An image of Chad floated before her. His pale face spattered with blood, his eyelids fluttering, his white lips whispering final words. "I love you, Mom. You're the greatest person I've ever known." A raspy breath, "Dad … I was on my way to get it back." Following quickly, came another memory—his vacant eyes and lifeless form against stark white sheets in a room that smelled of antiseptic and pain.

Andie blinked and tried to turn her attention back to her work. That sight, those smells, would not go away. A drop of liquid splashed onto her thumb. She looked down at the fallen tear. Strange, she hadn't even felt them start this time. She wiped her cheeks with both hands, and as she did, the paintbrush rubbed against her left knuckles, leaving another wound of blood red in its path.

She screamed out in anguish, an agony she'd tried so hard to keep hidden these last days. "I'm sorry, Chad. I'm so sorry." She couldn't stand the sight of the red paint a moment longer. She threw the brush across the room, where it struck the picture window and splattered to the mahogany floor.

She swiped at her painting, the bright colors blending and cutting mournful gray across the canvas in four long streaks. Those eager, smiling vehicles could not pretend to be all right anymore. The cars were frauds and liars anyway. They weren't happy. Nothing could ever be happy again. Andie used both hands, wiping and mixing until the entire scene vanished into unrecognizable, unknowable darkness. A dark reflection of how she felt.

"What do you think you're doing?" Blair's voice was followed by the music clicking off. Andie had been so engrossed in her pain, she hadn't heard him enter the house. She didn't turn.

His footsteps paced toward her but did not stop, his shoulder brushing hers as he strode to the window, squatted, and picked up the brush, careful to hold it away from his gray suit.

He turned. "Andie, if this dries, it'll ruin the sealant we just put down."

He dropped the brush into a cup of turpentine with a splash and snatched a rag. After scrubbing for some time, he stood and wiped his hands on the cloth. "I got it off the floor, but it smeared on the window. You'll need a razor to get it all."

Andie looked at her husband's handsome face. The salt and pepper of his hair only added to the lightness in his blue eyes. Eyes whose spark now dulled when he looked at her.

He hung the rag over the edge of the utility sink. "What is this all about?"

She wiped her eyes and choked on the words. "The painting for the fundraiser."

He brought her a towel for her hands and leaned over for a closer inspection. "No wonder you're in such a state. What are you thinking? No one expects you to do this now."

"Chad wanted me to do it. It was important to him."

Blair knelt before her, his eyes suddenly soft. "Andie, Chad is gone." He stopped, swallowed hard. "Torturing yourself over projects at his school—a school we no longer have a child attending—is not going to change that. This isn't healthy. You've got to stop."