Dante Johnson's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Charity had said she had time. Dante did not believe it would last. People opened a door, then found a reason to shut it. He needed something to keep her near without asking her to stay. So the next morning he knocked on her cottage door. "I'm going downtown," he said. "I need paint supplies, actually. For a project." It was a lie. He owned no brushes. But her face lit, and she grabbed her keys. They walked the row of shops together. Awnings striped the sidewalk in shade. Dante watched her hands as she talked. They moved fast, then went still when she pointed at a window. Steady. He let himself believe it. Inside the corner cafe, a woman in an apron pulled a shot before they reached the counter. Vivian. She handed a cup to a customer, then went blank and turned away without a word. Dante saw his own habit in her. The silence of someone who wanted to speak and could not. Charity saw it too. "She likes that guy," she whispered. "Bad." At the market next door, a red-haired man restocked shelves. Frank. He nodded at them, plain. "Family gave me this place," he said, unprompted. "Still figuring out what's mine." Dante bought tea he didn't need. Charity picked out an orange and bit it like a child. The shop at the end sold brushes and canvas. A blonde woman stood behind the counter. Ashlee. She lined up tubes of paint with care. "Tuesday tomorrow," she said to no one, half under her breath. Dante asked for brushes. She named them in short, flat words. When Charity asked her something private, Ashlee shut it down. "No." Nothing more. Outside, Charity stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You don't paint," she said. Not angry. Just sure. "You made that up." Dante's chest went tight. The old rule said to smooth it over, to charm his way clear. He looked down at her hand on his sleeve. It did not shake. It did not pull back. "Yes," he said. "I made it up. I wanted a reason to be near you. I didn't think you'd stay otherwise." He waited for her to step back. That was what people did. Charity laughed, soft. "You could've just said that." She squeezed his arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Dante. Buy me a coffee and we're even." The knot in him loosened again. He had told a small truth and she had not left. For the first time, he let a plan form he was not ashamed of. He would stop making excuses. He would simply ask. "Come by tonight," he said. "Tea. No project." "Two cups," she said, grinning. "I know." They walked back toward the neighborhood. Dante carried brushes he would never use, and for once he did not mind the weight.