Page 46 of Grinchland
I balked. “Thursday? That’s, like, three days away.”
She blew out her breath. “I know. That’s why we’ve got to start now.” She walked over to the bags I’d brought and started rifling around.
“How are you going to make this Christmas play…not Christmas?”
Clara glanced up at me. “At its heart, it’s a story about a grumpy man who has his heart changed by his past, present, and future.” She emerged from the bag triumphantly with a brush in hand. “It’s a tale as old as time,” she said as she waved the brush in my direction. “Christmastime and the end of the year gives everyone the perfect opportunity to take stock of one’s life and plan for the next year. Leave out the holiday aspect and you still have a great story.”
She grabbed the paint-can opener that I’d snagged from the counter at the hardware store and began to pop the lid open. I studied her for a moment before I finally pushed aside my concerns and looked for a brush to join her.
She had a point. Just because A Christmas Carol took place in December, that didn’t mean it had to take place during Christmastime. A grumpy man coming face-to-face with how he’d treated everyone in his life and how that put him on the path toward a bleak future was a story we all could understand, with or without the holiday.
Hating the silence that had fallen between us, I moved to speak. “Did you do a lot of plays when you were a kid?”
Clara had started painting a cityscape, so I moved to join her, dipping my brush into the black paint. She glanced over at me and then returned her focus to the backdrop.
“I was Ralph in A Christmas Story, Cindy Lou Who—two years in a row—and I was Rudolph in Santa Stole Christmas, an original play written by my grandmother.” She paused, her expression turning nostalgic as she stared at the ground.
Watching her memories flood to the surface only reminded me of my own memories from yesterday. I understood the reverence you feel when you recall things you’d forgot.
For so long, I’d buried my memories because they hurt. They were a reminder of friendships now broken or people now passed. But watching Clara, I longed to remember. She looked sad but at peace. She was someone who cherished her memories, not someone who ran from them.
And suddenly, I wanted to share my own memories with her. Ones from when I was a kid. I wanted her to know more about me in a way I hadn’t wanted anyone to since Nicole died.
Clara had been so open with me, it was time for me to repay the favor.
“I want to take you somewhere,” I blurted out before I had actually thought out what I was going to say next.
Clara glanced up at me, her eyes wide. “You want to take me somewhere?” she repeated.
I nodded. I’d already opened Pandora’s box. There was no going back now. “Yes. Tomorrow night?”
Clara held my gaze as her expression stilled. She slowly nodded. “Okay.” Then her smile emerged, and it made my heart sing. “I can’t wait.”
“Good.” I smiled back at her. “I can’t wait, either.”
TWENTY
CLARA
I’d lost count how many times today I’d cursed myself for deciding to put on a play with a group of five-year-olds with only three days to prepare. It was like herding cats that were both hungry and tired. By the time lunch rolled around, I was sweating like a stuck pig and my hair clung to my face.
The only thing that brought me joy was the text from Silas telling me that he’d be by my house to pick me up at seven. I couldn’t stop the smile that emerged. Silas had actually been a huge help last night. Not only did he stay late to help me paint the backdrop, but he even helped me set everything up so we’d have something to practice in front of today.
He’d cleaned up the paint, carried it back to my room, and lingered in the doorway while I gathered my things. Then he’d walked me to my car.
Something had changed in our relationship. And after last night, I was beginning to believe that I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Why else would Silas want to take me somewhere tonight? Why else would he cryptically smile when I asked him for more information? Why else would he say my infamous line, “you’ll just have to wait and see”?
Silas had been standoffish since he first knocked on my door, so there was only one way to interpret his sudden invitation—something had changed for him, too.
And I couldn’t wait to find out if I was right.
When I got home, I jumped in the shower to wash the day off. I blared Christmas music as I dried my hair and did my makeup. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, but I also wanted to look my best.
I wanted him to appreciate what he saw. And when the image of him raking his gaze over my body entered my mind, butterflies began to dive-bomb my stomach.
I picked a baby-blue sweater with a subtle white Christmas pattern across the front and paired it with my dark jeans. I wanted Silas to feel respected when he picked me up. Though I did put on a pair of Christmas ornament earrings—because I wasn’t an animal and this was still December.
I was slipping on my tan boots when there was a knock on my door. I hurriedly slid my heel into the boot and pulled up the zipper before I made my way over. Silas was standing on my porch, wearing a black jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold, and an armful of Christmas decorations in his arms.
