Holiday Havoc by Terri Reed Page B

needed you more than ever.”
    â€œIt was my fault,” he stated, his voice hoarse with guilt and self-loathing churning inside him.
    Lauren set the brush down and moved closer. “Your fault? How so?”
    Looking into her intelligent, warm eyes, he could only answer honestly. “I was arrogant enough to think I’d helped him after only a few sessions. I told his parents he was going through typical adolescent angst. I should have seen the signs. I should have paid more attention.”
    â€œWhat signs could you have seen? Did the boy talk about suicide with you?”
    Agitation pulsed in his veins. “No. And that’s just it.” Guilt punched him in the gut. “If I’d been really listening, I would have picked up on the subtext.”
    â€œWas there subtext?”
    â€œI—I don’t know.” He’d gone over every conversation he’d had with John, looking for the clues he’d missed, but they still eluded him. Frustration ate away at his confidence. Regret demolished what was left. “Therehad to have been. And I just didn’t clue into them.” The knot in his chest tightened, constricting his breath.
    â€œWhat was it you told me the other night? About free will?” She put her hand on his clenched fist. “This kid had free will. Whatever his problems were, he chose suicide rather than facing them. You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”
    Having his words turned back on himself stung and yet… His pulse picked up speed with something that almost felt like hope. Was she right?. But he refused to give ground to the words ricocheting through his heart. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t forgive himself.
    He released his fist and turned his hand so that their palms were pressed together. “I don’t deserve your empathy.”
    A sad light entered her eyes. “Of course you do. You’re a good man, Sean. With a good heart. This wasn’t your fault.”
    He wished he could believe her rationale. He hated the guilt, hated feeling so bad. Hated even more knowing how much he’d disappointed God.
    But he’d been given a second chance to help someone.
    With his free hand, he reached around her to pick up the brush. “Start with one small stroke. You can do it.”
    Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze on the brush. “I’m not ready for this.”
    â€œSure you are.” He put the brush in her hand and turned her around to face the canvas.
    For a long moment she stood frozen in place. Then very deliberately, she dipped the brush into the gooey paint until the bristles were liberally covered in a colorlike a summer day. Tears welled in her eyes. With a barely audible groan, she flung the paint against the canvas. Blue splattered over the half-finished work.
    A sob caught in her throat. “I’ve ruined it.”
    â€œNo. You’ve painted.” Heart pounding, he quickly uncapped another tube and squeezed yellow paint onto the palette. She needed to do this in order to unlock the mental block preventing her from moving forward. He could see it so clearly. “Here.”
    With a soft keening sound, she dipped the brush in the yellow, combining the paints in streaks. With a louder cry, she flung the mixture at the canvas again, adding more splattered texture.
    As fast as he could, Sean added more colors to the palette. Sobbing openly now, Lauren splattered color after color over the canvas at a feverish pitch until there was nothing of the original design left.
    Abruptly, she dropped the brush, buried her face in her hands and wept.
    Moved to tears himself, Sean engulfed her in an embrace. “It’s beautiful.”
    She shook her head against his chest.
    He eased her back and took her face in his hands. “It’s art.”
    She took a shuddering breath. “It’s not good art.”
    The constriction around his chest eased a