It was only midmorning when Joseph bid farewell to the exasperated owner of the warehouse and brought Chara back out to the parking lot. Victor's car was already gone, which saved Chara the trouble of watching his face, trying to decipher if he realized that she'd abandoned him. But the secret still settled heavy on her—she couldn't tell Joseph what he'd been doing. She didn't want Joseph to report him, or for their friendship to be strained. Joseph had gone through enough in the last twenty four hours.
They drove back into the city, toward downtown. Chara assumed they were stopping for lunch before heading on to one of Joseph's real offices, but when he grabbed his briefcase and came around to open the door for her, Chara couldn't see a restaurant. Instead, her eye caught on the temporary blockade, the kind the city used to mark roadwork. There were colorful booths lining the street beyond it. This was the Artex convention—she had friends from the studio selling their works here. Had Joseph known that, or had he seen some flier about art and thought instantly of her?
"I thought we could get street food," Joseph said, holding out his hand, "Then we could walk around and see the exhibition."
"Don't you have to go back to the office?" Chara asked, but she took his hand and clambered out onto the sidewalk.
Joseph shrugged. "It'll still be there tomorrow."
Chara didn't have a response for that—she had no right to complain—so she followed him forward.
There were flags flying in the air, little ribbons and paper shapes tied with string to poles over the tents. When the breeze whipped through between the buildings they all lifted in the air, crashing quietly into each other. Other people were on the street here, walking from shop to shop, grouping together and splitting off, but it wasn’t crowded. No cars could get past the blockade, so everything felt quieter here. It was nice.
“Chara!” someone shouted.
Chara whipped her head around—there was Natalie in a booth farther down the street, standing behind a table and waving her arm wildly over her head. Her long hair was tied back in a bun, and a small pad of paper stuck out of the pocket of her overalls. Natalie was a friend—they’d met when their drying watercolors got swapped by accident several months ago.
“Do you know her?” Joseph asked.
“Oh—oh yes!” Chara said, suddenly realizing that she'd been staring without responding. She loved Natalie, but she hadn't been expecting to see her, or even to be here at all, and she didn't quite know what to do now.
“Chara!” Natalie called again.
“Want to go see her?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Chara said, sure now that the option had been so clearly presented to her.
Natalie was selling prints of her paintings—they were spread out all around her, hanging on the pillars of the tent and from the top curtain, set on the three quarters of the table she didn’t need for processing payments. When they got close, she came out and around and pulled Chara into a hug.
“I didn’t think you’d be here!” she exclaimed, and then she saw Joseph. “Who's that?”
“My husband, Joseph,” Chara said, gesturing limply.
“Nice to meet you!” Joseph said, and it was probably true. He always found it nice to meet everyone. “How many years have you been part of Artex?”
“It’s my first time!” Natalie explained, rocking back on her heels. “I tried to get Chara to do it with me, but she was too shy.”
Joseph shrugged. “There’s always next year.”
“Fatima and Olivia are on Sycamore Street," Natalie said, turning to point at the crossroads up ahead, “If you turn right there you can’t miss them. Oh Joseph—they’re from the same studio as us.”
“Perfect!” Joseph said, “We’ll have to stop and say hi.”
Chara nodded, a little dazed. This whole place had her all over it, but somehow Joseph was the one who seemed totally comfortable. Still, it was nice to have someone there to say all the right platitudes to her friends that she meant, but couldn't quite put words to.
Natalie looked over her shoulder—someone had walked up to her booth. “I have to go,” she said. “But catch me on your way out if you like! Chara, I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“I—yes!” Chara said, and then Joseph was leading her forward, toward the corner they were supposed to turn at.
“Look,” Joseph said.
Chara looked around, but Joseph wasn’t pointing at anything. It took her a moment to realize she should follow his gaze to the booths across the street, another to decipher which print he was looking at. Just as she was thinking this task would be impossible, she saw it. She knew which one it had to be. Somebody had drawn Zephyr.
“It’s your boyfriend,” Joseph said, nudging her in the side with his elbow.
Chara stopped walking. She’d short circuited again—just like before—only this time, she wished she hadn’t run into a person she knew. Her mouth opened, then her hands came up to cover her face. “Don’t,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Joseph asked. He put his hand on her shoulder, fingers feather light, just enough for her to orient herself in space without uncovering her eyes. “I’m not making fun of you—the joke’s at my expense, you know? I’m rich enough to pay for it.”
“I wish you wouldn't,” Chara said, suppressing a shudder, “I never want to think about it again.”
“Alright,” Joseph said. The note of humor had gone out of his voice. “Let’s go and see your friends.”
When they got home that afternoon, Chara went straight to her room. She wanted to decompress, just to sit on her porch and look out at the horizon until the knot inside her untwisted, but her in-progress sketches were sitting there, splayed out over her desk, and all of them were of Zephyr.
Stubbornly, Chara gathered them all up and marched herself down to the living room. She’d expected the fire to be lit, but Joseph had gone up to his room as well, and whoever was on staff today must have thought there was no reason to let a fire burn unobserved. So Chara went looking for the matches.
Evelyn, one of the maids, walked in on her while she was crouched over the brick, skirt already soot stained. Chara would have minded more if she hadn’t already gotten paint on it earlier.
“Can I—help you?” Evelyn asked, setting down her basket of cleaning supplies. She was short, and timid—straight hair already slipping out of its tie. It was easy to talk to her without getting scared.
“Yes!” Chara said, standing up and readjusting her shawl. After six tries, she’d managed to light a match and set the paper ablaze. If there had been wood involved, Chara probably couldn't have done much, but paper was easy. It was all catching now. “You’ve been here for some time, right Evelyn?”
“Only a couple of years,” Evelyn said, glancing at the fireplace, then back up at Chara, “Not as long as you.”
“That’s alright, I just need a second opinion. Tell me—isn’t there anything I could do for Joseph?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Evelyn said, in the same tone that Chara used to use when she was trying to figure out what answer a teacher expected her to give. “He has most everything he needs already—and if he thinks of something new, he can buy it. I expect he’d just like to spend time with you.”
“Alright,” Chara said, dusting off her skirt at the knees. “When can I do that?”
Evelyn bit her lip glancing up at the ceiling. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh—he has a business trip coming up! I know because that makes it easier to clean his room—you could go with him!”
Beside them, the fire petered.
“Sounds perfect,” Chara said, “Tell whoever needs to know that I’ll be accompanying my husband. When are we supposed to leave?”