Okay, she thought, maybe this will be a lesson learned. A fool and his money are soon parted, her own mother used to say. When Charlie got this bike home and it fell apart before he reached the end of the driveway, he’d listen to his mother the next time she advised him against a purchase.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the woman said. “Let me get a pump for that tire.”

Moments later she was back, hooking a hose to the nozzle on the back tire. “Why don’t you do it,” she suggested to Charlie. After she demonstrated how to use the device, he forced some air into the tire, then felt it between thumb and forefinger.

“Seems hard,” he said.

“Tell ya what. I’ll throw in the pump. If it gets soft again, you can pump it up at home.”

Charlie beamed. As he wheeled it out of the store and toward the car, he asked if they could go back to the hardware store and get some special cleaner so he could get the rust off the rims.

“Why the hell not?” Annie said.

Once they were back at their temporary home, Charlie spent the rest of the afternoon with a rag and a tin of Brasso with the intention of making the bike look, if not brand-new, perhaps newer.

“When you’re done cleaning it up, you call me before you start pedaling all over the place on it,” Annie said. “There’s some ground rules to go over.”

“Like what?”

“Call me. Understood?”

“Understood,” he said wearily.

While he worked on his bike, Annie went up to the second-floor studio. She stood just inside the doorway for a moment, sizing the place up. It appeared recently painted, judging by how free of marks the walls were, and the fresh coat of white made the room look bigger than it was. In the ceiling were two skylights that filled the space with sunshine. There wasn’t a shadow anywhere except for under the chair and worktable Finnegan had arranged for.

She walked over to the chair, ran her hand along the back of it. Almost inexorably, she found herself sitting in it, giving it a little bounce, taking it for a test drive.

Nicer than her studio chair in the city, Annie thought.

She surveyed the items at the edge of the table. A large coffee can filled with markers and pencils and brushes. In another can, a rainbow’s worth of tubes of paint. Plus, several large pads of art paper. Even some bricks of plasticine in a variety of colors, all wrapped in clear plastic.

Annie tore off a sheet of paper and secured the four corners to the table surface with short strips of masking tape.

A blank page.