Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins (19 page)

“Why’s it at
half-mast?”

Something was
going on.  Cole looked over at her, his face distant.

“It’s been at
half-mast,” he answered wearily, “since the day Hanna died.”

With that, he
opened the door and stepped out into the cold winter air, leaving Ava sitting
alone in the truck.

: : : : : : : :
: :

Cole’s
stepmother was
not
what she expected. 

Ava’s first
impression was that Nina was younger than she’d imagined.  With caramel
greying hair curling around her ears and shoulders, and attractive features,
she looked like a made-for-TV mother.  She was well-dressed and stylish,
but the thing that really threw Ava was that Cole’s step-mother seemed outgoing
and genuinely kind.  As they walked up the steps, carrying their bags,
Nina Thomas pulled open the front door, grinning and welcoming them both
inside.  She chattered on about the weather and the drive out as she
hugged Cole and dusted snow off his jacket in the closet. 

“It’s wonderful
to see you, Cole,” she breathed.  “I’ve been so looking forward to the
visit.”

“Good to see you
again, Nina,” he mumbled.  Ava frowned; his voice was cold and empty…
not
like Cole at all.

“Of course, of
course,” Nina said happily, taking their bags.  Ava couldn’t help but
notice that there was still no sign of Cole’s father. 

“Frank...!” Nina
shouted over her shoulder, as if thinking the same thing, “come on down. 
They’re here now!”

There was the
sound of someone shuffling around in a distant room, and Cole’s stepmother
turned back to Ava, her narrow brows raised in frustration.

“I swear that
man is getting deafer by the day,” she said with exasperation.

Ava grinned,
reaching out her hand.

“It’s nice to
meet you, Mrs. Thomas,” she said. “Thanks for letting me tag along with Cole.”

Nina glanced at
her hand as if wondering what she was doing.  She shook her head, smiling.

“It’s just Nina,
dear,” she said warmly.  “Sorry, but you’re going to get hugged now… I
should probably just warn you about that up front.”  She shrugged. 
“It’s how I am.”

Without another
word, she stepped forward, pulling Ava into a tight embrace.  Her hair
smelled of expensive perfume, sunshine and vanilla.  Nina’s hands were
tight against Ava’s back.  Pulling away, Nina’s hands went to her hips and
she looked from Ava to Cole and back again, as if measuring something. 
There was a long moment, and Ava glanced nervously over at Cole, catching his eyes. 
He was looking at her with an odd expression, as if unsure what to do with his
stepmother’s behaviour. 

Nina spun on her
heel.

“Good LORD
Frank, where
are
you?!” she bellowed, annoyance sharpening her tone into
a schoolmarm’s snarl.

Ava snickered, stepping
closer to Cole, her fingers groping for his.  Their hands connected just
as another figure stepped through the doorway to join them in the front
foyer.  He wasn’t quite as tall as Cole, though their resemblance was
obvious.  Unlike Cole’s black hair, his father’s was speckled with grey,
his lean face wrinkled and exhausted.  Frank Thomas had the trim physique
of a much younger man, but his body was bowed by sorrow.  It came off in
every gesture, like the faint but memorable scent of Nina’s perfume.

Grief. 
The man was
drowning in it.

Cole’s fingers
tightened for a moment before he let go of Ava's hand, stepping forward to his
father, his back straight.

“Dad,” Cole said
quietly.  Not even a greeting, just a statement.

“Good to see you
son,” Frank muttered, reaching out to hug him.

Ava could see
Cole waiting through the embrace, his hands hovering lightly on his father’s
back rather than moving into his arms.   Ava wanted to console Cole,
but she didn’t know how
.

“Well, now,”
said Nina in a high-pitched voice, “this is nice to have you both here… yes,
very nice.”

Her eyes were
bright and anxious, and Ava – for the first time – could see tension in the
woman’s face.  She was smiling, but her hands were clasped as if she was
about to begin a speech, her chest rapidly rising and falling.

Cole and his
father broke apart and there was a long moment when no one spoke.

“Where do we
take our bags?” Ava interjected, drawing Nina’s startled gaze.

“Oh!” she said,
her hands dropping, “just leave them here, Ava… We’ll grab them later.”

Cole and his
father were standing idly, not looking at one another, the tableau awkwardly
tense.

“So… what are we
up to now?” Ava asked. (At this point, it seemed that they were going to end up
standing around in the foyer for the next four days.)

“Let’s… let’s
head into the living room everyone,” Nina said with forced cheer.  She
gestured to the doorway beyond.  “Yes… I’ll bring in some coffee and we
could all...” she paused, her smile wavering, “...sit and chat.”

Without a word, Cole
and his father walked out of the room next to each other.  As they left,
Ava couldn’t help but notice how their stiff postures made them twin mirrors of
heartache and responsibility.

Ava took
surreptitious glances as she followed Cole and his father into the living
room.  It was more of a den than anything else, the decor cosy and
inviting.  It had wide plank wood floors polished to a warm oaken sheen,
the varnished gloss reflecting the honey beige walls.  On the far side,
there was a large fieldstone fireplace stained from years of use; dark wood
shelves rose up on either side of it.  A collection of books – some old
and ragged, others new and still in dust covers – lined its deep shelves, while
random objects – a bird’s nest, a scattering of jade statuettes, and a carved
marble chess set – perched on tables around the room.  On either side of
the windows crouched two heavy leather couches.  Behind them, the
floor-to-ceiling windows framed a wintry day, and beyond that, the cold, grey
sea.  Ava sighed, breathing it all in. 

This was a
beautiful home...
lived in
. 

On the plaster
walls were pictures showing the Thomas family at various ages and eras. 
There was a black-and-white photograph of a dark-haired man who shared Cole’s
jaw and muscular build, but not his nose.  Next to it was a yellow-tinted
picture of a slightly-built woman who Ava assumed must be Cole’s mother: Angela
Thomas.  The woman’s cheekbones and distinctive eyes matched his, though
Cole’s tall frame and dark hair were clearly his father’s.  There were
occasional images of distant relatives, though most of the frames were
dominated by pictures of children.  They leaped from infancy through
childhood and on into adulthood under Ava’s gaze.  There were a boy and a
girl in many of them: the girl, older and fairer, the boy, younger and
darker.  Ava decided these must be Cole and Hanna.  In one, Cole,
perhaps four or five, was looking up at Hanna while she balanced on the steep
edge of a boat’s gunwale, hands upraised, laughter in her open mouth and
crinkled eyes.  Cole’s face, oblivious to the photographer, was bright
with joy, mouth half-open as he shouted up to her.  It made Ava’s throat
hurt to see them together, knowing what fate had waiting for them.

Pulling herself
out of her reverie, Ava saw that Cole standing near the window, his face turned
to the crashing waves.  He had his hands clutched tightly behind his back,
a muscle in his jaw ticking like a metronome.  Nina stood next to Cole’s father,
her pink-lipsticked mouth composed in a nervous smile.  Everyone seemed to
be waiting for something to happen. 

Catching Ava’s
eye, Nina took an anxious step forward, her hands once again clasped before
her, as if ready to perform.

“So, Cole,” she
said, her voice unsteady.  “You haven’t really introduced us to your
girlfriend, yet.” 

Cole glanced
back from the window.  His eyes were half-lidded, face cold.

“Right.”

He placed
himself at Ava’s side, but she noticed how he didn’t touch her, just
gestured.  That bothered her; the distance between them.  There was a
growing tension in the room and Ava didn’t know
why
.

“Nina. 
Dad,” Cole muttered, aloof and distant.  “This is Ava Brooks.  She’s
the artist I mentioned when I was here in the Fall.”

Frank Thomas’s
eyes snapped to her face at those words.

“The painter,”
he grumbled, “the girl who does
graffiti
.” 

The word
‘graffiti’ came out like a curse.  Ava was shocked to see Cole’s father
scowling, his eyes small and beetling behind his thick glasses.  It riled
her... the way he was sneering.  The use of the word ‘
girl’
had her
hackles rising. 

For a moment, no
one moved, and it seemed they might be at an impasse.  Seizing the moment,
Ava stepped forward.
  ‘Easier to ask forgiveness than permission,’
an internal voice whispered.

“Yup,” she said
boldly.  “Graffiti artist.  That’s me.” 

She grinned,
extending her hand to him.  Unlike Nina, Frank took her hand and brusquely
shook it, dropping it immediately.  (She had the distinct impression he
wanted to wipe his hand.)

“It’s good to
finally meet you,” Nina twittered when Frank didn’t respond, her eyes darting
uneasily between Cole and Ava and Frank.  “Cole’s mentioned you a number
of times, dear.  You sound like you have a very...
interesting
approach to art.”

Ava smiled,
tension easing slightly.  Next to her, Cole turned to stare out the far
windows again, disengaged from the conversation. 

“It’s not
actually that uncommon,” Ava answered, her attention focused on Nina. 
“Cole and I attended a showing by a graffiti artist a few weeks
ago.   It's slowly being accepted as an art form.”

Cole’s
stepmother nodded sagely.

 “You know,
that’s very true.  When I was a journalist, there were war protesters
who—”

“The
illegal
nature of your...
artwork...”
  Frank interrupted, voice hard. 
“That doesn’t
bother
you at all?”

Cole’s eyes
jumped back at the sound of his father’s words.  For a second, Ava stared
at Frank.  It felt like she’d been slapped.

“Excuse me?”

Nina gasped,
turning to her husband and mouthing something, but he pushed on.

“Well, you’re
defacing public property when you do it. 
Right, Booker?
”

His words were
harsh and bitter.  He pronounced her tag (
‘why did Cole tell him
that?!?’
) like it was a dirty word and her ire rose.  For a moment, Ava
was fourteen years old again, sitting in a metal chair at the police station,
watching her father talking to the officer at the front desk.  She could
see him perfectly, how Oliver kept reaching for his cigarettes then dropping
his hand again, face torn with anguish.  The disappointment in his eyes
when he finally looked at her…  she blinked, the image gone.

Without warning,
Ava’s slow-burning anger flared to life.  This was
not
what she
expected from the visit.

“The fact is,
Mr. Thomas...”

“
Sergeant Major
Thomas,” he corrected.  Another verbal slap.

“Fine.” 
Ava hissed, fury flashing like a pulse of light in her mind. “As I was
saying...
Sergeant Major Thomas
...” She dragged his rank out
angrily.  “The fact is, graffiti is becoming respected within the art
community as a completely legitimate art form.   In fact, I’ll be
part of a show at the
National Gallery
next summer.  For
graffiti.
” 

She emphasized
the word like a curse, underlining it insolently with her tone.  When no
one answered, Ava smirked, leaning forward, hands on hips.

“You’re welcome
to come if you’d like,” she taunted.

“Huh.”  He
hadn’t moved, but his hands closed tightly, knuckles white.  “I rather
doubt
your work would interest me.”

Ava held back
the urge to swear.  His tone was
exactly Cole
when he was pissed
off.  (Now she knew who he got his temper from.)

“Yes...” she
continued, voice falsely sweet, though her hands perched on her hips had rolled
into fists.  “As a contemporary artist, my
medium
happens to be
graffiti.  But I’m classically trained in oils and acrylics as well.”

“Not
my kind
of artwork,” he scoffed, nose wrinkling as if he smelled something foul.

Next to Ava,
Cole let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head and walking away  from them
and back to the window.  He muttered something that sounded like
‘of
course.’
  His tone carried years of disillusioned hopes.  
Ava was
furious
that Cole had just left her to deal with the situation
alone.  She had no time to think about it, however, because Frank wasn’t
done.

“Not artwork
at
all
, if you ask me,” he sniggered.