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Chapter 94

BOOK EIGHT: A CUNNINGHAM CHRISTMAS

- WARD - December 23rd

The tree is up.

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 real
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