Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (18 page)

“You ever talk
to Marta about it in your sessions?” she asked.  “Or the ones with your dad?”

The suggestion
was disconcerting and he choked, the cold air turning his breath into white
clouds.

“Twice,” he
muttered.  “Dad freaked out.”

She nodded, her
thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand.  She chewed the inside of her
lip, eyes unfocused, as if gnawing away at an idea.  He had the urge to kiss
her, here on the grated step of the fire escape.  His heart ached with all the
things he wanted to tell her... needed her to know and understand about him.

“What do you
talk about in your sessions with your dad?” she asked gently.

He shrugged.

“Hanna mainly... 
Dad has lots to say about her.”

Ava's smile was
pained, as if the thought hurt her.  Somehow that made Cole feel better, that
she wasn’t making light of this.  He leaned in, kissing her chastely, then
pulled back again. He hadn’t let go of her hand.

“How do you feel
about Hanna?” she asked.

Cole made a low,
whistling sound as he exhaled, his body growing heavier as he thought about
her.  Hanna’s memory had been with him for so long; until recently, Cole hadn’t
known how to think of himself without the perspective of his older sister. 
(The person he wasn’t.)  In the last two months of counselling, he’d come to
realize that much of who he was had been shaped by Hanna Thomas.  As a result,
his perspective had changed about her. 

“What is she to
you?” Ava prompted.

His eyes drifted
out to the snow-covered city beyond the steps, velvet black lit by golden pools
of light, coins thrown atop an ink-soaked sheet.  That, he realized, was how he
remembered Hanna: individual bright moments lighting the darkness.  The group
were linked together in a chain of meaning. 

“I dunno,” he
began.  “I used to kind of idealize her like everyone else, but in the last few
months... writing about my feelings, and talking about it with Marta, that’s
changed. The shit Hanna used to pull... always taking risks she shouldn’t
have...”  He shrugged.  “You know, that stuff has consequences, but she didn’t
really care.  I guess I’ve come to realize that she was just a messed-up kid
like me.”

Ava slid closer,
her body tucked tightly against his side.  She leaned her head on his shoulder
as he talked.

“Everyone’s
messed-up, Cole... everyone.”

He chuckled.

“Hanna was great
in a lot of ways… an awesome sister.  I mean, I miss her... I love her.”  He
slumped lower, his limbs like an anchor, drawing him down to that darkness
inside himself.  “She was the cool older sister who kept care of me.  When I
was a kid, I used to get so angry with being compared to her, but Marta and I
have been talking about how that’s more my Dad’s problem than mine.  I never
really wanted to be Hanna.  Ever.  It was Dad’s thing.  I’m okay with that
now.”

Ava turned to
look up at him, her hair brushing his cheek like a paintbrush on canvas.

“But your issue
with your mom…?”

Cole’s smile
disappeared, like the sun going behind a cloud.

“Yeah, Mom…”

His voice
disappeared.  He stared out into the night. As much as memories of Hanna were
points of light, memories of his mother were darkness.  The emptiness between.

“You’re going to
need to talk about your anger with her sometime,” Ava said quietly. “You’re got
to deal with it, or it’ll never go away.”

She turned his
hand over, tracing letters into his palm. 

I…L.O.V.E…Y.O.U…

Cole glanced
down at her fingers, smiling. 

“Yeah,” he
answered, “I am.  But it isn’t going to be good, Ava… it’s just not.”

She moved away
from his shoulder to look him in the face.

“Why?”

He winced,
trying to put it into words.

“Dad just... he
has this thing about Mom.  They might’ve divorced and all, but she’s a really
sensitive topic for him.”

Ava shrugged.

“Maybe it’s
because they divorced.”

“Maybe...” he
answered, voice wavering.  There was something else there.  Cole had sensed it
for years, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know about the thing in the
darkness that no one spoke of.

Lost in his
thoughts, Ava’s voice startled him.

“You need to
push the issue, Cole,” she said firmly.  “Tell him how you feel.  Make him
talk!”

He wondered for
a moment where she got the strength to not give a damn about the consequences. 
Cole had spent his whole life running from conflict; Ava was always running
toward it.  He closed his eyes, imagining what would happen if he did tell his
father about his feelings.  If he pushed the issue as Ava’d suggested.  His
chest tightened at the thought. 

There would be
consequences. 

“You have to,”
she insisted.

He nodded.

Ava tipped her
head to the side like a bird examining a crumb, her face losing the seriousness
of seconds earlier.  She winked and brightened.

“Your dad’s not
so bad some days, you know... I’ve told him off and still walked away from it.”

Cole made a
scoffing sound.

“Yeah well,
Dad’s a little soft on you for some reason.”

She poked him in
the ribs with her elbow.

“Maybe that’s
because I call him on his shit and no one else does.”  She raised an eyebrow. 
(It was the look of someone who’d just walked out of the candy store with their
pockets full of candy.) “You ever think of that?”

Cole smirked.

“Yes, actually,
I have.”  He leaned closer.  “I told Marta about it.”

Ava’s expression
softened. 

“You did...?”

 “Yeah, in my
sessions... not the ones with Dad.” 

Ava watched him,
her lower lip caught in her teeth, a wrinkle of concern between her brows. 
Cole chuckled, his smile widening. 

“Of course I
did.  Why?”

She ducked her
chin into the collar of her coat, looking away with embarrassment.

“I dunno... just
seems, serious?” 

Cole could see
she was blushing, a line of pink rising up her neck.  He reached out, touching
her chin so that she turned back toward him.  She looked scared.

“We are
serious,” he whispered.  (It felt too important to say aloud.)  “I’m sorry,
Ava... about accusing you—”

“Cole,” she
interrupted.

“No,” he said,
taking Ava’s fingers with his left hand, and slinging his right arm around her
shoulder, “No, I need to say this.  I’m sorry about what I said.  I shouldn’t
have assumed anything... and you don’t have to tell me what you were doing.” 
He shrugged.  “I wish you had... but you didn’t have to.  I do trust you.”  He
shook his head.  “Yes, I know I’m a jackass sometimes, but when it comes down
to it, I really do trust you.  This is my issue.  Not yours.”

She smiled at
him.

“Thanks for
understanding, but the blame goes both ways....” she tightened her hand around
his.  “I should have tried harder, but I just... I had to do it myself, Cole. 
Can’t explain it better than that.  I couldn’t even tell my dad.”

Cole nodded,
then leaned in, kissing her lightly once more.  This time Ava's lips moved
under his, and their embrace grew more charged.  Like a night with a storm
brewing, the smell of ozone sharp in the air.  Their mouths slanted together,
growing rougher, all the pent-up emotions of earlier rising to the surface.  He
bit her lower lip, tugging her mouth open, and she gasped.  Her hands slid
around his neck.  Legs numb from the cold, she tugged him down, pulling him
against her.

The kiss dragged
on.  They were divers refusing to surface.  This here, this now, was all they
needed, both of them fighting to stay together, refusing to be the first to let
go.  Teeth and tongues and mouths slid together, nails scraping on
cold-stiffened jackets until finally – breathless and lightheaded – they fell
apart.  Their emotions churned like the rush of turbulent water still pressing
against them.

“Missed you,”
she panted.

Cole laughed
raggedly.

“Me too...”

He was about to
lean in and kiss her again, but Ava reached out for his chest, pausing him.

“Cole, if you
don’t mind... I had something I wanna do.”

“Okay...?”

“I though...
maybe...  you’d want to be part of it.”  She frowned, dropping her eyes.  “Can
I ask you something?  Like a favour?”

Cole could see
she was nervous; her face was guarded.

“Sure.”

Her lashes
settled closed, chest rising slowly and falling.  He waited.  When she opened
her eyes, the fear was gone.

“Could we have a
bonfire the next time we go out to your place?”

He grinned, not
quite understanding the request.  It seemed like a pretty easy thing to make
happen.

“Sure, I guess. 
But why?”

Ava turned to
the side, staring out into the dark.  In profile, her face was suddenly tired
and sad, and Cole felt the urge to wrap himself around her.  To protect her
from whatever was dragging her down.  He watched her throat bobbing as she
swallowed back tears, her knuckles coming up to rub angrily at her eyes.

“I’ve got some
paintings I want to get rid of,” she said roughly.  “And my mother’s ashes.

Ava scowled at
the zinc plate; one-tenth of the surface was pitted with the fine-toothed grain
of the mezzotint rocker, but the rest of the image was perfectly visible.  Her
arm burned; she was never going to get this done.

“Goddamn
motherfucker,” Ava growled, massaging her bicep. 

Cole snickered,
glancing up from his seat across the table from her, writing in his notebook
for Marta.  It was late, and the studio was empty, except for the two of them. 
Cole’s eighth plate had been finished since yesterday while Ava was struggling
to make up the missed time from earlier this week.  It might be Friday night,
but they wouldn’t be going out to The Crown with Suzanne and Chim. 

“You want some
help?” Cole asked, dropping his pen. 

Ava grimaced.

“I don’t want to
waste your time,” she mumbled.  “You have stuff to get done too.”

 “True...” Cole
admitted, his eyes devious, “but you could always make it worth my while.”

Ava snorted in
response.

“As fun as a
little ‘quick and dirty’ in the print lab sounds, I’m going to say no...”

Cole set down
his book, leaning across the table.  His wolfish grin left Ava fighting the
urge to giggle (or run).

“You know,” Cole
murmured, “they don’t have cameras in the studios, so, uh...”

A barking laugh
rose from her chest in an explosion of sound.  She cackled again, covering her
mouth with her hand.  When the giggles subsided, she pointed the rocker at him.

“Look, if I’m
not done with this plate, then I have to finish my essay for Wilkins.  It’s due
on Monday and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Shit!” Cole
hissed.  “I almost forgot...”  He  rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a
pile of crumpled papers.

“What?” Ava
asked, peering at his hands.

“Wilkins asked
me to give you this.  I totally forgot,” he answered, unfolding and flattening
a glossy brochure with his hands.  “There’s some kind of curatorial program
being offered next year.  Graduate level.  He thought you might be interested.”

Ava sneered in
disbelief.

“Really...? 
Me?” 

She waited for
the punchline that never came.

“Yeah, really,”
Cole said with a grin.  “He likes the way you think.  Called it ‘unique.’ 
Wilkins said to get in contact with him if you want.  It actually sounds kind
of cool.”

Ava gave the
brochure a sceptical once-over.

“Huh.  Didn’t
see that coming.”

Cole shrugged.

“I think I might
apply.”

Again, Ava
grinned and waited for the rest of the joke, but it never came.  The two of
them had argued endlessly about the flaws of the gallery system.  She’d never
imagined Cole going into that line of work.

“Yeah.” Cole
said, winking at her as he picked up his book and pen.

Ava put her
palms on the table, her hips against the side as she leaned in.  Cole’s eyes
flickered to her face, then down to her breasts, before going back to the
notebook.  She smirked. 

‘Cole Thomas has
a very one-track mind...’

“You don’t think
that’s going over to the dark side?” Ava teased. “Becoming a curator...”

Ava hummed a few
bars of the Emperor’s Theme from Star Wars.  Cole chuckled, and again there was
the flicker of eye movement.  Face.  Breasts.