The Golden Spiral (30 page)

“Good. If you forget something, or run into trouble, there is an intercom button on the wall by the door. Push that and I’ll either talk you through it or come in and help.”

“Thanks,” I said and tugged Dante toward the door.

As soon as we entered the first dark hallway, though, he stopped in his tracks. His breath quickened, harsh and ragged. “Wait,” he grunted.

I caught my breath. The hallway had made
me
feel slightly claustrophobic, and I wasn’t the one who had only recently been freed from a similar dark place. “Oh, no, Dante, I shouldn’t have made you come with me. We can go back. I didn’t think—”

He shook his head once sharply. “Just . . . give me a moment.” He closed his eyes and a shudder racked through him all the way to his fingers in my grasp. “It’s just . . . dark.”

“Dante—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “You asked me to come. I want to help.”

Worried lines creased my forehead. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated, then nodded. He squeezed my hand tight in his. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” I said, squeezing back. “Ever.”

I quickened my pace, leading him through the darkness and around the corners until we reached the laboratory-like room. As soon as we saw the glow of the soft white light, Dante’s breathing evened out and returned to a normal rhythm.

“You okay?” I asked as he sat down on the stool by the sink.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” he said, running his hand through his slicked-back hair and dislodging a stray lock. “I didn’t think it would be that bad.”

“It’s okay,” I said, rubbing his shoulder. “After what you’ve been through, I’d be more surprised if you hadn’t reacted to the darkness.”

“I want you to be able to depend on me,” he said. “I won’t let it happen again.”

My fingers automatically reached for the lock of his hair and tucked it back behind his ear. “I know,” I said, placing a small kiss next to his ear. “Now, you rest, and I’ll get to work.”

I reviewed in my mind the various steps Lizzy had walked me through, and then I took a deep breath and got started.

I selected a developing tank and found a spool that would fit the film from the Brownie camera. I found myself falling into a rhythm of movement as natural as breathing. Wind the film. Mix the chemicals. Agitate. Rinse.

Dante was quiet as I worked through the process. It was nice simply to share the space with him, knowing he was close by and there if I needed him.

Stop bath. Rinse. Fixer.

This was it. The most important step. The same heat I’d felt from the camera when I took Natalie’s picture seemed to permeate the developing tank in my hands. I closed my eyes and concentrated. I visualized the chemicals stripping away the silver from the film, slowly revealing a Natalie who was reversed in black and white. I imagined her face, her eyes, her smile. I focused on the idea of
fixing.
On
stability.
On being
unchangeable.

No, not entirely unchangeable. I still wanted Natalie to be able to change and grow and become the person she wanted to be. But I wanted the changes to come about as a result of her own choices. Not because of someone else’s whim or because someone else forced his will on her life.

The heat in the tank seemed to intensify. I hoped that meant that I was on the right track and that it was working.

My muscles protested the constant agitation of the tank, but I didn’t dare hand it off to Dante. If there was something about me that helped protect the river and keep it stable, then I wanted that same mysterious something to help me finish Natalie’s picture.

The clock finally granted me permission to stop, and I poured out the fixer with its dangerously beautiful silver crystals into the container. I set the tank down in the sink and turned on the water. I was proud to note that my hands hadn’t shaken once.

Dante watched me with curious eyes, and I suspected he was taking notes, studying my every move. With his mind and skill, I wouldn’t be surprised if by the next time we needed to develop a picture, he would be able to do it by himself.

I peeled back the top of the tank and hung the film up to dry in the cabinet.

“How long until it dries?” Dante asked quietly, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

He smiled the small smile I loved so much. “Good.” He opened his arms and I sank onto his lap. Wrapping his arms loosely around my waist, he let me rest my head on his shoulder.

We sat like that together in a comfortable, and comforting, silence. As often happened when we were close, I felt the time around us change its pace, slowing down a little, and I was grateful for the small moment we had to rest and reconnect. Our breathing fell into the same even rhythm. Our heartbeats echoed each other until they sounded like one single, unbroken pulse.

After a time, Dante ran his fingertips up and down my spine. I arched my back like a cat waking from a long sleep.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” I said, nestling closer to him, my head fitting naturally along the curve of his neck.

He tilted his head down and the movement loosened that same unruly lock of hair; it brushed against my cheek, the ends tickling my nose. “I missed you, Abby. More than I can say.”

“I’m here now. And you promised me a story, you know,” I reminded him. “Maybe we can pretend we’re sitting on a grassy hill underneath a tree instead of in a darkroom surrounded by chemicals. What do you say?”

He chuckled. “How can I refuse?”

“You can’t,” I teased. “Now, tell me a story. Tell me how you met da Vinci.”

“Once upon a time,” he began, his voice rumbling deep in his chest, “there was a boy. He was a very smart boy, talented and artistic—”

“I’ll bet he was good with his hands,” I said, capturing one of Dante’s hands with my own and measuring the length of my fingers against his.

“As a matter of fact, he was. Now stop interrupting,” Dante said in a teasing tone, but he didn’t move his hand away from mine.

“Sorry,” I said with a smile.

“So this smart and talented and artistic boy had a dream. Even though he lived in a small village, he had heard about a great man named Leonardo da Vinci. His dream was to meet the man who imagined so many wonderful and amazing things, who could paint such beautiful pictures. He thought for sure that if he could just meet da Vinci, the boy would be able to convince da Vinci to teach him all his secrets.”

“I think I already know how this story ends,” I said.

“Hush,” Dante said, placing his finger on my mouth. “You asked for the story of how I met him, not what happened after that.”

I straightened a little in Dante’s lap. “Then tell me the story like it happened to you, not to someone else.”

Dante was quiet, and for a moment I worried that my tone had been more bossy than I had intended and that maybe he wouldn’t finish the story. Then he spoke, and his voice was softer, weighed down with memory.

“It was early spring—May, I think. I remember the sunshine was so bright that day I thought I could see stars out of the corner of my eyes. I was fifteen. Everyone in the village knew that da Vinci and his household had been visiting the Servite monks. But what not everyone knew was that the monks had offered a workshop space for da Vinci. And what even fewer people knew was that da Vinci was willing to allow someone to join his group of assistants. Someone local. And only one.”

“How did you find out about it?” I asked.

“My mother’s cousin was a laundress for the monastery.” Dante’s fingers returned to their slow journey up and down my back. “Mother knew how much it would mean to me to be able to meet him, so she convinced my father to take me to the workshop. It was a long journey, but I didn’t mind. Somehow difficulties are easier to endure when you know your dream is waiting for you at the end.”

I knew how that felt. I closed my eyes, listening to Dante’s voice and enjoying the light touch of his fingers on my back.

“I expected to see a huge crowd at the workshop. I mean, it was the chance of a lifetime. But there were only a handful of people wandering through the courtyard, and most of them were monks hurrying to afternoon prayers.”

“Were you the only one who answered the call?”

“No, there were three other boys there with me. I knew two of them—Pieter and Bernardo—from my village. The third was a stranger to me. We stood clustered in a group in a corner of the courtyard waiting for something to happen, for someone to come. More monks came and went. Hours passed and the afternoon moved toward evening. But still nothing happened. The father of the third boy finally put his hand on his son’s shoulder, turning him away and saying something about wasting a whole day on nonsense.

“I didn’t mind the wait. I loved watching the monks cross the stones on their well-worn paths to prayer. They were so graceful; it was like they were dancing. While I was watching them, I noticed one of the monks drop something from his robe. A shiny, silvery something that glittered. Without thinking, I darted forward, grabbing the object and turning to find the monk it belonged to. But it was no use. There were too many of them, all dressed in the same brown robes, and they all said the small object didn’t belong to them.”

“What was it?” I asked, lulled by the story. “The object you found?”

“It was a disc of silver about the size of my palm. It was smooth on the concave side and there was a snakeskin pattern on the curved side.”

“Sounds pretty,” I said, dreamily.

“My father called out to me, gesturing for me to come back, to stop bothering people. On my way back to the group, I noticed that the pillar by the corner had the same snakeskin pattern around the base. Looking closer, I also noticed that there were gaps in the pattern. Voids that were about the size and shape of the disc I held in my hand.”

“Let me guess—you fit the piece into the pattern,” I said.

“Do you want to tell this story?” Dante teased.

“No. But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Dante laughed. “Yes, you are right. I knelt down and placed the disc into one of the openings. It fit perfectly.”

“Like Cinderella’s glass slipper.”

“Who’s Cinderella?”

“Sorry—it’s an old fairy tale. I forget that your childhood stories aren’t the same as mine. Go on. What happened next?”

Dante shifted me on his lap. “The next thing I remember is seeing a pair of shoes step around the pillar and stand next to me. I looked up and . . . it was him. Leonardo da Vinci. He was standing right in front of me. As though he’d been waiting for me. I stepped back in surprise.”

I felt a tingle pass through me. It was strange to think that the person I was talking to had been talking directly to Leonardo da Vinci roughly three years ago. “What did you say?” I whispered.

Dante smiled. “Nothing. I didn’t know what to say. My father, of course, wouldn’t stop apologizing for my actions. But then da Vinci looked right at me and said, ‘Come to my studio tomorrow and I will put you to work.’”

“He picked you? Just like that?” I said, leaning back in Dante’s arms in surprise.

“Just like that.” Dante nodded, his pride still strong even at the memory. “Of course Pieter’s father and Bernardo’s father both protested, each man claiming that his son should be chosen. Da Vinci held up his hand for silence. I’ll never forget his words. He said, ‘You were all given the same chance. This day was your test. The monk who dropped the scale did so at my request. I was watching to see what you would do. I need someone who can wait with patience, and yet know when it is time to act without fear. Someone who is able to see patterns even when none may be obvious. Someone who can also express his own artistic viewpoint.’ Then he pointed at me again. ‘I want someone who will leave the world a more beautiful place than he found it.’”

“Wow,” I breathed. It was no wonder da Vinci had picked Dante as one of his assistants. Dante was exactly what da Vinci was looking for.

Dante was quiet for a moment or two. “And that’s the story of how I met Leonardo da Vinci.”

“What would have happened to you if you hadn’t gone to work for da Vinci?”

Dante shrugged. “I probably would have worked for my father as an assistant in his apothecary shop.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been a bad life. But it wasn’t the life I wanted.”

I huffed out a half laugh. “
This
probably wasn’t the life you wanted either.”

“You’re wrong. This is exactly what I wanted.”

“It is?” I looked up at him.

He nodded somberly. “All I wanted was a life where I could learn new things. Where I could use and develop my talents. But most of all, I wanted a life that I could share with someone I could love beyond myself.” His gray eyes reminded me of high, clear skies at twilight. “Then. Now. It doesn’t matter, as long as I have you beside me. As long as I can be a part of your life.”

“You’re the best part of my life,” I said, caressing his cheek. “And you always will be.”

“Always?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“And forever,” I confirmed. And then I kissed him.

Chapter