I put on my sunglasses and take in the view—sun smattering across the water, cruise ships loaded with passengers, smaller boats zipping by. I get that summer feeling back. Sunshine, I realize, will do me some good.
“It’s going to be strange, not having snow for Christmas. I’ve never been anywhere warm over the holidays,” I say.
“No? I guess it will be a little weird, but you’ll love it. Not a traditional New England holiday, but we’ll make it fun.”
“Of course we will.” I put my arm over his shoulder, and my fingers tickle the back of his neck.
Last year was our first Christmas in Maine, but before we were together, Chris always took his family off on some expensive exotic trip during college winter breaks.
“You’re used to Hawaii and Tahiti and whatever, huh? Will you survive boring San Diego?”
He laughs. “I’m excited to be here. This is a great city.”
“Thank you for doing this, Chris.”
“We stay together,” he says firmly. “If this is where Sabin is for the holidays, this is where we are. No question. It’s important to me, but I know it’s also important to you. You guys are very close, and you’ve missed him a lot.”
“I feel like he’s been so busy that we haven’t talked as much recently,” I say.
When Sabin first moved out here, we logged hours and hours video-chatting and talking on the phone, but as the weeks and months have gone on, it’s been harder to find time, I guess. While we’re out here, I plan on getting in lots of quality Sabin love, and of course, with everyone else, too. Estelle, Eric, and James get in the day after tomorrow and will drive up in another car.
“Sabin’s been working hard. Have you gone on the company’s website?” Chris asks. “They’ve got tons of pictures with really incredible structures, and I’m assuming that he’s been learning a lot. This is good for him, really good for him.”
I’m not sure if Chris is trying to convince me or himself.
We make the drive north to La Jolla, making a quick stop at a supermarket to start stocking up the house. In typical Christopher Shepherd fashion, he won’t let me pay, and I promise myself that I’m going to sneak out of the house for the next grocery run and return with pricey steaks as payback.
It is only when we pull up to the house that I realize any grocery shopping I attempt will not come close to payback. “Jesus Christ, what did you do?”
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “It’s La Jolla. What do you want?”
“Christopher Shepherd!” I shout, flabbergasted.
The house is more mansion than house, and it’s smack on the water. I can’t even form words right now. Just looking at the outside of this modern…compound…tells me that it is incomprehensibly luxurious inside.
“Christopher Shepherd!” I say again.
He laughs. “We need a house big enough to hold all of us. And who knows where James and Estelle will be sleeping? I didn’t know if they needed one room or two—”
“This…this!” I stammer. “This must have cost a not-at-all-small fortune. It’s way too much money to spend.”
He shrugs and turns more serious. “I don’t know if you really understand how much money we have.”
I look at him. “I’m starting to.”
“It’s just money. And I have very mixed feelings about it.” Although the car is parked, he grips the wheel and stares through the windshield.
“Part of me just wants to blow it all, so there’s nothing left of my father. And part of me wants to use it for good, whether that’s making sure everyone has the best education they can or taking crazy vacations. That money represents a shitty past, but maybe it also represents…you know, that we’re all still here. I want to enjoy that. And I want the people I love, my family, to enjoy that. It’s just a little spoiling on occasion. Besides,” he says, turning to me now, “you know I’m happy anywhere. We all are. Look at Sabin. He won’t take any money, and he’s living in a tree house. We don’trequireluxury. It’s just fun.”
Chris has a point. While the Shepherds do tend to vacation in high-end spots, they’re not a snobby bunch. Hell, they all waded through knee-deep muddy low tides, searching for clams, more times than I could count, and everyone worked like dogs on the house. This is not a family afraid of dirt and toil.
I open the car door. “So, let’s go run around the house and play before everyone gets here.”
The massive white boxy mansion sprawls over the property, and even Chris fumbles with the keys while letting us in.
He stands frozen when the door swings open, revealing a monstrous first floor with floor-to-ceiling windows that give us clear views of the Pacific Ocean. “Fine, I might have gone a little overboard.”
We spend twenty minutes investigating. We drop our luggage when we find a bedroom with an ocean view and a skylight, and then we unload the groceries into the kitchen. While the kitchen we have in Maine is oversized, this one has such high-end appliances that I’m almost afraid to touch anything in here.
