by Danika Stone
They’d announced the flight from Sydney on the screens above the gate as “arrived”, so Oliver had to be nearby. On the far side of room, the baggage carousel began turning and various articles of luggage began falling out of the chute. Ava’s hands had risen to her sides now and the bouncing had increased in tempo until it was almost a hop. Cole sighed. He didn’t remember ever being so eager about someone’s return before.
Cole recalled the awkward embraces of a man who was, for the most part, a complete stranger. Franklin Thomas had always seemed bigger than life to him; his growling voice and heavy hands a part of a legend, not a real father at all. The arrivals gate and Ava faded in intensity as Cole was tugged back to another sepia-tinted time.
He’d been five years old then, his mother holding his hand on one side, Hanna on the other...
Cole had cried all the way out to the airport and his mother had been angry, snapping at him in the car and earning more tears. Six months was a lifetime for a five-year-old, and Cole's memory of the man from the summer had long since faded into shadows. The image of his father was a murky stranger who’d – once upon a long-ago time – sat in the empty chair in the den.
Someone from a fairy tale, not real at all.
His absent presence was imbued with ghostly terror, as Cole’s mother used him as a threat. ‘You wait until your father got back...’ was one of her favourite warnings. It left Cole hesitant and crying on the day of his return, his mother furious.
“Stand up straight,” she hissed, pinching his fingers together.
Angela Thomas had always been an anxious parent, but the arrival of her husband on leave a few times a year threw her tenuous balance out of alignment. Her children’s behaviour became the barometer by which she measured the success of these visits; the pressure on Cole and Hanna was immense.
“Ow, Mom,” Cole whined, eyes swimming with tears, “that hurts.”
He could feel his chest tightening (a sure sign he was going to start bawling) and then Cole knew she’d start shouting. If he wasn’t able to stop, she’d start crying too. That was when things got really bad.
Cole’s breaths came in sharp pants and he frowned, his tiny face folding into an expression that would one day etch a permanent line between his eyebrows, trying to force the tears away by will alone. At five, he was used to being in bed by seven o’clock, and his father was scheduled to arrive at nine… a father who’d been away so many months Cole no longer knew him.
“Don’t you start crying again, young man,” Angela commanded, her fingers tightening into a vise. “Your father will be here any minute and I want you standing tall when he arrives.”
Cole sniffled just as Hanna looked down at him, catching his eye. She was older by four and a half years, though to Cole it felt like a lifetime. He adored his older sister; she was everything that Cole couldn’t be. Standing in the airport, Hanna winked, then made a funny face – letting her eyes wander together and then out again (something Angela absolutely abhorred). Cole giggled and sniffed once more before the quivering of his lip had finally stopped.
Cole worshipped Hanna. Her carefree grin and easy-going attitude made her the favourite of both of Cole’s parents and all of their friends. Hanna had a joke for everything, and she included Cole in all of her games. Hanna had dreams of being an astronaut or a firefighter. (“Girls can’t be firemen,” Cole argued, but Hanna knew better. She knew everything.) She was light-haired like their mother, but she was – even then – their father’s favourite. Late at night, Cole listened to Hanna’s quiet voice in the darkness, telling him stories of adventurers and explorers and the feats they’d done.
Here in the airport, Cole’s eyes were on Hanna’s face.
“It’s alright, buddy,” Hanna whispered. “Just do what I showed you, okay?”
Hanna gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his fingers three times – their secret code for ‘I love you’ – and Cole nodded in response. He and Hanna had been practising this for days. He had no idea what it meant, but he was going to do it. Hanna had asked, and that was reason enough.
He’d do anything for her.
Up ahead, a dark-haired man in a neatly pressed suit stepped through the arrivals gate. His face was tired, his shoulders bowed by the pressures of military life. He lifted his hand in greeting as he saw them, a wan smile on his lips. Seeing this signal, Angela put a tight hand on the children’s shoulders, pushing them forward.
Following Hanna’s lead, Cole stepped up next to his sister and pulled into a sharp salute. Frank Thomas – just a Major at this time – paused in surprise, then smiled proudly seeing the display, his barking voice leaving Cole trembling where he stood.
“Now that’s a soldier’s welcome!” he said with a laugh. Angela came running forward, stepping into his arms, the two of them doing an awkward dance as they embraced over his baggage.
Cole was still scared, but his sister was there beside him and that meant he was safe. He held his shaking hand to his forehead, waiting to be released, his eyes on Hanna...
Cole pulled out of his memory as Ava waved frantically back and forth, her broad grin making her look like a child. Cole watched as Oliver waved through the glass dividers separating them. Ava’s father had a matching grin – an older bookend of Ava’s – making him completely recognizable amongst the crowd.
He was a little shorter than Cole and had a loose-framed build. His colouring was reminiscent of Ava’s, his greying hair darker than hers by two or three shades. The blue eyes and bowed lips were exactly the same and Cole found himself noting the details of their shapes, the resemblance uncanny. Oliver’s clothing was rumpled and worn. He wore a steel grey suit, the sleeves rolled up atop a black band shirt. His hair brushed his collar and he sported a scruffy beard. Around his neck was a leather necklace with several aboriginal beads in the centre.
‘A character...’
The second Oliver emerged, Ava bolted, sprinting forward and throwing her arms around her father, legs leaving the ground. Ava was crying and laughing, her face lit from within. Her father grinned, trying to pull back so he could take a look at her, their love a tangible thing. Not once did Cole remember running to see his father. There was a new emotion in his chest. He didn’t quite have a word to describe what it was, but it left him aching for something he never had.
Homesick for a place that didn’t exist.
Shifting awkwardly, Cole waited through their embrace. As Ava stepped back, Oliver slung his arm over Ava's shoulders, then turned to Cole . The older man stepped forward, sticking out his hand, beaming happily.
“You must be Cole,” he said, taking his hand in a firm grip. “It’s great to meet you! Ava’s mentioned you a number of times. Feels like I already know you.”
Cole glanced to Ava, feeling off-kilter. He’d introduced her to Nina and his father, but only for the worst possible reasons. Ava smiled at him, her face softer than usual. Younger.
“I’ve heard a lot about you too, sir.” Cole said. He stepped back, unsure what else to do.
“Nobody calls me ‘sir’,” Oliver said with a chuckle, “I’d rather avoid that if I can. Sounds like I’m going to try to sell you shares in a pyramid scheme.”
“Dad…” Ava groaned.
“Right,” Cole mumbled nervously.
“Oliver’s fine, Cole, just fine,” he said cheerfully. “It is good to meet you.”
“You too, sir... I mean Oliver. Sorry,” Cole stammered, shaking his head, “military father. Old habits die hard.”
“No problem,” he laughed. “But don’t expect me to answer to it.”
Ava rolled her eyes.
“Like you’d ever choose not to talk,” she teased. “Get Dad going on any topic, and he could yak on forever.”
Oliver chuckled, motioning for the two of them to follow him to the luggage pick-up. Ava squeezed Cole’s hand as they walked together. For the first time since he was introduced, Cole felt the tightness across his chest ease.
‘He�
��s a lot like Hanna,’ his mind offered. He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from.
In minutes, the bags came around the carousel and Oliver began passing a seemingly endless number of them to Cole and Ava. They were weighed down by luggage, each shouldering a heavy load. Oliver grinned as he passed more items, adding one after the other until they were almost comically laden with suitcases and duffel bags.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he ordered in mock-seriousness, passing the luggage around, “you’re both young... carry your share here, people!”
“Geez, Dad,” Ava said with a snort, “You think you brought enough crap back?”
Oliver chuckled, nodding.
“Well, I tried for the kitchen sink too, but I couldn’t find a bag big enough to fit.”
Ava groaned.
“How long have you been working on that joke, Ollie?”
He chuckled, bumping into her so that she knocked into Cole, almost unsettling his load. The three of them laughed, voices rising together. Cole grinned, watching them.. ‘Ava’s right,’ he realized, ‘Oliver is a lot like an older version of Chim…’
“Long enough that I should be getting some laughter out of it. Christ – you’re a hard crowd.”
Ava and her father began to tease and harass one another, jostling back and forth. ‘This is how reunions should be,’ he thought, ‘with jokes and laughter and a girl bouncing back and forth in excitement. Not standing stiff and uncomfortable and afraid.’
Oliver gestured them toward the doors.
“Might as well get moving. I’m on Sydney time and my body’s starting to shut down here.”
The group slowly made their way through the doors to the sidewalk. Ava dumped her bags first, turning to the two men beside her.
“If you guys don’t mind waiting, I’ll grab the truck,” she offered.
Oliver and Cole settled their loads onto the cement as Ava jogged off, leaving the two men together. The older man pulled out a pack of cigarettes, cupping his hand around the end as he lit it, then taking a long draw. His eyes drifted over to Cole. The blue depths were still warm, but they’d taken on a serious cast. It struck Cole that Ava’s father was measuring him up.
“So, have I scared you away from my daughter yet, Cole?” Oliver asked. He smiled as he said it, but there was a subtle challenge underscoring his words.
“W- what?” Cole stammered, unnerved.
Oliver took a pull on his cigarette, the ember flaring. Cole found himself drawn to the light at the end, unable to look away. It felt like the ground was moving under his feet, things unsettled. He was suddenly desperate for Ava to return.
“You’re standing on the outside here,” Oliver said, gesturing to Cole, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he talked. “You’re watching the two of us... but you’re someplace else, Cole. Makes me wonder why.”
Oliver tipped his head in an exact reproduction of Ava often made, the gesture unsettling Cole with the similarity. Ava’s warning from before was ringing in his ears: ‘He has this way of reading people, knowing things about them that he shouldn’t be able to tell… I don’t know how to describe it better than that. He’s just really good at understanding what makes people tick.’
“I was… I was just thinking about some things that happened when I was a kid,” Cole admitted. “Kind of… threw me off a bit.” He still felt off balance, but he was determined to make this work. “And no, sir, you haven’t scared me off yet.”
“Oliver,” the man laughed. “Sir. Sounds like someone I wouldn’t trust.”
Cole ducked his chin, blushing.
“Right… sorry… I’ll um… I’ll try to remember that.”
Oliver was still chuckling when as Ava's black truck rolled to a stop beside them. He stepped forward, tossing his arm over Cole's shoulder.
“Glad to hear you’re up for the challenge,” Oliver said with a grin, jabbing his thumb into the centre of his own chest. “‘Cause Ava’s worth any of the baggage that comes with her.”
Cole glanced up to see Ava watching them. There was a wary expression on her face. He wanted to answer ‘so am I’... but he wasn’t sure he entirely believed it.
Chapter 37: Echoes
The next night, the three of them ate at Ava’s apartment. ‘Ava and her father’s apartment,’ Cole mentally corrected. He was still feeling a bit thrown by her father’s arrival. He liked Oliver; that wasn’t the issue. It was that the interaction between Ava and her father left Cole an outsider more often than not. As he stood in the hallway holding a bouquet of Gerber daisies and a bottle of wine, he had that same feeling once more.
Ava answered the door wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. Silver earrings – a late Christmas gift from her father – dangled from her ears. She grinned as he stepped inside.
“Thanks, Cole,” she said, taking his gifts. “But you didn’t have to. I mean this is nice and all.” They stood at the bottom of the stairs, but she still leaned in, dropping her voice. “You’re in, okay? Stop trying so hard. My dad really likes you.”
Cole forced a smile, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants.
“I’m glad... I just... I want to do this right.”
Ava chuckled, putting her hands over his shoulders, the flowers grazing the back of his head.
“Stop worrying about messing up,” she said, brushing her lips against his. “Just be yourself. That’s enough. Okay?”
“I’ll try,” he answered.
The tightness in his chest eased with the unspoken message: ‘We’re in this together.’ Cole pulled her closer, letting his body relax into the familiar curves of her form. Ava turned her mouth to his ear, voice quiet and only for him.
“Love you,” she whispered. “That’s the only thing you need to remember.”
: : : : : : : : : :
Oliver cooked the meal. It was a mish-mash of dishes from different cultures, almost none of which Cole recognized. Several were heavily curried, and two were hand-rolled sushi, but other than that, Cole couldn’t identify the origins. It didn’t matter, because they were delicious. The three of them ate together, laughing and joking as the evening wore on. The wine Cole brought was gone by the end of the second course and they switched to sake at that point. Another first for him.
Ava and Cole planned to meet Suzanne and Chim at the Crown and Sceptre to celebrate New Years at midnight, but dinner and the hours after were devoted to visiting with Ava’s father. Again, Cole noticed the genuine respect between them. They had an easy familiarity, friends as much as family. Every so often, Ava’d jokingly called him “Ollie” and he’d tease her with “Kiddo.” It was clear this small family had always been one of love.
Their interactions occasionally brought up Cole’s memories of his own parents... in particular, the lack of connection he felt with his father. Whenever it happened, he fell into a quiet lull. Once, he caught Oliver’s gaze on him – aware and somehow knowing he wasn’t there – and from then on Cole forced himself to stay in the present.
Oliver and Ava were easy to be around, and the stories grew longer, the laughter becoming louder. Oliver described writing music and his process. How it was his darker memories that inspired him as much as his happier ones. Somehow, this led to a discussion of artwork and approach, technique and creativity.
“How about you, Cole?” Oliver asked, “You’re a sculptor. Do you have any ways of catching that moment of creation? Forcing your muse to comply?”
Cole sighed.
“It’s not always that easy for me... I fight it sometimes. I can’t seem to stay in flow like Ava does... ” He gave a half-hearted smile. “The last sculpture I did, I almost gave up on because I kept running into issues with the stone. Seams I couldn’t see kept forcing me to change plans. It drives me nuts, not being able to follow a plan through.”
Ava smiled to herself, then glanced at her father.
“It’s me, you know... in Cole’s sculpture. You’ll see it at the student show.”
<
br /> Cole shifted nervously, remembering the finished piece. In some ways, it was even less realistic that Ava’s paintings.
“Sort of,” he said with a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, it’s inspired by Ava... but it’s not Ava exactly.”
“Am I blue?” she asked, winking.
Cole choked on a mouthful of sake, coughing before answering. He reached out, placing his hand on top of hers.
“No... it’s just raw stone, but you can paint it after the show if you want. Then it’ll match your painting of me.”
Lost in each other, the two of them didn't notice Oliver watching. After a moment, Ava’s father leaned back, crossing his arms.
“I think sometimes in artwork or writing or music, you discover something that just needs to be created. It’s not even something that you want to create... You’re just pulled into it like an instrument. Like you’re part of a bigger plan...”
Cole was drawn into his words. He very rarely reached that point himself: where things just flowed without effort. Watching Ava as she’d painted him, Cole had become frustratingly aware of just how much easier it was for her to create.
“Except...” Ava added, pointing to her father.
Oliver grinned.
“Except – as Ava just reminded me – you’ve always got choice. You don’t have to take a piece of music or artwork in a particular direction, but the harder you fight it, the worse it is to arrive at your destination. But there are always other paths... other doors... other decisions.”
He sighed, patting his shirt pocket, and Cole somehow knew that if they were outside, he’d be lighting a cigarette.
“Sometimes,” Oliver continued, “I have this mental vision of how a particular piece of music is going to play out, but when I bring bow to strings, an entirely different song is waiting there for me in the ‘in between.’ You have to be open to that... sort of like getting a hint of it from the future... like an echo of something that hasn’t happened yet...”
