He looked shell-shocked. “Dad kind of blew up after I asked about what happened with my mom. He’s still ther
e with Marta... God, Ava, I’ve never seen him so out of control. Yelling and shouting… and… and…” Cole’s face crumpled. “...and crying, Ava… I’ve never seen him like that. Not ever. Dad stayed with Marta. They’re talking right now.”

  “What was it? What set him off?”

  Ava asked, knowing what secret had been unveiled. The memory of Nina and her description of another woman’s choices was pressing into the conversation like the voices of children hidden in static. Cole shook his head, scrubbing his hand over his face, rubbing out wayward tears.

  “He admitted he cheated on my mom before Hanna died...” Cole’s voice dropped. “With Nina. What Hanna told me was true. Dad admitted to all of it.”

  Ava pulled him tighter, her face against his shirt, breathing him in. He seemed calmer now that he’d shared it.

  “It’s over,” Ava whispered. “You know the truth now.”

  Ava felt him nod, his cheek brushing against her jaw as his hands dropped down to her waist.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  They didn’t speak, just stood in the foyer, holding one another. Cole broke the silence.

  “I think it’s time we went down to the beach and had ourselves a bonfire.”

  : : : : : : : : : :

  They sat on the sand, the heavy dome of the night sky above, the ocean an audible, unseen expanse beyond. The house’s windows glowed faintly in the distance, sparks from the fire shooting into the air like fireworks. Among the embers were remains of wooden frames; the pile of paintings and canvas was reduced to ashes, Shay Brooks’s last remains pulled out to sea by the lapping waves.

  Cole and Ava were warmed by the fire, his arm over her shoulders. It was dark; they both knew they should head back to get some supper, but neither wanted the moment to end. Every once in a while, one of them went to pick up more driftwood, adding it to the blaze. The beach was scattered with it and the bonfire burned long into the night.

  Cole stood up, pulling in another branch, then settling once more. Ava watched the frugal movement of his limbs – spare and sharp, even in these simple actions – his body in monochrome. The shades of his skin were like the softened shadows and light produced by a burin, capturing shapes but freed of colours.