me, and I don’t want that kind of attention on me.”
“Then why did you agree to make a sculpture for it?”
“Because my aunt Ginger asked me to, and there’s no way I’d ever let her down.”
“You’re such a good person. They’re as lucky to have you as you are to have them.” She looked at the drawings again. “You said the event is for all the people that have been left behind, right?”
“Yes.”
“All these sketches look like you’re trying to set your mother free. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel right, because you can’t change what she did.”
He mulled that over for a moment. “Maybe. I haven’t thought of it that way.”
“If this event is for everyone who has been left behind, and of course to honor Ashley and all those who were lost, then shouldn’t your piece do the same? I’m not an artist, and I don’t understand how it works, going from a concept to the beautiful pieces you make. But what if you created something that represented all of that? What comes to mind when you think of receiving support from others? People catching you when you fall? Letting you lean on them? Lifting you up?”
He could feel it, the energy of the support she described. “Hands,” he said, looking down at his own.
“Oh, that’s good. You can show the hands of people who have helped the ones who have lost loved ones to suicide, lifting and supporting—”
“The faces of the people left behind, not the ones that we’ve lost,” he said excitedly, reaching for a pad and pencil. “That’s brilliant. That’s it, baby. That’s exactly what people need. Hope.”
“Yes. Focus on survival rather than on loss or trying to change what can’t be undone.”
She peered over his shoulder as he sketched faces pointing out in every direction, at different heights, as if they were decorating a pillar. And that was exactly what they should be on. A pillar of support. As he sketched, he said, “They’ll all come out of one base, and these whirling lines I’m drawing between and around the faces will be carved like the energy from the support they’re giving each other. Sweet cheeks, you are one hell of a muse.” Beneath the pillar, he sketched a circle of arms from elbow to wrist, hands bent back, palms up, supporting the pillar. “The elbows will act as the stand for the sculpture, and the hands will hold up the pillar. This piece will give a world of support a whole new meaning,” he said as he drew the hands around the base, overlapping each other, giving endless support.
“Can you sculpt the hands of people who have been there for Ashley’s family? And the people who have been there for you?”
“There’s nothing I can’t sculpt, baby.” It was the perfect concept to give hope and draw people out of the darkness suicide left in its wake. Even him. “I can ask them to come in and model their hands while I work.” The more he sketched, the more he felt the hope in the piece and the coming together and love that he had felt over the years.
“What if you surprised them?” Chloe asked. “Can you create hands from pictures?”
“Of course. What are you thinking?”
“That Reba, Rob, and the others have done so much for you, this is something you can do to show them how much you appreciate their support. It’s a way of calling them out individually, so each person knows how special they are. Not that they don’t already know how much they mean to you. But think about it. Rob, Tank, Baz, Zander, and Dwayne have tattoos on the backs of their hands, and Reba and your aunt and uncle have wedding rings that will distinguish them. I don’t know about Zeke or Blaine, but maybe they have something unique about their hands, too. We’ll have to check it out.”
“I love this idea, babe. But how can I get pictures of their hands without them knowing?”
“Leave that to me,” she said. “I’ve got my ways. You’ll need to give me a list of the people whose hands should be on the sculpture.”
He set down the pad and lifted her onto the table, wedging himself between her legs. She was smiling like a Cheshire cat, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“What is going on here, Mr. Wicked?” She ran her fingers down his arms and said, “You have me in quite a precarious position.”
He brushed her