Luke purses his lips, nodding; his expression is thoughtful and absorbed as he takes it all in.
“And then amid the tulle,” I go on, “I think strings of white or clear lights would be perfect—simple Christmas lights will do the trick.” I gesture my hands again, this time to indicate the top portion of the fabric. “And then white globe paper lanterns can hang in clusters from the top of the tulle—in the daytime it’ll all still look really pretty even unlit, but when the night falls, just turn on the lights and it’ll give the entire room a beautiful ambiance.”
“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.