Intaglio Dragons All The Way Down

chapter 12: Legacy



Nina was reading in bed when she heard Frank walking up the wide wooden stairs. There was something about the slow progress and heavy thud of his footsteps that peaked her concern. They’d been married almost a decade now. Little hints like the heaviness of his tread warned her that not everything had gone well this evening.

She’d known this would happen eventually.

With a sigh, she set down the copy of Gloriana’s Torch on the bedside table, her fingers tucking a small copper bookmark into its heart, careful as always not to bend the pages. She had read this book more than once, but it soothed her, the epic descriptions of common people drawn into events beyond their control. Dreams and visions of the future guiding the grand events of the Spanish armada.

Nina didn’t have a lot of use for the character of Queen Elizabeth, though perhaps, she thought, that was her own issue. She could, at times, see too much of herself in the queen’s machinations. After the car accident, she’d had plenty of hours to contemplate that aspect of her character. She wasn’t Frank’s first wife; he’d been married when they’d met. Nina shook her head at the thought. ‘Too much time to think about my own role in the Thomas family's misadventures...’ her mind prompted. Lately she rather fancied herself more in the behaviour of David Beckett, adventurer and soldier. He was a commoner who worked for the greater good. He saw the truth in his dreams, and believed.

She ran her fingers over the worn dust cover, her mind pulled like a snare back to the constant fight hidden in the walls of this house, the thing between Frank and Cole that would not rest. She could feel – much as Beckett had – the danger ahead, the damage about to break free. She wanted to be strong enough to help them, but she was tangled up in it too, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do much. But now they had Ava; that thought left her smiling. Frank’s voice wasn’t the only one she’d heard raised downstairs in the den. The girl, with her strength of character and quick temper, would fight to the death for Cole. Nina had known that months ago.

Outside, the slow steps reached the landing, and Nina knew that Frank was pausing outside the door. She could imagine him pulling himself together, the mask coming down. She waited, eyes on the wooden panel for the moment he would walk in.

He cleared his throat and the door swung open. Frank looked tired, but his eyes brightened when he saw her.

“I thought you were already asleep,” he said with surprise.

She smiled, reaching out as he crossed the room.

“No,” she said smiling, “just reading. I slept most the afternoon, but the migraine’s gone now. Feeling better.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, taking her hand and dropping a kiss on her forehead like she was a little girl.

He settled himself down next to her, running his thumbs against her double wedding rings, spinning the heavy bands inset with stones again and again on her finger. It reminded Nina of her grandmother. The way she’d carried her rosary beads with her, praying in silence at random times during the day, almost an afterthought after so many years of practise.

For a moment, a line from the book she’d been reading came to mind: ‘The gods too had rivalries and enmities...’ Her grandmother prayed for sins long-since forgotten by everyone but her. In the last few years, Nina had come to understand that need. Across from her, Frank’s fingers twisted the ring, and she wondered if he was doing the same.

They all had sins.

“Cole’s out walking,” Nina said quietly.

Sound carried in the big house. She’d heard Frank return alone, heading to his den to wander the darkened halls of the past. Ava and Cole arrived half an hour later, though only one set of footsteps had come in through the front door. She knew Cole would be down on the beach now, walking the way he always did when his father’s words became too much for him to bear.

The two of them had fought.

“Yes, he is,” Frank growled, his face darkening. Nina sighed.

“What was it today?” she asked out of habit, not sure she really wanted to know. “What did he say?”

She knew the question could be flipped. Frank was easily the one who might have started this, but she had learned to handle her husband’s temper in their years together. Careful phrasing was the first step. Patience was the second.

Frank lifted his gaze from her thin hands to her face. His knuckles brushed lightly over the papery skin before dropping back to her fingers, wrapping them in warmth.

“Dr. Langden wanted us to talk about Angela.”

He didn’t hold her eyes when he said it, his gaze wandering to a picture near of his first wife with their children which hung near the door. The four of them together: Hanna, her mother’s image, Cole, Frank. Nina had never removed it – never felt the need – but she felt her rival’s gaze on her tonight. It bothered her.

“Well, Frank,” she said, sitting up tall, “that’s probably a good place to start. You and Cole do have some issues revolving around her.”

“Harrumph,” he grumbled, face turning to the side. He hadn’t let go of her hands, but he’d stopped fidgeting with her rings.

“You didn’t want to share that?” she prompted.

He turned to her, heavy eyebrows drawn together in frustration.

“What’s the point of it, Nina?” he sighed. “What’s done is done. Open up all those old wounds and Cole and I are right back where we were when Angela died. Yelling at one another and… and…”

He stopped himself, though Nina knew the next word was fighting. She had been there at the graveyard that day. She could remember seventeen-year old Cole in the backseat of the hearse, his cheek purpled and swelling, sitting silently as they’d driven back to a home he now despised.

She cringed in remembrance. (She’d played a part in those events too.) When Frank didn’t go on, she pulled her hands from his, straightening the bed linens and smoothing her nightshirt (as if this gesture could straighten everything else undone too). Nina felt like she’d faded since the accident in the fall, like the brush with death had brought everything too close to the surface.

Tonight was no different.

“It all started with Hanna’s death,” Frank muttered.

Nina paused for a moment, wavering. The easy thing to do here was to agree with him… but there was a young woman downstairs right now who’d stood up to him, and that gave her the nerve to say it.

“No, it didn’t,” she said firmly. “There were issues long before Hanna died. You know that as well as I do.”

Frank’s head bobbed up, eyes sparkling with indignation. She felt a twinge of guilt. Looking the way she did right now – still wan and tired from the migraine, dressed for bed and settled in the covers – he wouldn’t argue with her. In a way, it gave her an unfair advantage.

One she intended to use.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean by that,” he mumbled, his face becoming wary and distant. It reminded her of his son.

She smiled, weaving her fingers into his, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“You and I were far more than just friends before Hanna passed away,” she said quietly.

“Yes, well,” Frank stammered, glancing back to the photo of his ex-wife for a moment, then to Nina, as if worried she would somehow overhear, “Angela never knew about that, Nina. I mean she suspected you and I were more than just friends but—”

It struck her that Frank – a veteran – was blushing. Her fingers tightened on his, pushing his denials aside.

“Even Hanna knew about us, Frank.”

She watched as he closed his eyes, his face warring with pain and grief. His daughter’s memory was preserved unsullied like her upstairs bedroom, the one with the pressed sheets and lines of school awards, still waiting for her return. Frank swallowed hard, throat bobbing, before he spoke again.

“You don’t know that she did for sure,” he retorted, voice wavering. “Hanna, she… she thought something was going on, but she never really knew for sure. I never said anything about it to her.”

Nina’s heart thumped painfully hard, the muted pain in her temple beginning to pulse in time to it. This was difficult for Frank... anything to do with Hanna was... but it needed to be said.

“She did know,” she insisted.

“No, she couldn’t have.”

“Yes, Frank,” she repeated, nodding. “She could and she did.”

“No!” he barked.

It was a command. Nina felt the admission resting on the tip of her tongue, ready to disappear under his words. She’d spent a decade in the hazy fog of almost truth.

That stopped today.

“Yes,” she said flatly. Frank’s mouth opened to argue, but she pushed on, finally saying what she’d denied for so long. “She came to my apartment and confronted me once. Hanna was a senior in high school then: all teen bravado and indignation.” She leaned back against the pillows, sighing tiredly. “God, she was so much like you, then… the same exact temper. Furious with me – the other woman.” She laughed . “She stood up for Angela.” Her voice wavered. “That girl of seventeen shamed me.”

Frank stared at her, wide-eyed, cheeks ashen.

“That’s why you left that summer.” His voice was incredulous; this had never occurred to him before.

She picked up the corner of the embroidered sheet, fiddling with the hem.

“Well, part of it anyhow,” Nina said with a weary laugh, “France was nice too. But the truth is, I needed to get away, to think about things… to decide what I wanted to do about you… and us.”

Frank reached for her fingers, his hands around hers once more.

“I’m glad you came back.”

She nodded.

“I am too.”

For a moment, Frank’s gaze rested on the framed picture with Angela and the children. Something dark churned under the surface of his expression, his voice breaking when it finally returned.

“Hanna knew,” he said quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me that she’d talked to you? I never realized...”

Nina shook her head, throat tight. She didn’t know all of the reasons; perhaps there was more to her in Elizabeth’s manipulations than she wanted to admit. Once, long ago, she’d been good at reasoning the balance of carefully slanted facts and half-truths, dealing them out carefully like a miser’s coins. ‘Frank’s not happy in his marriage… they’ve already separated twice… Angela had an affair before he did… it’s a marriage in name, nothing else…’

Now they all felt like lies.

“At first, it was because you and I were… apart.” She said cautiously. “Later, when Hanna died and things got bad with Angela, it just seemed unnecessary.” She cleared her throat. “And then… and then Angela took her life, and I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh, Nina,” he choked, but she kept speaking.

“Lately with these issues with Cole, and the things you are talking about, I just thought I should say it. Get it out in the open.”

Frank’s fingers had gone back to the golden bands on her finger. He stared down at their joined fists, crumpling under the weight of her admission like a sail without wind.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I should have told you long ago.”

The words lingered between them, only the steady spinning of the wedding rings continuing. With a heavy sigh, Frank looked at her, his face defeated.

“You’re not the only one with secrets, Nina. You know that.”

She smiled sadly, nodding.

“You need to tell Cole what happened with Angela.”

All of Frank’s rage was abruptly present on his face. His hands dropped away, pulling back into fists.

“No!” he growled. “I don’t think I– …I can’t—” he stammered, face growing red. This had never been an easy topic for either of them.

“Yes, Frank,” she repeated, reaching out to touch his knee. “You have to.”

He stood, anger roiling around him like thunder clouds. He stormed across the floor and didn’t look back.

“You can’t keep running from this!” Nina shouted, but he was already slamming the bedroom door behind him.

On the wall, the picture of his first wife and her two children shuddered, then stilled once more in its frame. Angela smiled on, indifferent to the family drama. This had always been her house after all.

: : : : : : : : : :

Half an hour later, Frank Thomas was in his den, the television now silent.

He’d wandered the house since his argument with Nina, unsettled and outraged. He stood in front of the wall of framed photographs which documented the early years of his marriage to Angela Draper and before that, to his parents and grandparents as they passed through the generations. There was a picture of young Angela, her head tipped back in laughter, looking much as she did when they’d first met, long waves of fair hair and a wide smile.

His gaze was trapped by this picture, snared the same way he’d been when he’d first met her.

‘I was so in love…’

There were times, like tonight, when it was harder to remember her laughter. During the long years between then and now, he’d tried to focus on remembering her like this, but he wondered if he’d been wrong to do that. He reached out, his fingers hesitantly touching the cool glass in the frame, wondering what she’d say if she could see him. But Angela had died years earlier, and tonight her voice – either in joy or in pain – seemed far, far away.

Frank pulled his hand back, his eyes on the open ‘o’ of her mouth, the crinkled joy in her half-closed eyes.

“We were happy once,” he said to the empty room, then turned and walked away.