by Danika Stone
Ava clucked her tongue in irritation.
“God, Dad, you and your ‘let’s talk this out’ approach is really getting old.”
He chuckled and she smiled. It was almost like he was here.
“Or don’t,” he added with a sigh. “But then you should probably end things with him. Because if it’s bothering you this much, Ava, it’s not just going to go away on its own.”
The last statement was a kick in her stomach because she knew it was true.
“So we talk about it,” she repeated.
“That’d be my suggestion, because...” For a moment, the phone went so quiet, Ava thought the connection to Australia had been lost.
“Dad? You still there?”
He sighed.
“Look, I honestly don’t know the whole story,” he finally added. “But it sounds to me like you’re in love with him.”
: : : : : : : : : :
Ava crawled back into bed in the darkest hour of night. Talking to her father helped her to sift through her emotions, leaving her feeling more settled than she’d been in hours.
“People can change,” her father’s voice assured her.
As she slid under the sheets beside Cole’s sleeping form, she smiled. She’d known Cole Thomas since the start of the semester and Chim had known him for a year before that. Even Suzanne vouched for him as a good guy. As her father had reminded her, this was the first time she really saw his emotions pull him under. Ava smiled sadly, pressing a kiss to his temple, noting how – even in sleep – he reacted to the gesture. He nuzzled closer and Ava’s arms wrapped around him, the action genuine this time.
There was hope for the two of them.
Her breathing slowed to match his; his body wrapped her in a blanket of heat. The quiet sounds of night time in the city continued, and Ava succumbed to the inexorable pull of exhaustion.
: : : : : : : : : :
He’d had this dream before.
Cole knelt in a field of swirling sea grasses, the trees with their yellow leaves and the river beyond. In the distance, waves crashed against the shore, the sound of the water unnaturally calm after the storm. He took another shaking breath, sobs catching in his throat. This was to have been their new beginning. The one they’d talked about for so long.
It wasn’t to be.
She lay in front of him, her body pale and white. Cole lifted her hand – the fingernails purpled with cold – pressing it between his fingers, trying vainly to warm her. She was breathing, but just barely, lips pale and ringed with blue, as she stared blindly to the sky above.
“Stay...” he whispered. “Stay with me, Ava...”
There was no answer.
Around them, the wind rose and fell. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a hard kiss against her icy knuckles. She was almost gone - he knew that – and yet still he had hope. The boats were long gone. Her husband, along with two hundred other souls, scattered and lost after they had gone down. Likely drowned.
‘As she is...’ his mind whispered, but he pushed it fiercely aside. She still breathed!
“I found you,” Cole wheezed. “I knew that I would find you, but you have to stay with me, Ava.” His voice broke. “Stay! Please… my darling, we can start over. We can begin again...”
He stared down into her eyes as he spoke, catching the moment her pupils began to change, the black blocking out the beloved blue. He’d seen it before – in battle – and knew what it meant.
“I love you, Ava,” he sobbed, leaning forward, dropping a gentle kiss against cold lips. “I have always loved you… I always will.”
He pressed his ear tight against the wet fabric of her chemise. The faint beating from seconds earlier was now gone, her chest still and cold.
Gone...
He closed his eyes, the tug of the dream receding.
: : : : : : : : : :
Ava dreamt of her painting of the snake and the coins again, only this time the dream had started a little earlier. Instead of floating up above the scene, she was now in it.
She stared up in surprise, getting her bearings. The bright sky, the grass swirling around her face, and Cole’s grief-stricken face suddenly looming before her.
‘Well that’s new...’
He looked older, his face creased with pain, his hair long. Cole looked worn and weary, the same way he’d been when he came to her apartment earlier tonight. As she watched – floating numbly – he lifted her hand. She caught sight of his knuckles.
Those she recognized.
They were bloody and torn, the skin on both hands shredded. Cole was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear the words. Everything was narrowing and expanding at once, the sky brightening until almost white, while her focus faded. Her arms ached to hold him and assure him that everything would be okay. That this – this moment now – was how it was meant to be.
There was a sudden tug – like a rope pulling free of its mooring – and her vision altered. She was now above him, looking down. Sounds returned – everything clear and new. Even the leaves fluttering in the distant trees were perfect, her mind articulating each flutter of wind dancing through them. Ava began to pull back and away. She could see herself on the grass next to Cole. (‘Or not Cole, actually,’ her mind whispered, ‘my Thomas...’). Her limbs were battered, the long dress askew.
“I love you, Ava,” he sobbed. “I have always loved you… I always will.”
Ava felt herself shift, pulling up into the sky. ‘Away… away… away...’ There was peace as her body dissolved into the nothingness from which we all come. Vibrations returning to the universe. Spreading out and upward. Her conscious mind focused on Cole even as she floated looking down onto the scene below.
Watching him.
She could see the wind-blown grass and the trees, the yellow field and the river leading out to the ocean beyond.
‘Oh, there’s the snake and the coins, now,’ Ava thought in surprise.
: : : : : : : : : :
Cole thrashed in bed, his body sweat-slicked in fear.
“No… please, god, no…” he yelled in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me!”
Next to him, something brushed his hand and he spun in confusion. He blinked, the image of that world and this one suddenly meshing. He glanced down in shock to see her next to him.
“Ava, my god,” he sobbed as he caught sight of her face, pale against the pillow. “I… I thought I lost you.”
He reached out for her with shaking hands.
“ ‘S’okay,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “I was just on the phone with my dad… but I’m back now. It’s okay, Cole...”
He pulled her into his arms, body wrapping around her. She was here, and she was real… Cole took a shaky breath. He’d just had the dream again… the one he hadn’t had in almost a year. The one that had haunted him for months after Hanna’s death.
With a jolt, Cole’s body was suddenly coursing with adrenaline. Ava was the woman from the dream.
She always had been.
For a moment, there was too much for him to deal with. He held onto Ava’s sleep-warmed body the way a drowning man might cling to a life preserver, forcing himself back through the last hours: the argument at the gallery, drinking at the bar, then the fight in the alley. Coming here to Ava. For a second he was horrified with himself. ‘She came back to me...’ his mind whispered. Cole’s breathing slowed as the panic eased from his chest. He cradled her closer, and she turned into him in sleep, her lips half open, body soft and pliant.
“Love you, Ava,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
Cole didn’t sleep after that, just laid with her in his arms while light seeped through the curtains and dawn broke. She was here now and she was alive. He knew that this time, he was going to make it right.
Chapter 16: Unexpected Arrivals
Ava woke to the enticing odour of fresh coffee. She squinted at the clock; well past one on a Sunday afternoon. She’d slept so long and
deep that she was almost groggy, but her body felt better than it had in a long time. Warm and sated. She slowly stretching under the heavy blankets, tallying the subtle aches – her breasts and between her legs – that hinted at last night’s events. Outside the bedroom, she heard someone walk across the floor, and she smiled.
Cole was still here.
She ran a hand through her tangled hair and glanced around. She knew she’d had the dream of the snake and coins again. Somehow she also knew that it had changed… but what exactly was different eluded her. That was frustrating; the large canvas had already been submitted to the gallery and she could no longer add to it. Maybe, Ava thought, a new project was exactly what she needed.
She grinned at the idea. There was nothing like an unmarked expanse of primed canvas to put Ava in a good mood (unless, of course, it was an unmarked train bridge or rail car). She shook her head at that. Chim was right. She was too old for that shit. But knowing it and really believing it were two different things.
Dashing into the small bathroom, she cleaned up, forcing a comb through the mess of knots and smoothing her hair down with a splash of water. With slightly swollen lips, flushed cheeks and unkempt hair, she looked like she’d had a memorable night. Closing her eyes, she remembered. A blush rose up from her chest to her cheeks. That part was amazing… she just needed to deal with the stuff before it. The things that had worried her. She’d made a promise to herself (and to her father) that she would deal with this rather than run away. She intended to.
Staring at herself in the mirror, Ava forced her expression into a calm that she didn’t totally feel. With a roll of her shoulders, she stepped out of the bathroom, padding toward the kitchen. Cole was at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. ‘Greenburg’s essays,’ Ava realized in annoyance. ‘Another fucking précis is due tomorrow…’
She hadn’t even started it yet.
On the other side of the table was a bouquet of exotic flowers in a cubed vase: hydrangeas and orchids and bamboo protruding from a water-covered layer of smooth stones. She stopped in her tracks as she saw it. Flowers like that cost a hell of lot of money… Cole had gone over the top on this one.
“Whoa,” she muttered, walking over. “You didn’t have to do this, Cole. It’s way too much.”
She glanced up, noting a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“I didn’t,” he bit out before his eyes dropped back to his book.
Ava reached for the card with trembling fingers. It had “Booker” scrawled on it in unfamiliar handwriting. That made her pause. Taking a deep breath, she slid her fingernail under the sealed envelope edge, shaking the small card into her hand. Ava’s body was starting to thrum with that panicked feeling she’d been fighting since she awoke.
Ava,
Sorry things got a little rowdy at the gallery last night. Didn’t mean to provoke your friend.
Hope it won’t affect our business dealings in the future.
Kip
P.S. Raya is working on the numbers now. She’ll have them to you as soon as she can.
“Oh.” Ava said tightly, holding back what she really wanted to say: ‘Just my fucking luck!’
“The flowers were outside the apartment this morning,” Cole said quietly, his eyes still on his book. “I saw them when I ran out to grab a few things.”
He wasn’t looking at her, and it left her feeling slightly off-balance. It was like sliding across the wet deck of a boat, not sure if you were going to be able to right yourself before you hit the edge.
She dropped the small card on the table, then headed to the kitchen cupboard to pick up a mug. As she poured her coffee, adding cream and sugar, she peeked over her shoulder to see Cole pick up the card and look at it. He held it for a second before setting it down carefully in the center of the table.
The lines of his face etched into heavier grooves.
“Raya Simpson approached me,” Ava announced as she walked back, “to see if I wanted to do a collaboration with Kip Chambers in the new year.” Cole tipped his face up and she saw the annoyance waiting under the surface.
“Oh really...?”
Ava smiled, though her nerves were strung taut. She stepped closer, picking the book out of his hands and placing it face-down.
“I haven’t said ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at this point,” she said, shrugging. “Haven’t even seen the numbers yet. But I’d be stupid to refuse without at least hearing Raya’s offer.”
Ava emphasized the agent’s name. She didn’t want this to become about Kip and Cole. The drunken memory of the almost-fight last night at the gallery rose in her mind, but she pushed it away in irritation. Cole reached out, his concern fading. His eyes were still worried, but he was touching her arm now. That was a start.
“I thought you were doing that film thing in the summer,” he said quietly.
He stroked her forearm gently with his thumb. It was the barest hint of a caress, completely distracting her.
“The public exhibition was one thing. This new collaboration is another… it was only mentioned a couple days ago. I guess I didn’t tell you yet because I hadn’t really seen you yet,” Ava said with a genuine grin. She leaned against the table, coffee mug in her hands.
“You know,” she drawled, “during the last week and a half when you basically locked yourself in your studio and refused to come out?”
Cole laughed sheepishly. Setting her cup down, Ava reached out, brushing the top of his head with her fingers.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “Look at me…”
He glanced back up,, eyebrows creased together.
“Can we move past this?” Ava asked quietly.
Without warning, he pulled her onto his lap. His eyes were darker than their usual silver-grey. In the filtered sunlight they were a cloudy grey, shadowed with anxiety.
“After last night,” he said quietly, “I… I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” His hands tightened on her hips. “But I hope we can move on.” He smiled. “I want to, if you do.”
Ava leaned in, hugging him. A heartbeat later, his arms rose, crushing her to his chest, the sound of his breathing sharp in her ear.
“Cole, I want to talk about what happened before you came over,” Ava said, her lips against his ear. “Sometime, when you feel like it… I need to know why you get like that…” She pulled back to see his face. He watched her with a worried expression, but she pushed on. “If this thing between us is going to work, then I need to know that. Okay?”
His eyelids closed, as if seeing whatever experience had created this facet of who he was. The anger. Ava waited. When he said nothing, she held him closer.
“I’ve seen some crazy shit in my life. Trust me on that, okay?” Her voice wavered. “I was really angry for a long time. Just couldn’t deal with… things. When you’re ready to talk,” she paused, her mother’s face flashing in her mind. “Then I’ll… I’ll talk too.” Her cracked as she said it. She felt Cole lift his head, his lips turning toward her.
“Deal,” he answered raggedly.
But then his lips were against her cheek, and then against her mouth, and then there was no more space for words between them at all.
: : : : : : : : : :
Classes plowed forward at a steadily-increasing pace as they reached the end of the semester. They’d hit the post-modernists in Wilkins’ class and Cole was drawn into the darker imagery. It reminded him of his dreams, especially the repeating one that tortured him for so long after the death of Hanna. It had come back twice more since the fight, and as Cole’s knuckles slowly scabbed and healed over, he wondered if it wasn’t somehow related to his own internal demons, though that didn’t explain Ava’s presence in it.
He hadn’t told her about the dream yet… It wasn’t a coffee shop conversation and he was worried that she would react badly. (He was terrified of what she would think if she knew the depth of his damage.) So instead, he let it sit and wait, allowing the connection between them to grow stro
nger by the day, hoping that by the time he had to tell her, that she would love him anyway. The story had been there for the last decade, after all… it wasn’t going anywhere.
This day was like all the others. Cole and Ava sat in the partial-darkness of the art history amphitheatre, her feet kicked up in wilful disobedience on the chair in front of them. Next to her, Cole wrote in the halfways-shorthand that had come to represent his experience of Modern Art. His hand scrambled to keep up with Wilkins’ tumbling words; fingers cramped and aching. He wrote endlessly, his mind floating – transmitting without pause or thought – the prof’s lengthy descriptions of the paintings they studied.
Cole’s eyes danced between two depths of field: the scrawl of notes on the desk and the distant projection screen. The screen left after-images of muted colour as he glanced at the white paper, gradually turning black with ink. His eyes flickered up and down… up and down… up and down… - the slide changed – up and…
Cole stopped.
His first thought came as a smell: the copper-penny odour of blood. A smell he knew.
For a brief moment, he flashed to an image of himself, seventeen years old, standing on a floor stained and sticky with spilt blood. The huge image looming in front of the classroom was wet with it; the gore translated perfectly through projected light. His hand, moving seconds earlier, hovered motionless above the page.
Francis Bacon’s painting: Head Surrounded by Sides of Beef.
The image of blood and meat and figures - emerging from the dark canvas - was beautiful and horrible, and Cole could not understand it. The skin across his scalp crawled and tightened as his body reacted. There was a taste to this type of image. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. It was too much to take in. The ‘prettiness' of other paintings seemed unnecessary by comparison. The ominous room, the figure of the man, the glistening sides of meat hovering like wings above him were painted with incredible detail and beauty, but they were raw and demanding. They commanded Cole’s full attention.
His eyed roved across the image – (Wilkins’ voice continued on, heedless of him) – to the man in the forefront. His face was tormented, empty sockets staring blindly forward, anguish augmented by the juxtaposition of dripping meat. Cole's forehead wrinkled in concentration as he was drawn further into the painting. The man’s hands were clutched in pain or anger, his mouth slightly agape. ‘Smiling?… Screaming?...’ Cole wondered. The entire painting writhed with emotion. Lines of paint – tears or blood – poured down his face and through the meat, dripping across the canvas.