Dante Johnson's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

The sketch stayed on Dante's knee after the record stopped. Charity had gone home hours ago, but she left the page with him. She drew him soft. His mouth was open a little. His eyes looked like a man about to cry. He stared at it until the lines blurred. That was not him. That could not be him. By morning the old habit took over, and he decided to give it back and say something light. He crossed to her cottage. The door stood open. Inside, she knelt over a weathered crate packed with brushes, old paintings, and a folded easel. She was pinning the sketch of him to the easel like it mattered more than the rest. "Morning," he said. He held up his version, the copy he'd meant to mock. "You made me look like I lost a dog. Thought I'd return it before you hang it in a museum." He watched his own words land. He watched them hurt her. Her hands went still over the crate. She did not look up right away. When she did, her face had closed, like a window pulled shut. "Okay," she said. Short. Flat. "Give it back, then." A knock stopped them both. A woman stood in the doorway, red hair bright against the dim room. Scarlett, the mayor's secretary. She ran the town office, though another man signed the papers. She held out a notice without stepping in. "Package held at the post office," Scarlett said. "Your name. They need a signature." Her eyes moved from Charity's shut face to Dante's forced smile. "You two good?" "We're good," Dante said. "No," Scarlett said. "You're not. I know that look. He said something stupid." She tapped the notice on the doorframe. "Fix it or don't. I have mail to move." She left. The room was quiet. Charity pulled the pin from the easel. She lifted the sketch down. Dante's chest tightened. She trusted that feeling, the drop, the thing that told her when to stay or go. He had just handed her a reason to doubt it. He thought of the person he'd pushed out before, piece by piece, with jokes exactly like the one he'd made. "Wait," he said. He set the copy down. His voice dropped. "I lied just now. It doesn't look wrong. It looks like me." He made himself hold her eyes. "That's why I joked. You drew the part I hide. It scared me." Charity stopped moving. Her hands settled. "Then don't hide it," she said. "Not from me." "I'm trying," he said. "I've never tried before." She pinned the sketch back up. She turned it to face the window, where anyone could see. "Leave it there," she said. "Prove it." Dante nodded. He had kept the drawing from becoming a wound. But now she knew there was more he hadn't shown her, and she was waiting for it.