Page 6 of Grinchland
“You can be…abrasive. Please let her stay there, keep the peace, and I promise I will let you pick the next one.”
I didn’t like what Linda was implying. Sure, I spoke my mind and I was forward, but what I said was the truth. It wasn’t my problem if people couldn’t handle it.
I cleared my throat as my gaze went back to the window. “Is she aware of Grinchland’s holiday policies?” I already knew the answer based on the sheer amount of Christmas decorations currently being offloaded.
“I…um…” She paused. “I’ll give her a call.”
“You do that.”
We said a quick goodbye, and then I hung up. I handed the phone back to Todd, who had been listening to our entire interaction. I could tell that he wanted to say something, but I ignored him, and Todd knew well enough to leave things alone.
Besides, Isabelle was going to be home from school soon, and I didn’t like to mix work and family. I looked at the stack of complaints Todd had printed off. I leaned back in my desk chair and bounced a few times before I raised my gaze. “You asked me something about Mrs. Potts?”
FOUR
CLARA
As soon as the movers had finished unloading all of my decorations into the garage and part of the living room, I gave them a high five—which they cautiously reciprocated—and they drove off.
Now that I was alone, it felt only fitting that the first thing to do in the new place was to bake Christmas cookies. A sort of holiday christening. A way to get all the good juju flowing.
The smell of sugar and vanilla coated the rental as I pulled open the oven door with my Santa-shaped oven mitts. I took a moment to inhale the sweet, steam-filled air before I grabbed the cookie sheet and pulled it out. I was three dozen cookies in, and this never got old. There was something so soothing about cookies fresh from the oven, that it filled me with complete and utter calm.
Forget therapy, just bake Christmas cookies.
I chuckled to myself as I kicked the oven closed and then turned to set the hot cookie sheet on the hand-stitched pot holders of Santa’s face that I made Gran in home economics in tenth grade. The fabric was worn in places, which only endeared them even more to me. It was a representation of the thousands of cookies that we’d made over the years.
My heart squeezed. I missed Gran so much, and I hoped I was doing her proud by keeping our love of Christmas alive.
I moved to pick up the reindeer-shaped spatula, and my phone buzzed, momentarily interrupting the Christmas music it was currently playing. I glanced down to see that it was a text from Linda.
Just checking in to see if you’re settled.
I smiled as I wiped my hands on my poinsettia patterned apron and picked up my phone.
House is GREAT! So cozy. A little lacking in holiday decorations, but no worries, I brought my own.
After I sent the text, I watched as the three little dots started and stopped over and over again. I frowned. What was she trying to say? Finally, her text came through.
I’m glad. Just stay away from Silas, the neighbor. He can be a bit grouchy.
I chuckled. “The Grinch of Grinchland?” I murmured as I started to respond to her text.
I’ll keep an eye out for vanishing Who-hash or disappearing Christmas trees.
Linda didn’t respond, and the current Christmas song had finally started to amp up. I turned up the volume and began humming, but that quickly turned into singing and an impromptu dance party in the kitchen. My spatula became the microphone and my apron became the edge of my dress. I twirled and moved to the music. No one could ever accuse me of not immersing myself in the holiday spirit.
My cheeks were warm and I was slightly sweaty as the song wound down, so I leaned over and pulled open the nearby kitchen window. It faced the large, ominous mansion next to me. The place was dark and dingy during the day and even worse at night. It was in desperate need of some Christmas lights or an inflatable to brighten it up.
Just as I started to turn away, I paused when a shadow appeared in the top right window. It had the build of a man—Silas, maybe? The curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see details, just the outline. Then a smaller, more bouncy figure appeared next to him. Curiosity was eating me alive, so I leaned on my elbows to watch the scene unfold.
They were talking, the little girl and the man. He had his hands out like he was trying to get her to calm down—a stance I very much recognized from the last three years of teaching. The little girl settled as she turned so her back was to him. He looked like he was brushing her hair before it turned into some indiscernible movement that left me wondering if he was braiding it.
I smiled. That was sweet. Sure, they didn’t have any Christmas decorations, which felt like a crime, especially with a child living there, but maybe they just didn’t believe in Christmas. Too bad. Being with kids during this time of year was one of the reasons I became a kindergarten teacher.
Maybe I could introduce the family to the joys of this holiday season.
Realizing that I’d left the cookies on the sheet for too long, I turned and made my way back to the counter. I sang along with the music blaring from my phone but forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Maybe if I had enough cookies decorated, I’d bring over a plate to my new neighbors.
