Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (20 page)

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!”

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?”