TAKE TWO_ Who says you can't ma - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,27

my parents fooling around a few times over the years. They aren’t bad people, and I turned out all right.

“Listen, chica, I have to get back to work.” Hannah walks around the table with her arms wide and fingers wiggling, motioning for me to get up so she can give me a squeeze. “Stop searching for reasons this won’t work. Give the marriage a real shot, because you all deserve it.” She plants a kiss on my cheek then grips my shoulders looking right into my eyes before adding, “Even you.”

From the hospital, I head to my meeting with my latest client, the Housemans, at their home, where I’m anxious to reveal to them designs and drawings for their three-year-old twin girls’ bedroom.

I’m most excited to show them the castle bed I designed this week, despite my less than ideal working conditions. Having a carpenter for a father gives me the flexibility to create one-of-a-kind pieces. It’s one of the reasons I’m so highly sought out. This is one of the largest kids’ rooms I’ve been given to work with, and I had a blast coming up with ways to fill the space.

“So, you can see right here at the bottom are the girl’s twin beds, side by side, with a bedside table separating them. On either side here and here,” I say, pointing to the curved staircases, “the children can safely climb to their very own castle in the sky.” I move the pointer to the loft to point out the built-in table and chairs. “It’ll be all set up for tea parties in the tower. The furniture will be bolted down to prevent any accidents.”

“Oh, I really love that,” Mrs. Houseman coos. “And this underneath? What’s that?”

“A miniature chandelier will hang from beneath the loft over the center of each of their beds. At the back I’d like to incorporate thick pink and cream drapery to bring in the illusion of a canopy bed.”

“Very nice.” Vicki Houseman looks to her husband who’s busily typing away on his phone. “Don’t you think, Andrew? The girls will love this.”

“Yep.” He agrees without looking up. It’s quite obvious he’s only here to write the check.

The disappointment in his wife’s face hits me right in the gut. We’re not even a couple—Shit. I guess we kind of are now. I keep trying to forget that part. At any rate, Liam has always given me his undivided attention—together or not—whenever I speak to him. Hell, any time we find ourselves in the same room, he can’t seem to peel his eyes off of me. I certainly never feel invisible like this woman must when he’s around.

Her melancholy reminds me of the loneliness I felt toward the end of our marriage, when Liam was always away from home. I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been feeling that way with him sitting right across from me. I hope for her sake it isn’t always like this between these two. That there is something besides those adorable baby girls that makes their marriage worth it.

As I present the rest of the plans, including a fortress with tunnel slide and vanities for each of the girls, I can’t help but take notice of the husband’s complete lack of interest in anything going on around him. He might as well not even be in the room.

Mrs. Houseman loves everything from my color choices to the fabric selections. I can’t even remember the last time a presentation went off without a single complaint. We make plans to begin the renovation the following week, and Mr. Houseman looks up from his phone long enough to write out a check to get things started. Finally, I head home, more eager than ever to be with my little family.

It’s nearing 7:00 p.m. and already dark when I pull into the drive. I can’t stop smiling because someone thought to turn the front light on.

Liam. It had to be Liam.

I sneak in through the front door, trying hard to go unnoticed. I’m not exactly sure why I’m making the extra effort not to draw attention to myself when I remove my shoes and set down my purse and work bag.

For some reason, after what happened between Liam and me today, my subsequent talk with Hannah, and the uncomfortable meeting with my client, I’m feeling extra mushy and have this intense urge to watch my husband and daughter—to see the way they interact when I’m not around. It’s like I’m only