While my mom sits with her meal untouched, my sister and I inhale our food, and I make a plan. We drive back to my house and tell my husband what happened. I grab a flashlight and leave my sister with my children, and we head back out.
The sun is setting when my husband drops my mom and me off. It's just a few minutes after 9 p.m., but the tents are already zipped shut for the night. I feel uneasy: the darkening skies, the closed tents, and the flashlight in my hand make me feel like I'm up to no good.
My mom and I hurry to the courtyard, but the Art Fair closed up for the night is much different from the Art Fair open for business. The shuttered tents are disorienting, with no visible artwork to tell one from another. Even the booth numbers are hidden. I'm wondering if I'll have to peek into every booth--surely someone will notify the police and I'll be arrested--when we notice one booth still open.
A couple, looking slightly dazed, sit inside. They aren't jewelers, but we approach them anyway. When I ask if they know whether a booth near them was selling jewelry, they reply that they haven't left their own tent all day.