The stockings hung. The wreaths placed on every door, the garlands hung across every window. But it’s not enough. Over the past month, we’ve turned this estate into a holiday wonderland. This house is so huge I thought I’d never run out of things to do. But I have. The place is an explosion of tinsel and ribbons. The gardens are covered in twinkling lights. And now I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Most of my initial restoration projects around the estate are done, so I’ve settled for any job I can find around here. Replacing the moldings. Resurfacing the tubs. Refinishing the hardwood floors. Anything to keep myself busy. That’s why, two days before Christmas, I’m in a guest room at the back of the house with a can of paint. As long as I keep working, as long as I keep pushing this paint roller back and forth across the wall, I won’t go crazy. I can keep myself from worrying about what’s really on my mind. “I think that wall is as blue as it’s going to get.”
