Page 23 of Grinchland
Isabelle took her time turning in a circle so I could see the full effect. She had her red dress on that I bought for the daddy-daughter Valentine’s dance. She’d taped cut up pieces of green construction paper all over her dress. When she finished her rotation, she gracefully pulled her hair back to reveal that she had taped drawn Christmas lights to her ears for earrings.
She looked just like…Clara.
Part of me wanted to demand that she take it off. We didn’t do Christmas in our house. But the other part of me, the one that supported his daughter no matter what, cheered and whistled to show my appreciation for her creativity. I never told Isabelle to change when it came to her style, and I wasn’t going to start.
“I love it,” I said as I walked over to her and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “What inspired you?”
Isabelle’s smile was wide and infectious, and I found myself grinning back at her. “Do you think Ms. Snow will think it’s pretty?”
I studied her. “I think she’ll love it.”
That seemed to be exactly what Isabelle needed to hear. “Good.”
My fear of Christmas eliciting flashbacks for Isabelle seemed silly with her standing in front of me dressed like a miniature Ms. Snow. Suddenly, I felt ridiculous for listening to that child psychologist who’d said that to protect Isabelle I needed to remove everything that had to do with the night Nicole died. Was it possible that enough time had passed that I didn’t need to worry anymore?
Maybe I’d taken things too far with this ban.
I shook my head. That was a ridiculous thought. I’d made a choice years ago to protect my daughter, and I was going to do just that. The human brain’s a tricky thing. I would never forgive myself if something triggered her and she fell back into the dark abyss where I’d almost lost her. I couldn’t protect her if the entire town was covered with decorations.
“Want some eggs and bacon?” I asked.
Isabelle had walked over to the mirror in the living room and was admiring herself. She was slowly turning side to side. “Okay,” she said, not looking up.
After our scrambled eggs and crispy bacon were consumed, I rinsed the dishes and set them in the sink. I’d take care of them when I got home tonight.
Isabelle and I climbed into the car and I started the engine. Just as I was pulling out of the garage, I paused. Clara was currently walking to her car with her head down. She was wearing a less ostentatious dress today. It was blue with silver stars all over it. At the hem of the skirt was a shadowed depiction of the nativity scene.
She must have felt my gaze because, a second later, she raised her head and looked around. When her gaze caught mine, she smiled and waved. Her smile caught me off guard. For the first time since meeting her, her smile was genuine. She actually looked happy to see me.
Without thinking, I raised three fingers in acknowledgement.
And then I felt like an idiot. What was I doing? Why was I waving back? This was Clara—the woman who was trying to bring Christmas back to Grinchland.
I cleared my throat and focused my attention on pulling safely out of the driveway.
Whatever that reaction had been, it needed to never happen again. Lines had been drawn. This was war and Clara was the enemy. I needed to remember that.
I decided to stop and get doughnuts for me and Isabelle on the way to school. That would give Clara enough time to park and get inside before we arrived, thus limiting the chance that I might run into her.
Thankfully, they gave us multiple napkins at the doughnut shop because I had to use all of them on Isabelle’s face before we walked into school. She’d chosen a Boston cream long john and was wearing half the cream filling on her face. Once she was clean and ready, I held my hand out for her to grab so I could help her out of the truck.
She let me hold her hand as we walked into the building. Her step was lighter, and she kept glancing shyly at people like she was wondering if they were admiring her outfit. When we got to her classroom door, I stepped forward to grab the handle just as the door swung open, and Clara walked straight into me.
It startled both me and her, and before I could think, my hands were wrapping around her arms to keep her upright. Her eyes were wide as her gaze met mine, and for a brief moment, I stared at her. Being this close gave me a front-row seat to her copper-colored eyes with gold rings in them. They were framed with dark lashes, and she had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She smelled like vanilla and Christmas, and I found myself wanting to lean closer to inhale.
And then I realized what I was doing and dropped my hands like I’d just touched fire. “Sorry,” I muttered as I took a step back.
Clara shook her head. “No, I should be apologizing. I was the one who ran into you. I should've looked through the window before I just barreled through.” Her gaze drifted to Isabelle, who was standing with her chest puffed out in anticipation of Clara’s praise.
That woman didn’t disappoint. She ooh’d and aah’d over every detail Isabelle had put into her dress. Clara crouched down and made Isabelle twirl a few times so she could “get the full effect.” Her adoration of my daughter did strange things to my chest.
I wasn’t sure what to do about that.
When Clara straightened, her gaze met mine, and I took that moment to mouth, thank you. Her praise was exactly what Isabelle needed. Clara’s smile turned shy as she nodded and mouthed back, of course.
There was a heaviness in the air that I didn't know how to interpret, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. Luckily Isabelle didn't seem to notice. She stepped towards the door that was now shut, glanced over her shoulder, and stated that it was time for me to go.
I started to ask her if she wanted me to walk her to her desk, but she just shot me a death stare before she yanked open the door and hurried into the classroom.
