Page 33 of Grinchland
“And are you saying that they are celebrating…” She paused and glanced back at Isabelle. “C-h-r-i?—”
“I get what you’re saying.”
“—every time they cut one down?”
I shot her a look. “No. Obviously not.”
Clara’s smile was triumphant as she nodded. “Right. They aren’t. So we can do it, too.” She slowed and took a right down the snow-covered gravel road. The Christmas tree farm loomed in the distance.
I sighed. She got me this time. “Fine. But we’re not d-e-c-o-rating”—I got tired of spelling the word—“it.”
I could tell that was not the answer Clara wanted, but she didn’t argue, instead she just shrugged. “Fine.”
I nodded. “Good.” I was really curious if, by the end of the night, she was going to spin decorating the tree the same way. I couldn’t imagine she’d be able to actually do that, but I wouldn’t put it past her to try.
We shifted and moved with each dip and bump in the road. When we got to the parking lot, Clara found the closest spot to the entrance and took it. I sunk lower into my seat, grateful that we were a good thirty minutes from Grinchland. The last thing I needed was for someone from town to see me.
It would make for an awkward and strained meeting.
Isabelle was out of the car before I’d even unbuckled. Thankfully, Clara seemed just as eager and had joined her. They were standing next to one another, staring at me expectantly.
“There goes my hasty retreat,” I muttered to myself as I pressed the tongue release and let the seat belt retract across my chest. I took my time finding the door handle. Just as I cracked the door, Isabelle was there to pull it open the rest of the way. “Thanks, Belly,” I said half-heartedly.
“Come on, Daddy. You’re taking for-ever.” She placed her little hands on her hips and gave me a withering look.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I climbed out of the car, stretching until Isabelle tried to shut the door but just ended up swinging it into me. The force took the wind out of my lungs, and I bent forward with a gasp.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“So why are we here?” Isabelle asked as she turned toward Clara. She rose up onto her tiptoes a few times. She was excited.
“We’re here to cut down a tree.”
Isabelle’s eyes were wide. “Why?” she whispered.
I stepped out from behind the door so I could slam it closed. “Yeah, Ms. Snow. Why do you want to cut down a tree?”
Clara shot me an annoyed look before she squatted down in front of Isabelle so she was now eye level with my daughter. “To put in my house.”
Isabelle laughed. “Why would you want a tree in your house?” She paused. “You don’t have any dirt.”
“Yeah, trees need dirt,” I said, enjoying the chance to razz Clara.
Clara flicked her gaze up at me for a moment before she turned her attention back to Isabelle. “Because I think they are pretty and smell good. Lots of people have plants in their homes.”
Isabelle stopped, and a thoughtful expression passed over her face. Then she began to nod slowly before she knit her eyebrows together. “But trees are bigger than flowers.”
“True, but it’s not impossible to put a tree in your house.” She leaned forward, holding Isabelle’s gaze. “What do you think? Do you think you can help me pick one out? I’m in desperate need of your expertise.”
I waited to hear Isabelle’s response. Finally she nodded. “I think I can do that.”
I smiled and wrapped my arm around Isabelle’s shoulders. “Lead the way, Ms. Snow.”
We spent the next thirty minutes looking at trees that looked exactly the same, even though Clara tried to convince me that they were different. She kept going back and forth between a blue spruce and a Douglas fir. I was bored and antsy and trying really hard to feign interest, but my patience-meter for picking a non-Christmas Christmas tree was moments away from reaching max capacity.
Needing something to do, I grabbed Isabelle’s hand. “I’m going to walk around with Belly,” I said over my shoulder to Clara, who was in a heated discussion with the tree farm owner over the life expectancy of the two trees.
Thankfully, Isabelle didn’t fight me. She settled her little hand into mine as we started walking down the aisle.
