Canvas

4| The Lie

The grip on Alice’s arm loosened, but only just barely. She bit her lip and tried to shake her arm free, but the fuzz didn’t let go. 

“You see, officer,” the boy continued, drawing her stare again. “We’re celebrating our engagement today. I thought we could go out to a swell breakfast and see the city as it wakes up. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

The cop paused, looking from her to the handsome boy. He had a tanned face with a strong jaw and the most pure emerald eyes Alice had ever seen. His hair was a dark brown that could almost look black, if it weren’t for the sun, and hung just slightly over his eyes. He brushed it back again, and she followed his hand, which was covered in something gray—soot, maybe. 

“Oh yeah?” the officer said skeptically. “It sure did look like she lifted it from you.”

Alice bit down on her tongue hard to stop her from saying something that would get her in more trouble.

The boy stepped forward and took her hand, pulling her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her gently. She was freed from the officer’s grip as she stumbled into the boy’s chest. Below her hand, she could feel the tripping beat of his heart. He set a finger under her chin and she saw something in his eyes, a silent message telling her to trust him. Before she had a chance to consider, he dropped a kiss on her lips and she let her eyes flutter closed. Time seemed to both freeze and speed up all at once; the kiss seemed to last days, but it was over as quick as a breath.

“I love her, officer. She would never steal from me, would you, sweetheart?”

She almost forgot to open her eyes after his lips had left hers. Slowly, she shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Mind if I see the ring?” The officer raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” Alice curled her hand into a fist, trying to hide her bare fingers, red from the cold.

The boy didn’t miss a beat, though. “Try us on a different day, officer. We still have to pick out a diamond.”

The cop let out a long breath, still eying Alice skeptically. 

“My father—James Cartright, perhaps you know him?—insists we purchase a custom setting. My mother has been at the jewelers’ for a week, now.”

The officer tapped his shiny black boots, marking the beats of silence, before finally speaking again. “Congratulations, then.” He reached out to shake hands with the strange, tall boy who took his hand, smiling, and gave it two strong pumps. The cop pulled him close and whispered loudly, “But you better keep an eye on your wallet with this one.”

The boy laughed convincingly. “And how!”

After the cop turned around and started down the sidewalk again, Alice took off in the other direction.

“Wait!” the boy called after her.

She stopped short and turned on her heel, careful to keep her distance.

He offered her his hand. “My name’s Charles Cartwright.”

“Charles?”

“I mean, Charlie. Call me Charlie.” He stepped closer, his hand still outstretched.

She didn’t take it. “Alice Winters.”

“Alice Winters.” He nodded and dropped his hand, opening his wallet. When he saw it was empty, he smiled again. “I think you still have something of mine.”

She pulled a few folded bills from her sleeve and held it out for him to take. “Sorry.” She kept her eyes on the green of the dollars instead of the green of his eyes.

Charlie reached out and closed his hands around her fingers, pushing the money away. “You can keep it.”

Now she met his eyes. She wished she hadn’t. “Why?”

He shrugged.

She looked over her shoulder for another cop, thinking it was a trick to get her in trouble, but there were no more blue uniforms waiting to drag her off to jail. She didn’t understand… People don’t just give away their money. Not now. A small voice buzzed in her ears. It’s a trap. She crossed her arms and took a step forward until she was standing only inches in front of Charlie’s chest. 

“Are you on the up and up?” She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw tight.

“I’ve only ever known up. I haven’t a clue what it’s like to be down.”

She eyed him, from the shine of his shoes to his expensive clothes and warm-looking coat. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

His smile faltered. “I’m sorry I kissed you. It wasn’t—”

“Yeah, well.” She took a step back from him. “Bank’s closed now, Charles.”

“Charlie,” he corrected as he watched her raise her skirt to slip the money into a frayed garter belt. 

Her stockings were completely ruined. Tentatively, he stepped forward, but she paced back, as if insistent to keep a certain measure of space between them. Some invisible wall was separating them.

She bit her lip and her eyes danced over his shoulders, looking anywhere but at him. “Sorry, Charlie, I gotta ankle before I get pinched again.”

She adjusted the dark hat on her pale hair and began to turn around, but he reached out to grab her hand. “Wait,” he said again. A few of his sketches spilled from his pocket and fell to the dirty ground, waiting to be trampled by the next surge of people rounding the corner. He dropped her hand, his eyes sad, and bent down to pick up the pages quickly.

Now was her time to run. Run, she told herself in her head. But her legs didn’t hear her. 

Watching him hunched over the small pages filled with pencil sketches, scrambling to gather his art, Alice’s heart tightened for him, for this boy who had just saved her from the big house. He looked so defeated, resigned. With a soft sigh, she kneeled down, not being careful with her stockings—what was the point?—to help him.

She picked up a particularly complex drawing of tall buildings and what looked like a sunset. Or maybe it was supposed to be a sunrise. It was hard to tell in charcoal. She liked that she couldn’t tell the difference. The picture was drawn as if sitting on top of a high building looking down at an evening street, still emptying of partiers. It was beautiful. 

“Did you draw this?” she asked him, holding up the sketch.

His face darkened, cheeks flushing with blood. “I did. It’s New York.”

She looked at it again and traced the street with her finger. “It’s amazing.”

“You—you like it?”

Alice nodded and handed the page back to him.

“Have you been to New York?”

“I was going to go before—” Her words clipped off, like a gardner cutting the long stem of a rose before a thorn had a chance to draw blood from a vulnerable finger. “No, I haven’t.”

They both stood. Charlie watched her face, noticing a dark cloud pass over it for just a moment before the blueness of her eyes lightened again. He folded the picture and handed it back to her. “Keep it. I have hundreds like this.”

“No, really, I couldn’t. I already have your money.”

“Please,” he insisted. “I can’t share my art with anyone else.”

She took it hesitantly and placed it in the ribbon of her hat, next to the larger bills she had hidden. “Thanks.” She smiled. “Charlie.”

He returned her grin, but she didn’t see it. She had turned away and was running down the street, disappearing into the crowd again, a ghost. He watched as the red of her hat wove through the roiling sea of shoulders until she curled around the corner and vanished down another street. He spoke her name out loud one more time, tasting it on his tongue. 

“Alice.” 

His grin grew. No one noticed.