Page 57 of Painted

It also helped that one of the primary school classes that bussed kids to the arts center for extra classes walked by at just that moment.

“Hello, Mr. Painting Hawthorne,” one of the kids greeted him and was echoed by several of the others. “Hello, Mr. Painting Hawthorne. Hello, Pretty Early.”

Early’s face lit up, as if they’d never been called Pretty Early before. “Hello, Sandra. Hello, Jaime,” they waved and greeted all of the kids in turn. They knew every one of their names, which impressed Rhys even more.

It actually looked as if they’d impressed Nancy, too. Instead of scowling and glaring, she looked stunned.

She was stunned into silence as they continued on to the dining hall, which was already half decorated in preparation for the fundraiser.

“As you can see,” Rhys explained, gesturing around the room, “the whole thing will be tasteful and poignant. Several companies have donated items and experiences for the auction. Representatives from CADD will be on hand to receive all proceeds at the end of the night.” He paused, his throat squeezing up at the one part of the night’s plans he still hadtrouble with. “And there will be tributes to both your sister and mine as part of the programming.”

Nancy’s face pinched again. “Why did it happen?” she whispered hoarsely, then held a hand to her mouth.

The pain of it all should not have still hit Rhys so hard. Unlike Nancy, he had been to therapy about everything. He’d talked about his grief, both with the counselor and with other people in his family. But seeing such fresh, raw grief on the face of the woman whose sister he had been vilifying for weeks was like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking.

Nancy turned to him, her eyes going wide. That, too, made it feel like the barely healed scab over the wound ripping Raina from his life had left him with had been torn off.

“I don’t know,” he repeated with a helpless shrug. “Not a day has gone by since then when I haven’t missed my sister so much it makes me feel like I’m being stabbed. And believe me, I was against this event myself when they first brought the idea to me.”

Nancy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“He was,” Early confirmed, in full compassion mode all over again. Rhys wasn’t sure their comment was necessary, but on the other hand, they radiated comfort and sympathy.

“Then why do it?” Nancy asked, looking at Rhys again. “Why put everyone through the heartache of reliving their loss?”

Rhys shrugged again. “Because Raina would have wanted her death to mean something,” he said. “She would have wanted people to remember her, and your sister, and to have fun while they did it. She would have wanted the people who reach out to help those in crisis to benefit in whatever way they can from what happened to her.”

“But that doesn’t stop the pain,” Nancy said, making a fist and holding it to her heart. “It doesn’t bring her back.”

“It doesn’t,” Rhys agreed, stepping toward her and pulling her into a hug again. “But at least it brings the rest of us together.”

Nancy let out a heavy breath and sagged against him, though she managed not to burst into sobs again. Rhys wasn’t certain if he’d gotten through to her, but at least she didn’t put up a fuss or make nasty comments as they looked around the room, talking about everything that would take place on Friday.

She remained relatively quiet when they left the dining hall and continued with the tour of the house and classrooms as well. They circled around to Rhys’s painting studio last.

“This is where I teach my classes,” he explained, drawing Nancy all the way to his nook at the far side of the classroom as Early followed. “And this is the landscape I’ve been working on as a tribute to my sister. I actually started it shortly after the accident, but I?—”

His breath was taken unexpectedly as he stared at the huge canvas. He forced himself to breathe and rubbed a hand over his face.

“It’s not finished,” he said. “I can’t get it right, for some reason.”

“I think it looks beautiful,” Early said, touching Rhys’s back gently.

“No,” Nancy said, tilting her chin up and gazing at the painting like a judge. “You’re right. Something is wrong with it.”

Rhys whipped to face her, his brow going up. “What do you think is wrong?” he asked.

So far, everyone had said it was fine. He definitely wanted to hear what the one person who agreed with his assessment that it was all wrong had to say.

“It’s flat,” Nancy said. “It’s missing something.”

“Are you an artist?” Early asked. Coming from anyone else, it could have been a snide comment, but Early was clearly curious.

Nancy shook her head. “No, not even slightly. But I can tell you, there’s no emotion in that painting.”

Rhys looked at his work again. Nancy’s comment made him extraordinarily uneasy. It wasn’t at all the reaction he would have expected to have to his work. But she was right. The thing that had been missing all this time wasn’t a highlight or a refinement of detail. It wasn’t the suggestion of movement in the trees or the hint of dew on the grass. The painting was missing the truth.

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