by Danika Stone
Cole looked at her. The lines around his eyes were there again, the ones she recognized from that night at the gallery. He forced a wan smile.
“It’ll be better with you there,” he said.
She nodded and he reached out, running his finger along her cheek. Ava turned up the radio, trying desperately to quell her anxiety. Half an hour later, Cole spoke again.
“That’s it there,” he muttered irritably. “You’ll see the sign near the gate.”
They could see the Thomas home from the highway, and Ava absorbed details before they arrived. The Thomas home was a two-story Cape Cod-style manse with white trim and a deep front porch wrapping around the house. It was the kind of place where you sat on a porch swing and drank lemonade in summertime. A place for dinner parties and barbeques… or Christmas holidays like this. Traditional and elegant, the house reminded Ava of homes she’d seen in magazines with columned partitions and shuttered windows. Even the twinkling Christmas lights and the decorative greenery were tastefully done.
‘Perfect...’
She frowned, remembering the two-bedroom, one bathroom apartment she shared with her dad. She’d never felt embarrassed of where she came from… not until today. Cole might be attending art school on a scholarship — (a fact that made her wonder if his decision to attend was against his father’s wishes) — but it was obvious that he came from money.
The property was well-tended, with pruned hedges and shovelled walkways. Manicured trees broke up the lawn at intervals and flowerbeds, now covered with snow, protruded alongside the drive. The warm grey structure with its red-bricked base faced the ocean on one side and had a low-sloping lawn on the other. There were decorative ribbons on the two brick pillars marking the main entrance. Someone had obviously spent many years making this house a showpiece.
“Looks nice and festive,” Ava said brightly.
There was no answer.
She took a peek at Cole. He was slumped low in his seat, his knee jiggling. The silence dragged on until Ava turned the truck onto the main drive.
“Very Christmas-y,” Ava muttered, half to herself.
“That’s Nina’s doing,” Cole answered dully.
Ava carefully drove down the wide driveway, wondering absently who plowed it in the winter. The upkeep had to be enormous to keep a property this extensive looking picture-perfect. Parking at the house, her eyes darted around, capturing final details. She felt like she had at Kip Chambers’ after party, trying desperately to be something (or someone) she wasn’t. She noticed a flag on the front lawn.
“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.
Chapter 21: The Lion’s Den
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.
“Oh really,” Ava replied, narrowing her eyes and tipping her head to the side. “Can I ask you, Sergeant Major Thomas, sir... what exactly is YOUR expertise when it comes to painting? Please share that with me. I’d love to hear all about it.
Ava stepped forward, invading his space as she said it, and she caught the exact moment that his eyes flared open. Furious. She had a reckless urge to push him harder. Because she just knew he was going to push back. She wanted him to.
‘Can’t fucking wait...’ the angry part of her mind prompted. It was always there – her darker side – the part of Ava that needed to use fists or spray cans to display its anger. That part was laying in wait, and today it was suddenly back.
Ready.
He had just opened his mouth to answer when Nina stepped between them, her narrow shoulder blocking his next words.
“Oh goodness, Ava dear,” she said, her hands fluttering up to her chest. “Would you... uh... would you mind giving me a hand? I’ll... um... I’ll need a bit of help in the kitchen... if you don’t mind, that is... Get the coffee going and all that.”
Her words tumbled out in rapid succe
ssion, cheeks flushed and red. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed hold of Ava’s arm and practically dragged her out of the room.
Ava grimaced.
‘This is going to be a long fucking weekend.’
: : : : : : : : : :
Cole had known bringing Ava home would bother his father. He’d been counting on it, actually. But it was almost comical how quickly the sparks had started. Something almost like guilt tickled lightly at the edges of his chest, but he pushed it away under a layer of resentment.
His father deserved this.
Frank stared at the doorway as Nina’s shoes tapped down the hall to the kitchen. ‘Never used to wait for Hanna and I to get out of the room...’ Cole thought, gritting his teeth. The marriage of Angela and Frank Thomas had been loudly unhappy. There were no quiet talks in the study for them.
‘Not like now…’
Frank spun on his son the second the two women disappeared around the corner.
“You have a lot of nerve bringing a girl like that into my house!” he snarled, his voice thunderous. “She’s got absolutely no manners, she is obnoxious, vulgar, arrogant and—”
“I really don’t give a shit for your opinion,” Cole snapped back. “Nina told me I could bring her for Christmas, and I did. Ava’s my girlfriend. Deal with it!”
The older man stepped forward, and Cole sneered, wondering if – as he hoped – he was going to be asked to leave before the four days were actually over.
“Cole, if that… that... girlfriend... of yours wrecks this holiday for us, I’m going to hold you personally responsible for it.”
Cole smiled at him, but it was devoid of warmth.
“Yes, Dad. I’m sure you will.”
Chapter 22: Safety Valve
Nina prattled nervously while Ava sat at the counter on a wooden stool. The kitchen – like the rest of the house – was elegant in its understated beauty. The cupboards were pale cream panels with a beaded backboard, the counters granite, the appliances brushed steel. Around the room, small ornaments – a bowl of dried flowers, framed children’s artwork, embroidered tea towels – gave homey touches to the room.
