Barbara leaned her head comfortably into Grant’s shoulder as he pulled her in close. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“You have to keep reminding yourself that it’s real! It looks so much like a painting,” Grant said.
“It’s incredible that we’re the only ones sitting up here. If there was a public space in Manhattan with views like these, it would be packed with people. I guess the uphill climb scares off most of the tourists.”
“You’re right, Barb,” Grant said, as he lifted his head to look all around. “I’ll need time adjusting to this much quiet.”
After years of living and working in lower Manhattan, noise—particularly car horns—was so relentless, one only noticed when it all vanished as it did in the days after 9/11.
“You’re right. I don’t hear anything right now,” Barbara admitted. “No people rushing, no street vendors, no fire engines, or police sirens. This much quiet is a little unsettling, don’t you think?”
Grant gave a short laugh, and after a long pause said, “Certainly nothing we’re accustomed to. But I think I could grow to love this kind of peace and quiet.”
Barbara snuggled in and reached up to her husband's lips to share a kiss.
“Does it make you happy, darling?” he asked.
Barbara thought for a moment, and said, “It does. I’m ready for a little solitude and sanity in our lives.”
"I think we both are!"
At dinner that night, Debbie and Ray shared with the Randolphs how they came to settle in Sausalito.
“I took over my father’s business. He made high-end nightwear—pajamas, nightgowns, and so on,” Ray explained. “A couple of years ago, we were approached by a big manufacturer in the business. They made us an offer to buy the entire operation that, as my dad was fond of saying, knocked our socks off. So, we took the money, and started to ask ourselves, ‘What now? We can live wherever we want, so where would that be?’ In a lot of ways, Chicago is a great town. But to be honest with you, the weather is less than ideal, way too hot in the summer and way too cold in the winter.”
“Florida and Arizona don't have the feel of Northern California. In places like Phoenix and Orlando, you see a lot more of concrete, cars, and buildings, then you see of nature," Debbie added. “We always stayed a few extra days when a trade show brought us out to San Francisco. On days off, we would often take the ferry over to Sausalito, which is less than a thirty-minute ride. We just fell in love with this little town! So, when we had the chance to reinvent our lives, we started looking into home prices in the area. We bought after the tech bubble burst. It wasn’t cheap, but prices have gone up a lot since.”
“It’s a good investment,” Ray insisted. “Property values around here do one of two things. They stay flat for a year or two, or they go up.”
The following day, Barbara and Grant rented bicycles across the street from their hotel and rode north along the waterfront into the charming town of Mill Valley, where the bike trail ended at a plaza called the Mill Valley Depot. It was once the endpoint of the Northwestern Pacific Railroad’s Marin County Interurban electric train service, which came to an end shortly after the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge in 1937. Today the depot served as a coffee and bookshop surrounded by high-end boutiques.
After chaining their bikes to a rack at the edge of the plaza, they purchased sandwiches and drinks and walked the few city blocks up to Old Mill Park, where they sat at a picnic table in the middle of a grove of massive redwood trees.
Later, while biking the same path back to Sausalito, they discussed their day and agreed that in the picture book town of Mill Valley, they had found one more reason to believe that Southern Marin County was the perfect choice for them.
That night, they took the short drive from their hotel to the Sirica home on Sausalito Boulevard. It was their first time driving through the town’s winding hills. Steep, narrow lanes with blind curves can be a little intimidating to someone driving along them for the first time, but finding beautiful bay vistas around every bend more than made up for the discomforting feeling of learning to navigate their way through this unfamiliar terrain.
For a couple accustomed to the opulent homes of their multi-millionaire art collector clients, the Randolphs were still impressed by the Siricas' home.
“Looks like the cover of Architectural Digest,” Barbara said quietly to Grant, as they walked up the steps to the front door.
“Why are you whispering?” Grant asked.
“I’ve heard people in small towns have big ears.”
“You're silly,” Grant said teasingly, yet also in a soft voice.
Grant and Barbara were greeted warmly by Ray and Debbie. None of the other guests had arrived yet, prompting Grant to ask if they had come too early.
Ray laughed. “No problem, happy to see you guys. Let’s get you both a drink.”
Their early arrival gave the Siricas time to walk the Randolphs around the property.
As they stepped out onto the veranda and into a soft early evening breeze, they admired postcard-worthy views of the bay and the surrounding tree-covered hills. The Randolphs were once again impressed by the beauty of what they already thought of as their new corner of the world.
“You can see why we fell in love with this property,” Debbie said.
“It’s just stunning, both the house and the view,” Barbara replied.
Once the thirty or so other guests arrived, everyone seemed interested in Barbara and Grant’s story: how they met, their experience owning and operating a Manhattan art gallery, the tragic events of 9/11, and Grant’s
