“But won’t we have to turn the ceiling lights off for that?” Alicia asks with only a little concern in her voice. “It might be hard to see the art then.”
“Not with enough string lights and lanterns,” I say. “But you can leave the ceiling lights on.” I point briefly at them. “I noticed before that they’re on dimmers; just turn them down to about halfway and that’ll keep them from flooding out the decoration lights, but leave just enough ceiling light so the room isn’t too dark.”
“I’m liking this idea already,” Luke says, beaming at me. “How would we hang the fabric and”—he waves his hand in front of him, trying to remember—“those lantern things, and the lights?”
“With fishing line,” I answer and start gesturing toward the ceiling again. “It’s strong and durable so the weight of the lanterns, string lights, and the fabric won’t break it, plus it’s clear and won’t be easy to see.”
“That’s so perfect!” Alicia says excitedly, clapping her hands together once.
“I told you I had a secret weapon,” Luke says, glancing at Alicia briefly and then turning back to me, his proud smile stretching and his bright hazel eyes privately thanking me.
I smile back softly, privately telling him, You’re very welcome.
“How much of this fabric do you think we’d need?” Luke asks after a moment, observing the space contemplatively, as if trying to determine the answer on his own.
“I’ll have to do some calculations,” I say, “but I definitely think with Melinda’s budget, you can get all of it that you need and still have the funds for everything else—the tulle and the lanterns will make up the biggest portion of the budget.”
I go on to explain to them where would be the best places to hang each decoration, and judging by the easels and partition walls and other contraptions used for hanging art already scattered about the vast area, I begin to put together a method for an efficient way to lay out the floor plan.
After an hour, Alicia leaves us so she can start shopping for certain items—we also decided to hang clear silver and gold balloons in grape-like clusters from the ceiling in other sections of the room. But some things will have to be ordered online—the tulle, for instance; since we need so much of it, it’s unlikely it could all be found in any local craft or material store.
Luke comes walking toward me with two bottles of soda in his hand.
He sits down next to me against the wall where his paintings hang just above us.
Breaking the seal on my soda, he hands the bottle to me.
“You really have an eye for this stuff,” he says.
He presses his back against the wall and leans his shoulder against mine. I lay my head on it momentarily.
“I love the creative aspect,” I tell him, raising my head from his shoulder and then taking a quick sip. I look out ahead of me in thought, the moving figures of a few people walking back and forth blurring out of focus. “But you know … this is different somehow. I mean it … well, this is enjoyable. That wedding I did, not so much.”
Luke is smiling. I know without having to look over at him.
He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a small drink, then props his arm on the top of his knee, letting the bottle dangle between his bent legs.
“Maybe it’s because I’m appreciative of you,” he begins. “And, I dunno,” he says with a perceptive tenor, looking over and catching my gaze, “maybe it’s because you feel like you’re getting something more out of it than a paycheck.”
I nod softly with an appreciative smile. “Maybe you’re right.”
Luke sets the soda bottle on the floor on the other side of him and then wraps his arm around my bent leg. I set my bottle down, too, and rest a hand on his wrist. We look out at the room together.
“Too bad Harrington Planners doesn’t take on more jobs like these,” I say. “I can’t recall one event I’ve ever been a part of that didn’t involve some kind of negativity. I’ve worked with a lot of really nice people—most of them aren’t like the Dennings family—but there was always some kind of drama.” I shake my head just thinking about it all.
“But a job is a job,” I say.
Luke shrugs. “Sometimes it is.” He turns his body at an angle so he can focus on me better; he’s got that look in his eyes, the one he always gets when he’s about to tell me something profound yet so simple that I can’t for the life of me understand why I didn’t already know it. “But if you’re unhappy with your job, you have two choices: Find a way to be happy, or find one that makes you happy.” He looks out at the room again. “But never let yourself become a slave to it.”
I sense there’s more meaning behind his comment than what is obvious—having to do with his brother, I’m sure—but he shifts the mood too quickly for me to explore it.
Raising his back from the wall, he looks right at me with the brightest smile and says with absolute determination, “You know what? I think you should display some of your photography in the event.”
A little surprised by his suggestion, I just sit here wide-eyed for a moment.
“You don’t have to sell any of it if you don’t want to,” he says, assuring me. “But even if you did, you could keep your profits—however you want to do it—but I just think it’d be awesome if your photography was on display like my paintings.”
I was shaking my head long before I realized I was; I just don’t feel very confident. The other photographs, not to mention Luke’s paintings, are way out of my league.
“I don’t know, Luke,” I say, still shaking my head slightly. “Did you see those other photographs over there?” I point absently in the direction of the black-and-white photographs of the old woman. “My stuff is nowhere near—”
“Your photography is fantastic, Sienna,” he cuts in and then says, “Hey, I’m up close and personal with those self-doubting demons—as artists we’re our own worst critics—but I’m telling you that your photography is some of the best I’ve ever seen around this place, and I’m not just saying that because I like you.”
My whole face is bright and warm.
“I don’t know …”
“Just think about it,” he says eagerly.
He stands up and reaches out for my hands, helping me to my feet.
“Maybe you could even … come back for the event,” he suggests in a gentle, smiling voice.
“Oh, is that why you offered?” I ask, grinning; he rubs my arms up and down underneath his warm hands. “Just to get me to come back here?”
He shrugs, his mouth lifting on one side.
“As much as I’d love for you to come back in August,” he admits, “I still think your photography is worthy of being on display—don’t tell me you have a fear of compliments, too.”
I laugh lightly.
He just smiles.
“No, I’m not afraid of compliments—I like them more than I’m willing to admit.” I glance downward, feeling weird about saying that out loud, trying to keep my smile to a minimum.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” he says, and I feel his fingers press gently around my biceps, “because that’s just not something I can go easy on you about.” He leans in and presses his lips against my forehead, and my heart leaps and does flips and I feel like I want to fall into his arms.
Luke pulls away slowly, letting his hands slide away from my arms with reluctance.
“But as far as that real fear of yours,” he says, “I’ve got plans for it.”
I’m not sure I like that subtle look of mischief playing in his eyes.
I swallow nervously.
“Plans for it?” I ask hesitantly, and I’m beginning to wonder why he’s so intent on helping me overcome my fear of heights. Not that it bothers me—I couldn’t be more grateful—but I still have to wonder where it’s coming from, why he’s so, dare I say it, exactly what I’ve needed in that regard.
“Yep.” He nods.
I don’t wonder for long—now I’m just worried abou
t what he has in store. “What kind of plans?” I ask. Am I grimacing? I’m totally grimacing. I probably look petrified. Luke is unfazed.
He curls his fingers around mine and says, “You’ll see,” as he walks us out of the building.
Luke
I ask her to trust me and not ask questions about where I want to take her. It’s definitely going to be a surprise, but I’m not one hundred percent confident that it’ll be a welcome one—I’m leaning toward no, but it’s worth a shot. She’s been awesome at going headfirst into facing her fear of flying, sitting by the window and looking out, but I can see the change taking shape within her already, the unmistakable confidence, her unbending strength.
I wish I was as strong as her.
I wish I could face my own fear—accepting Landon’s death and moving on with my life.
But maybe I am finally beginning to find my way again. Since Sienna walked into my life, I’ve felt lately like … I can breathe again. When I’m around her, I forget about everything else: the news from China, the funeral, the nightmares, the denial … but mostly the pain.
“Well, at least tell me if I’m dressed for the … occasion,” she says with a fearful tenor in her voice—I come back into the moment, the backs of my eyes burning with tears, and I adjust my expression quickly so she doesn’t notice.
She looks down at her outfit: cute blue shorts, pink tee, and white and hot pink running shoes.
“What you’re wearing is fine,” I assure her.
She’s so nervous sitting beside me on the bus on our way to the airport, the way she wrings her hands together on her lap.
“Well, do I need anything?” she asks. “Like maybe a … parachute or something?”
I laugh because it was certainly a joke, told by a beautiful, timid girl who was definitely not smiling in the least bit when she said it.
“No,” I say, patting her bare leg and leaving my hand there. “But you’ve got your camera, right?”
Her face lights up and it makes my stomach feel like a warm ball of, I dunno, something mushy and feminine, and all I’m waiting for now is to see a burst of little hearts shoot from my ears. I shake it off, laughing quietly to myself.
“No,” she says, “but we can stop by your house and pick it up first, right?” She looks hopeful and doe-eyed—damn; what this girl is doing to me!
As if she really needed to ask. She may not know it, but I am one hundred percent at her service.
“Well, that’s really all you need,” I say, squeezing her knee. “We’ll stop by the house first.”
Back on Kauai, Sienna reemerges from my room, pulling her hair into a ponytail.
Minutes later we hop in my car and leave just as Seth and Kendra are pulling into the driveway in Seth’s red Jeep, which has seen better days. Pressing my finger on the button, my window slides down as he and I come to a stop next to each other. The doors and roof of the Jeep were taken off months ago and Seth never cared to put them back on. I can smell the mildewy seats that have been rained on countless times.
“Where yah headed, bro?” Seth asks, looking down from his seat at me in my little blue Hyundai.
“Taking Sienna …” I pause, having to be careful. “Well, we’ll be gone for a while.”
Seth leans over some behind the steering wheel so he can get a better look in at Sienna on the other side of me. “Hey, girl,” he says and waves at her with two fingers.
He shaved his head again recently, I notice.
Sienna waves back. “Hello again,” she says, beaming.
Seth grins at me like some kind of mad scientist as he rises back up.
“Hey, I meant what I said about finding another place to crash if—”
I wave a hand at him to cut him off.
“Yeah, I remember.” Then I give him a covert look, my way of quietly taking him up on that offer.
His deeply tanned face spreads into an even bigger grin and I’m just glad Sienna is on the other side of the car and he’s so much higher up that she can’t see it.
Kendra just looks at me from the passenger’s seat of the Jeep and shakes her blond head with disapproval, her mouth pinched into a hard line. As usual, I ignore her, but also as usual, a small part of me just wants to tell her off. Thankfully—and shockingly—Kendra doesn’t say a word before Seth and I drive away from each other.
“She doesn’t like me much, does she?”
I look over at Sienna, not surprised that she feels that way, but surprised that she actually brought it up.
“That’s not it,” I tell her with sincerity. “Kendra’s just … painfully complicated. She’s … well, she’s been through a lot: with me and Seth, with my brother, but her heart is really in the right place. I admit, she’s not exactly the friendliest person in the world, but she’s a good person; she’s just looking out for all of us. Don’t for a second think that her bad attitude is in any way your fault.”
Sienna scoffs quietly. “A girl knows when another girl has a problem with her. Trust me. I know she wishes I were long gone by now.”
For the first time, Sienna is letting me know how much this situation with Kendra is, and probably has been, bothering her. And I don’t like it. The last thing I want is for Sienna to constantly feel uncomfortable whenever Kendra manages to show up in the equation, an equation she was never invited to and is creating more issues than I need right now.
I have to fix this now before it gets any worse.
Slowing the car down as we come to a big, winding curve, I keep my eyes on the blacktop while also trying to give Sienna most of my attention.
“I’m calling Seth later,” I begin, “and telling him not to bring Kendra to the house again unless he asks me first.”
Sienna’s head snaps around.
“No, no, no. Luke, do not do that. I really mean it. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, but I don’t want to make it worse by doing something like that.” She smiles softly and I realize that she’s as serious as she appears. “It wouldn’t be the first time I got looks like that.” She laughs. “It’s what girls do.”
“Well, if it’ll ease your mind at all, I can tell you with absolute truth that I have never kissed, dated, or slept with Kendra.” I slash my hand in the air. “Ever.”
“I believe you,” she says, smiling.
I think the conversation is over, but then Sienna catches me off guard when she says, “But she does like you, Luke. That’s as obvious as Seth telling you with that not-so-secret look of his that he’s rooting for you to get laid.”
I think all my bones and muscles just turned to cement.
She’s grinning hugely when I finally manage the courage to turn my head away from the winding road to look at her.
“I, uh,” I stammer, shaking my head. “I swear I do not expect anything like that from you, and—”
“It’s OK,” she says, gesturing a hand between us, trying to ease my panic. “If I thought that was all you had me here for, I never would’ve agreed to stay in your house.”
That’s good to know.
“But Kendra does have a thing for you,” she goes on, pointing at nothing. “Can’t convince me otherwise.”
And I’m not going to try, because I won’t lie to her. Kendra has—and maybe she still does; hell if I know, or care anymore—had a thing for me since about four months ago. I can’t deny that.
I just can’t explain it, either.
Because, like Kendra, the situation is painfully complicated.
NINETEEN
Sienna
After a long drive, we pull into the lot of a building with a big wooden helicopter tour sign. My blood becomes acidic and begins to rush through my veins like a raging river. I swallow hard and press my hand to my chest, trying to find my heartbeat, only to realize the reason I can’t feel it is because it’s beating way too fast, undetected like the wings of a hummingbird. The drive here was filled with conversation and laughter and Luke saying the simplest of things that always somehow manage
d to make me blush or smile—I was having such a great time—but now I’m beginning to wonder if it was all just to prepare me for this moment.
“What are we doing here?” I ask somberly, unable to take my eyes off the sign as we pull into a parking space. It’s obvious what we’re doing here, but surely he knows that what I’m really saying is, Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m getting on a helicopter.
Luke shuts off the engine, breaks apart his seat belt, and turns on the seat to face me. As always, his smile alone is enough to calm me down, but this time it’s not enough to make me get out of the car.
“Imagine seeing Kauai from the air,” he says. “Imagine the photos you can take that you’ll never be able to take from the ground.”
“I’m fine with taking photographs from the ground.”
He smiles and regards me quietly for a moment.
“You got on the plane,” he says to make a point, “and you sat by the window—”
“Yeah, but this is much different,” I argue.
“You’re right, it is,” he says. “It’s a sight that you’ll never forget, and if you do it once, I guarantee you that you’ll want to do it again.”
I highly doubt that.
I shake my head and face forward, peering out the windshield.
“I got on the plane,” I say in a quiet voice, “but this is so much smaller, and I dunno, Luke, but I might feel claustrophobic in something like that and freak out worse.”
“Are you claustrophobic?”
“No …” I admit.
“Then you won’t freak out because it’s smaller.”
That was an excuse, I know, and he probably does too.
I feel the warmth of his hand on my bare thigh and I turn away from the windshield and look at him, his hazel eyes filled with everything that threatens to make me trust him: protection, unimaginable strength, adoration. A part of me really does feel like nothing could ever happen to me with him at my side, but still it’s not enough to quell the fear.
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