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head. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how.”

      “That’s okay,” Carmen said, giving an encouraging smile. “Just jump right in. Art is supposed to be fun.”

      Robyn gnawed on her bottom lip. “What if I do it wrong?”

      “Oh, sweetie, it’s art. There is no right or wrong.”

      “Everything has a right or wrong. The only people who don’t believe that are the ones doing wrong.”

      Wow. Carmen was surprised to hear such judgmental words coming out of the mouth of one so young and innocent. She had no doubt Robyn was parroting what she heard regularly, just as she’d done at the cemetery. “That may be true in some things, but trust me, there is no way for you to get this art project wrong. Whatever you do will be beautiful.”

      “What if I mess it up?”

      Carmen had not expected to have to counsel kids. If she’d known it would be this hard to get a kid to use clay, string and paint, she might have taken her chances with the boys currently engaged in a raucous game of basketball. But she needed to reach this child. She’d grown up with pressure to live up to the Shields name and had cracked big-time. If she could help this girl avoid the same fate, it might be worth what she’d endured.

      She knelt down so that she and Robyn were eye to eye and took the little girl’s hands. “If you mess it up, we can fix it. That’s the beautiful thing about art. You can work around the mistakes so that they look intentional.”

      “I don’t know.” The little girl looked longingly at the table where her friends were elbow-deep in clay. Someone had knocked over a plastic cup of yellow paint, and a saturated paper towel lay forgotten in the middle of the puddle. Apparently, Robyn’s friends didn’t share her fear of making mistakes. And they definitely had no interest in cleaning up their messes.

      “Well, I do. Let’s get you started on your flower.” Carmen pinched off a bit of clay and handed it to Robyn, giving the girl an encouraging smile. She then grabbed a hunk of clay for herself and began working it. After a brief hesitation, Robyn grabbed her clay and started to pound it into shape.

      “Like this?” she asked, her little hands kneading the clay.

      “Just like that.” Carmen offered the child a rolling pin. “Make it flat. It’ll be easier for you to shape.”

      Robyn’s brow wrinkled in concentration as she worked. A few minutes later she grinned. “It’s working.”

      “Yes, it is.”

      “This is fun,” she said, giggling.

      “I knew you could do it.”

      Carmen circled the room, checking the progress of the other budding artists and helping newcomers get started. She gave a word of encouragement here and there, but for the most part, she stood back and let the kids create their masterpieces without interfering. The noise level stayed at a steady murmur punctuated by bursts of laughter. Although Carmen chatted with the other children, her attention never strayed far from Robyn.

      The kids’ enthusiasm was contagious and ideas began bubbling inside her. Most of the kids in her room were grammar school age. But she really wanted to attract the older crowd. And she had just the thing to do so.

      Joni had given her what she’d called the ten-cent tour that morning. The center was equipped with everything from a computer lab to a gym with a full-size basketball court, and a six-lane pool. Although all the walls were clean and painted bright colors, the decor was unimaginative.

      Carmen had offered to design a mural for each of the rooms and one big one for the exterior of the building. Joni had quickly accepted. Carmen would have a better chance of getting older teens involved in art if they worked on something more exciting than the Popsicle sticks and spray-painted macaroni the six-year-olds loved. Murals would definitely do the trick.

      She made her way back to Robyn, who was frowning at her project. The little girl noticed Carmen and her bottom lip trembled. She swiped at her eyes. “I messed it up. It’s ruined.”

      “It’s not ruined. We can fix it. And if not, you can make another one.”

      “I don’t know. Daddy always says to do it right the first time because life doesn’t give you a do-over.”

      “That’s true in a lot of things, but not art.”

      “Are you sure? Because that’s not what Daddy says and my daddy is smart.”

      “I’m positive. I’m sure your daddy wasn’t talking about art. He’s not an artist, too, is he?”

      Robyn shook her head. “He’s a policeman.”

      “Right. So he probably doesn’t use paint and clay at work.”

      Robyn giggled. “That would be silly.”

      “It certainly would. Policemen know about criminals breaking the law and looking for excuses to escape punishment.”

      Robyn nodded. “I heard him tell Officer Roberts that Peter Richards keeps making messes for his parents to clean up. Daddy said one day Peter’s going to make a mess no one can fix. He said Peter’s parents should stop making excuses for him. Daddy said Peter—”

      Carmen raised her hand and the little girl stopped her recitation of overheard and misunderstood conversation. “I think your daddy was talking about criminals and not art. And he certainly didn’t mean you.”

      “Really?”

      “Really.”

      “Okay.” Robyn smiled, her eyes bright with hope.

      Carmen took the blob of paint and string and clay from the little girl and turned it this way and that, studying it from all angles. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be. It didn’t look a thing like her sample. Of course, she couldn’t admit that or Robyn would be crushed.

      “I think we can totally make this work. If you’re willing.”

      Robyn nodded.

      “Then let’s get busy.”

      Twenty minutes later, Robyn stared at her project with what could be described only as awed disbelief. “Did I really make that?”

      “You did. All by yourself.” If Robyn hadn’t been so insecure, Carmen would have trashed the first project and started from scratch. Instead, after diagnosing the problem, she had quickly returned the clay to the child’s hands. Although Carmen added instruction and encouragement, she made sure that Robyn did all the work. Now the glow of pride on the child’s face was truly earned.

      “I can’t wait to show it to Daddy. He’s going to love it.”

      “He will. Now let’s let it dry for a while.”

      The little girl started out the door. She hesitated, then ran back, giving Carmen a tight hug. The feel of the little girl’s arms warmed Carmen’s heart. She could start to care for this motherless child quite easily. And wouldn’t that be a mess no amount of paper towels could clean up.

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