Page 15 of Grinchland
Once she was down my front steps and making her way over to her house, I shut the door and sighed. That’s not how I’d wanted this evening to go. I didn’t want to fight with my neighbor. Why did she have to be so stubborn? We had rules here for a reason, and even if she didn’t like them, that wasn’t an excuse for her not to follow them.
I hoped now she’d realize that I was serious and just fall in line. It would make things so much easier for me—and the town. In three weeks, Christmas was going to be over and this would all be in the past.
I flipped the lock on the deadbolt and headed into the kitchen. Isabelle had set the table with two mismatched plates, a set of utensils, a glass cup for me, and a plastic princess cup for her. The lasagna was cooled to an edible temperature, so I glanced around, looking for Isabelle.
“Peanut?” I called out as I grabbed the edges of the pan and brought it over to set it in the middle of the table. “Belly?” I called again, tipping my head to listen for her response. “Time to eat.”
I heard a soft giggle, so I moved in that direction. I found Isabelle in the corner of the living room with Dog. She had her back to me and was holding something, which Dog was intently looking at as well. Whatever she had, it had captured both of their attentions.
“What did you find, love?” I asked as I stepped closer to peer over her shoulder.
She glanced at me as she pulled the item closer to her chest and drew up her knees like she was trying to hide it. “Nothing,” she whispered, but her wide eyes gave her away.
“Isabelle,” I said, using my best dad voice as I raised my eyebrows.
“Daddy, I…” Her voice trailed off and she jutted her little chin out. Then, slowly, she lowered her knees and let her hands fall into her lap. “Dog had this.” She held up an ornament the size of a grapefruit. It was bright green with red sequins glued all over it.
My heart started to pound as I glanced over at Isabelle, waiting for her reaction to it. Had she had a flashback? Did she remember that night?
But Isabelle didn’t look uncomfortable. Instead, she looked reverent as she gently turned the ornament over in her hands. The look on her face was the exact look that Nicole used to get when she’d find the perfect Christmas decoration.
My chest squeezed at the thought of her mother. I’d done such a good job keeping her memory locked away in a box in my mind, and now, thanks to Clara, I was having a hard time keeping the lid closed. I cleared my throat and reached out my hand.
“It’s not ours, Belly.” I wiggled my fingers.
Isabelle looked up at me with her eyebrows knit together. “But, Daddy?—”
“They’re probably missing it. We need to find out who it belongs to.” Even though I already knew who it belonged to. “Come on.”
I watched her start to bring it closer to her chest before her expression softened and she slowly handed it over to me. Once it was securely in my grasp, I leaned down and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms tightly around me and buried her face into my neck.
Her little sob broke my heart, but I forced myself to stand strong. This really was the best thing for her.
When I got to the kitchen, I set the ornament on the top of the fridge—hopefully, out of sight, out of mind—and then bumped Isabelle a few times with the hopes of getting her to giggle. I could tell that she was fighting it, but on the third bump, she pulled back and squealed.
“Ready to eat?” I asked as I smiled down at her.
She returned the smile and nodded.
I dished up our plates and was moments from taking my seat next to Isabelle, when the sound of muffled music caused my entire body to freeze. The lyrics to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” carried to my ears, and my gaze snapped over to the nearby window.
Clara.
“Sit,” I told Isabelle, who had shifted her weight like she wanted to climb off the chair. She gave a disgruntled harumph but thankfully stayed put.
I strode over to the window and looked out to see Clara standing in her front yard with a lit string of lights wrapped around her body. Her arms were stretched over her head like she was trying to detangle the mess. A speaker sat on the top of her deck railing, blasting her Christmas music.
“What is this woman doing?” I growled under my breath as I stared at her, hoping she’d look in my direction so I could convey just how angry she was making me.
As if the gods heard my wish, she flicked her gaze in my direction. She stared at me for a moment before she let the lights drop to the snow at her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Merry Christmas!” she shouted over the blare of her music. Then she gave me the widest smile ever before turning her attention back to the lights.
I stared at her, anger rising up inside of me. Then I reached out, yanked the drapes closed, and turned my attention back to Isabelle, whose eyes were wide.
“She made her choice,” I muttered as I joined my daughter at the table.
EIGHT
