Chapter 113

Liz was still steaming when the SUV pulled away for the southward drive.

“This is what I was talking about,” she said (apparently to me – but I wasn’t sure). I didn’t get the chance to respond anyway. “I’m so tired of people putting their agenda ahead of mine. I thought we were pretty clear about what we wanted. I’m sure Phil was equally clear about our expectations when he made contact for us. Instead of getting the chance to look at something remotely close to what we want ... we waste two hours with something they want off their books. Do I look like an idiot? Do they think I made my money through the lottery? I worked for every cent I have and I’m not going to toss it away.”

Bobbi was behind the wheel and I caught her glance in the rearview mirror. I gave her a slight wink and she smiled.

The rant continued for entire the trip – which took 30 minutes in morning traffic. It was an inspired performance. I made the appropriate gestures, nodding periodically and offering grunts at the right time, but mostly I tuned her out.

“Are you listening to me?” Liz asked as we neared La Jolla.

“Yes, Dear,” I said automatically.

There was silence and it caused me to shift my gaze from the scenery passing by to my backseat partner. She was sitting with her head tilted to the side and a single eyebrow lifted in my direction.

“What?” I asked.

“You weren’t listening,” she said.

“In my defense ... I listened for the first... 30 seconds or so,” I said. “After that ... it sort of got repetitive. So I kind of let it blend into the background. I was listening for when you wound down, though. I was going to jump back in then.”

Liz shook her head and laughed at me.

“I was pissed off because I knew you didn’t want to do this anyway,” she informed me. “I was already thinking about how difficult it was going to be to get you to agree to this again.”

“I would have told you ‘no’ if I wasn’t willing to do this today,” I said. “I could have hung out with Ryan and Jill while you did your thing. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to see pictures before we jumped in. One look at that place would have told us it wasn’t right. Instead we drove all the way out here.”

“I should probably call Phil and get the address of this one so we can check it out online,” Liz said, frowning slightly.

“Or you could wait a couple of minutes until we get there,” Bobbi pointed out. She knew La Jolla because Miramar Marine Corps Air Station was located nearby.

Liz nodded slightly. She didn’t know San Diego like she knew Nashville. She had no real concept of how long it took to get places.

“She’s right,” I said. “We’re already here. La Jolla isn’t that big. I think it might have 25,000 people. But you missed a really nice drive.”

We had avoided the interstate and taken a coastal road that ran parallel to the ocean. I never got tired of the view.

“It gives us a reason to drive up here again,” Liz said, brightening considerably. “We’ll get a convertible and put the top down and just ... cruise.”

I gave her hand a soft squeeze and smiled my agreement.

We sat in companionable silence until we arrived at our destination.

“Whoa,” I said when we pulled to a stop. The house sat on a bluff overlooking the ocean but the main gate was set apart from the houses around it.

“This ... it’s similar to what I have in Spain,” Liz said. “I mean ... it’s bigger but the design is close.”

I nodded. I’d seen pictures of what she called a villa. It was more like a village to me but I thought a house with a third bedroom was a little too big for my tastes.

Phil’s wife, Sonya, met him out front with a woman in her middle 50s (by my estimation). They were already in conversation when we arrived.

“I’m so sorry that the first one was ... terrible,” Sonya said. “I worried that we were too far out of our element to help much. I hope this one is better.”

“No, it’s fine,” Liz said, patting the woman on the arm. “I can tell from the exterior that it’s more in line with what we’re looking for.”

“It has public beach access but it has also has a private area,” the older woman said. She introduced herself and shook hands with everybody – even Bobbi and Dayton (who had been completely ignored at the first house).

The outside was beautiful. The cobblestone walk was lined with well-maintained trees and gardens. The area was higher than the surrounding houses but it was quiet except for the sound of the surf and the beachgoers.

The inside was an updated version of Liz’s Nashville home. It had high ceilings and hardwood floors. The first room we visited had a magnificent view of the Pacific.

“It’s actually a rare property that’s surrounded on three sides by water,” the woman explained. “The only rooms that don’t have an ocean view are those on the street side.”

“What’s that?” I asked, removing my hand from Liz’s grasp and pointing to an area to the right.

“That’s the private beach I mentioned,” the woman said. I moved farther out and took a good look.

“That’s pretty cool,” I said. The area was situated slightly above the public beach and was walled off to keep the public from visiting. But it was a small, private beach a few dozen feet behind and above the public beach. It wasn’t large but the four loungers stationed there fit easily.

“The previous owner tried to make that section of beach private,” the woman explained. “Thankfully, she was unsuccessful. I happen to believe that the coast belongs to no individual and should be free for public usage. I’m happy to hear that you believe that, as well. When she failed to garner the votes to block access, she had the private section constructed. There is a private jetty to the side where you can house a small marine craft and personal watercraft.”

“I want to see it,” Liz said.

The Realtor switched gears without a hitch. She moved from extolling the sightlines and construction to discussing the exterior and its unique features.

“No pool?” I asked, tongue firmly in cheek.

The woman must have caught my sly glance at Liz because she laughed.

“I’ve never understood beachfront homes having a chlorinated pool,” she said. “It makes no sense to me at all.”

The back yard had obviously been leveled by the home’s first occupant. It was completely flat before descending over a rocky hill to the beach that was only a few dozen feet away.

“This is awesome,” Liz said. Without a second of hesitation, she sat on one of the loungers and removed her sensible shoes so her feet could feel the warm sand. I couldn’t help but smile at her. “Oh, I see what you mean by a private jetty. That’s interesting.”

“The structure at the side is where the previous owner kept her marine equipment,” the Realtor explained. “It won’t house a yacht, of course, but she had a 20-foot motorized cruising vessel that fit in there along with her PWC and accessories.”

Liz did her best to keep her exuberance in check but her excitement showed though when we got to the main house again.

“It has six bedrooms and seven baths,” the Realtor mentioned. “The garage houses six cars and can be accessed via an underground walkway.”

Almost every room in the house had an ocean view and there were several rooms that could be set up for Liz to work on her music. The master bedroom was a thing of beauty. It had a wraparound balcony that showed the water from two directions.

As we toured, my mind shifted to the price tag this house would command. I could easily see it selling for upwards of $50 million but I kept silent.

“Could we have a minute?” Liz asked our tour guide.

“Most certainly,” she said amiably. “Take as much time as you’d like. This house has many interesting views and I’m sure you’d like to explore them. I have some things I’d like to discuss with Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. I’m intrigued by some of the things they do. We’ll be downstairs if you need us.”

“And we’ll go hang out at the private beach,” Bobbi said, grinning.

Liz took my hand and let me out to the balcony overlooking the water. It was probably the best place she could have chosen for the conversation I knew was coming.

“I really like this place,” she said.

I nodded.

“There’s a lot to like,” I replied.

“It has everything we want, Travis,” Liz continued. “It’s private but it’s not isolated. We have access to the public beach but we can also have time alone on the sand when we want it. It has a boathouse!”

I laughed at her excitement. The woman had seen six of the seven continents, performed in front of presidents, kings and queens, and she was excited by a boathouse.

“Can you imagine waking up to this view every morning?” she asked, gesturing to the expanse of ocean in front of us.

“This place is ... ungodly expensive,” I said. “This isn’t like your house in Tennessee. Property prices there haven’t gone crazy like they have out here. I’ll bet you this place lists for close to $50 million.”

“I understand property prices,” Liz told me. “Have you forgotten that an apartment I own in New York City just listed for $14 million? It’s an apartment. This is a home. It’s a place I can see us ... retiring to and raising a family. What good does it do us to have so much money if we don’t use it on things that make us happy?”

I lifted my sunglasses and rubbed my eyes.

“Don’t say it!” Liz said.

I knew what she was talking about but I feigned ignorance.

“Say what?” I asked.

“That it’s my money and I can do what I want with it,” Liz told me.

“I wasn’t...” I lied.

“You were,” Liz cut in.

“Yeah, fine,” I admitted. “I was.”

Liz poked me in the ribs.

“Do you honestly think we’re going to find something like this anywhere else?” she asked me.

“No,” I admitted.

“So we’re left with having something we can afford that gives us everything we need and most of what we want,” Liz began, “or settling for something less so we can placate your ego. Is that where we are?”

“Wow,” I said. “Don’t mince words. Say what you really think.”

Liz sighed, shook her head and shifted her gaze to the water.

“You made your point,” I said. “And you’re right. If I had $50 million, I’d buy this place in a heartbeat if it made you happy.”

“But will you be happy living here knowing the price?” Liz asked.

“If you’re going to be here,” I said. “I’ll be happy.”

“Good answer,” Liz said, drawing me down for a kiss. “You can always regain your pride by going down to the beach and letting all the teenagers fawn over you.”

“True,” I said, unwilling to rise to the bait.

Liz poked me in the ribs again.