Intaglio Dragons All The Way Down

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 there 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.

“You look like a sculpture in this light,” Ava said with a smile. “All beautiful and golden.”

Cole snorted.

“That seems a little pretentious.”

She grinned, sliding closer. His arm dropped back over her shoulders, the flames rising higher.

“No really... you do,” she insisted. “Like one of the Renaissance sculptures. All perfect musculature and Classical forms.”

She reached out, running her finger along his jaw, following it down to his shoulder. Cole turned, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d better not tell me I look like Donatello’s David,” he scoffed.

Ava leaned forward, her lips teasingly brushing his before pulling back to answer.

“Not a chance,” she laughed. “The sculptor that really gets me off is—”

“Me?”

Her grin widened.

“Besides you, smart-ass, would be Bernini.”

Cole’s expression darkened wickedly.

“Oka-ay…?”

“What?” Ava asked.

Cole laughed.

“Let’s just say, I know Bernini’s work, all right?”

“What…?” Ava’s eyebrows rose in confusion.

Cole smirked.

“Nothing.”

Her lips pursed.

“No, seriously now – you do look like a Bernini in this light, the way you were frowning.” She sat up, arms crossing her chest in frustration. “You know, Bernini’s sculpture of David with the slingshot.”

Cole chuckled, his arm wrapping tighter, his mouth brushing her ear.

“Oh I know that one, all right, but that’s not the one I was thinking about….”

He moved in, pushing Ava against the sand, rolling in to cover her, his warmth a sudden weight on her skin. He dropped his mouth to her neck, suckling his way to her collarbone. Ava gasped, eyes drifting and then slowly closing.

“Which sculpture,” she panted, “were you thinking of?”

Cole’s answer was muffled against her skin.

“The Ecstasy of St. Theresa…”