Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (4 page)

‘How the fuck would
he know?’
Cole’s mind hissed,
‘he wasn’t there anyhow...’ 

Marta nodded and
prompted Frank to continue, attempting to lure Cole into the conversation.  He
gave monosyllabic answers, letting his father’s words wash over him like the
tide.  His responses grew further and further apart until they drowned him.

Now he sat in
silence.

Cole’s body was
here, but he was floating somewhere and sometime else… wishing himself back to
Ava.  Thinking about the student show that opened this Friday at the University
Gallery.  Reliving his hopes that Ava would like the statue he had created of
her.  Joking with Chim in the hardware store again, teasing him about his love
of woodworking equipment (though Marcus had failed his only sculpture class).
Fighting Kip Chambers in the alley…

Anywhere but
here.

“...and it was a
hard life,” his father rambled, “I mean, I was working on my career, but Angela
was a fine mother.  Yes, she always kept good care of the kids.  Had them
well-dressed and fed all on her own.  Mind you, most women stayed home in those
days.  She loved Hanna and Cole more than anything.  Could never fault her on
that...”

Cole’s eyes
drifted to the window.  The last week had been warmer on the coast and the
humidity and wind had completely dispersed the snow.  He missed the white
crispness of it.  (A clean sheet hiding dingy bedclothes.)  The day outside the
window was a dull, muddy brown, the slate grey sky hinting at bad weather.  For
a moment, Cole wished he was out there on the ocean in a boat, moving across
the water.

Free.

“Now, Cole,”
Marta said, pulling his attention back, “do you have any memories of your
mother you wanted to share?  Anything about the time when your father was
away?”

He blinked,
remembering her standing at the kitchen window, knuckles pressed against her
mouth, trying to hold in sobs.  He blinked again, and she was gone.

“Nope.”

Marta nodded.
Frank took it as his cue to continue.

“Angela and I
had our issues, of course,” Frank grumbled, “but she was a good mother.  Hanna
thought the world of her...” his voice thickened. “Always thoughtful of how
Angela felt... of her emotions.  She was a good child.  So caring...”

Cole’s eyes
drifted to the window again. The clouds had a purple hue, reminding him of a
bruise across the sky.  Not a good time to be boating… perhaps just trawling
along the cliff’s edge instead.  Blending into the clouds and colours. 
Dissolving.

“How would you
describe your times together as a family?” the therapist prompted.

“We weren’t
happy, but we weren’t really unhappy either.  We had different ideas about 
marriage.  Angela was younger somehow... more naive.  I was on a career path. 
I had things to do, places to be...”

Cole sighed,
letting his eyelids half-close as his father’s voice wrapped the room in
shadowy tones, the words building walls between the two of them. 

“...I remember a
lot of family vacations together... and the kids playing in the ocean, once we
moved here.  It was good to have a home base.  Angela really made it hers. 
Hanna loved the water.”  Frank laughed, remembering.  “God, she was like a
fish.  We had some really good times there: barbeques on the beach and lobster
roasts... lots of good memories.  Hanna always used to say...”

Cole watched as
the ghost of his older sister wandered into the mediation room.  She was
grinning at him, her sun-streaked hair tumbling over her shoulders, nose
sunburnt pink and peeling.  She was so real he could almost reach out and touch
her.  Cole imagined her perched on the edge of their father’s chair, listening
to his words, legs swinging.  His sister would be teasing him if she was alive
(as she always did), correcting the stories in the way that only Hanna had ever
been allowed. 

She’d been the
favoured child
... the happy one.
 

In the
background, Cole’s father began another tale of his eldest child, the words
were nothing but the dull pound of the surf.  Meaningless and disconnected.  A
snippet from a Mari Evans poem, half-forgotten, shimmered across Cole’s
consciousness like sunlight catching on water. 

‘...Where have
you gone / with your confident / walk with / your crooked smile... / why did
you leave me / when you took your / laughter / and departed / are you aware
that / with you / went the sun / all light / and what few stars / there were?’

Across from him,
Hanna winked.

Cole’s
expression wavered, remembering  Hanna’s light next to his darkness.  His
thoughts pulled him further and further back through time, a net cast out into
deep water. 

“Cole…?”

The counsellor’s
voice interrupted his musings.  His head bobbed up like a sinker on a line.

 “And how about
you,” Marta said, “how would you describe your family, Cole?”

He took several
slow breaths, trying to focus on her question, his chest aching with the words
he could not say.

“Cole,” his
father growled in admonition.  Under the pain, a flicker of anger ignited.

“We
weren’t
a
family,” Cole sneered, turning back to the window.

Frank made a
disgusted clucking sound.  Cole knew that if they’d been at home without a
mediator, that statement would have already started a fight.   Marta leaned
forward, the long waves of her hair dropping like a curtain between her and
Frank.  She smiled gently.

“Could you
explain that to me, Cole?” she asked.

He narrowed his
eyes, pushing himself up and away from this place.  Out, out over the churning
water, out to the horizon where the clouds were turning black.  He was heading
into oblivion.  Skimming over the sea, moving so far and so fast that none of
this seemed real.

Far away from
here.

“No.”

Beside him, his
father cleared his throat and began speaking again.

“You know, I
think that things were just fine until Angela’s death, but with that, it really
started to get bad for Cole and me.  I mean, we just didn’t ever have a lot in
common…   Hanna went into the military like I had – a family tradition, you
know – but Cole had no interest in that.  Made no bones about saying it
either.  We  had different ideas of what was worthwhile, what was important. 
Now Hanna, though… she had an ease with people... a way about her.  A skill that
would’ve served her well in life.  If she’d lived, that is...”

Cole’s eyelids
fluttered as he saw the first flicker of lightning on the horizon, and he was
gone.

: : : : : : : :
: :

The room's deep
chairs and benign, hotel-room style paintings, had completely faded in Cole’s
mind, replaced by Hanna Thomas.

It was a summer
afternoon, and Cole’s sister was laughing and happy, the way she’d looked when
she’d graduated from high school.  The two of them were at the cove two or
three clicks beyond their parents’ house, cliff jumping.  Thirteen-year-old
Cole was in the water below, watching as Hanna walked to the edge of the cliff
face, high above him, grinning down.  Her voice echoed down as she called out
defiantly.  Cole’s sister, as always, was fearless.  (Tempting fate.)  In this
memory, he floated face-up in the water, watching with his heart in his throat
as Hanna threw herself from the precipice.

Her body formed
a jackknife halfway down, stretching out like an arrow as she plunged into the
inky depths.

Next to Cole’s
chair in this other place Frank Thomas stood up to leave.  Cole stumbled to
follow, sitting upright.

“Wait just a
moment, Cole,” Marta said, pulling him from the memory before Hanna
resurfaced.  “I need to talk to you for a little longer.”

He blinked
himself back into the therapist’s office.  His father stood, putting a square
fist out to shake Marta’s hand, assuring her that he looked forward to the next
session.  She gave him a pleasant goodbye, waiting with patient solemnity. 
Cole reached to pick up his coat.

“Hold on,” Marta
repeated, hand lifting as if she expected him to bolt.

At the door, his
father turned back, his face dark and brooding like the day beyond.

“It’s okay,”
Cole said, “Ava's coming by to pick me up anyhow, just in case...”

He left the rest
unspoken.

“Thanks again,
Frank,” Marta said brightly, waiting for him to go. 

As he headed for
the front foyer, the therapist peeked out the doorway, calling out to the
secretary at the desk.

“Just hold my
next appointment for five minutes, all right?”

Pulling the door
closed behind her, she gestured to the chair. Cole anxiously sat back down. 
There was a long, uncomfortable moment when she didn’t speak, just watched
him.  She took a heavy breath, as if measuring and weighing something.

“This isn’t
going to work,” she said.

Cole’s eyes
widened, his heart starting to pound.  He was trying here.  He wanted to get
past his issues... for Ava and for himself.  Wanted to—

“Cole, if you
want to resolve things with your father, then you’ll actually need to
participate.  I can’t...” she frowned, leaning back, her fingers running over
the seam on the chair's arm rest, “I can’t do this for you.  I can’t make you
better.  The work is yours, and I’m not sure you’re at a place that you can do
it yet.”

Cole felt
himself sinking.  It was like being dragged beneath the water's surface and
drowning, the rocks closer than they appeared.

“I don’t...”
Cole managed to say, “I don’t know how to try.”

Marta nodded,
sitting back up.

“I can help you
with that part... but only if you want to.  So I need to know,” she said, hands
opening before her, “is this something you want to do?  Is this worthwhile for
you?”

Cole swallowed,
feeling Oliver’s words in the room with them.

“Y-yeah, I do.”

Marta nodded.

“Alright then,”
she said calmly.  “The first thing we need to do is start meeting together.”

Cole frowned in
confusion.

“Sorry… what?”

“We need to talk
– just you and me – about your feelings.  About whatever it is that makes it so
difficult for you to talk to him here,” she said, gesturing to the now-closed
door, “and then when your father is here, you need to be willing to share that
with him.  So what do you think?”

For a moment
Cole flashed back to swimming in the cove with Hanna  The moments of dread
after she'd gone under, the fear that she’d never come back up again and Cole
would be left alone.  Waiting, terrified... and then the shaky relief when her
laughing face broke surface once more.

Here in Marta’s
office, he had the same feeling.

“I can do that.”

Ava waited in
her truck, her eyes on the monochrome street.  The light changed as afternoon
slowly wore away.  Earlier, there’d been a distinct lack of sharpness, just
dulled layers of grey, like a murky watercolour painting with too much ink
wash.  Now bands of light slanted down as the sun moved toward the horizon. 
Bright yellows eked out of the drab day, hints of O’Keefe’s bluish shadows in
the alleyways and under cars.  Ava smiled to herself, eyes half-shut, capturing
it all for later. 

‘Cole should be
here soon…’

A woman in a
black coat pulled the building's door open and disappeared. 

Another five
minutes passed.

The door opened
a second time and Frank Thomas strode out, face tipped into his collar.  It was
cold out, the wind coming gusty and brisk off the ocean as a winter storm
brewed in the distance.   Cole’s father looked tired, more careworn than he had
since the first weekend Ava visited.  Her shoulders tensed as she followed his
progress.  He was heading to his vehicle, a grey SUV parked a few spots down
from her own.

Seizing the
opportunity, Ava rolled down the window, leaning out.

“Hey there,
Sarge!” she called, grinning as he jerked up in surprise.  The first hint of a
smile pushed up one side of his mouth as he saw who it was.  He changed
direction, wandering over.

“Afternoon,
Ava,” Frank said, pausing by the window, his arm against the side of the
vehicle.  “What’d you and Nina get up to today?”

“She tried to
teach me to make crepes,” Ava scoffed.  “Not sure that she knew quite how
lacking I am in the kitchen.” 

 “She always
needs an assistant,” Frank offered.

“She did NOT get
an assistant though, she got me,” Ava giggled. Frank’s smile broadened.  “We
had to open all the doors to get the smoke out.  The fire alarm beeped for a
good ten minutes!”

His low chuckle
joined hers and for a moment everything felt easy and right.  Ava smiled to
herself. 
‘See…?  This is going to work.’