“I insist. Supporting local art is important.” She smiles broadly, revealing dimples that he wished he had
captured.
“And I insist.” He takes the notebook back and carefully tears the page from the metal spiral spine
which leaves an even fringe on one edge. He hands her the loose leaf. “The muse ought to get some compensation after all.”
Setting the page on her lap, she takes hold of Johnny’s hand and shakes it. “Thank you, sir.”
The yellow watch on her wrist beeps and they both look at it.
“Shoot, that’s my work alarm. I need to get going. Thanks again!”
As she rifles through her things and rolls up the drawing, Johnny returns to his seat next to Cindy. The
older woman’s face is red from the strain of not pouncing on her friend as he turned down cash.
“Have a great day, you two!” the young woman wishes as she glides away from the fountain and towards the nearest street.
As soon as she is out of sight, Cindy smacks him hard on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “What
was I just sayin’? What was I just sayin’? She offered money for your work, Mister Big Time Artist, and you
said no? Why?!”
Johnny shrugs. “Don’t know.”
When he doesn’t continue, Cindy sighs, the ambiguity familiar, and she knows that she won’t get anything more out of him at the moment.
“Whatever, old man. Ya wanna walk to the German neighborhood and see if that chocolate shop has
thrown anything good out today?”
“Sure.” He walks over to the fountain and, since the plaza is now empty, splashes a few handfuls of
water onto his face and greying hair. As he’s bent over, Johnny notices a small pile of coins on the ground. Remembering the child, he scoops them up, counts them—a quarter, a dime, and two pennies—and drops them
into his pocket. It didn’t count as stealing from the fountain if someone else did the dirty work of reaching in.
“Look!” Cindy taps his arm from behind. “She lost her book!” She shoves the crisp copy of Sense and
Sensibility under his nose.
“It ain’t lost if someone knows where it is,” Johnny grumbles, and as he takes the book to inspect it for
a library stamp, something falls out and flits to the ground. As he reaches down for the moss-colored slip of
paper, he recognizes Mister Jackson immediately. He swallows the imaginary mass in his throat.
“Come on, Cindy, let’s get us some of that good chocolate.”
Rainbow Wind by Allie Kohler
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