No Christmas Spirit (Days of Christmas – Season 2)

Chapter 1 Daydreaming and Disasters

Chapter One: Daydreaming and Disasters

“Mom!”

“You don’t need to yell, Sophie. I’m in the kitchen just like I was ten minutes ago.” Hannah called out as she shook her head at her seven-year-old daughter’s impatience. She shook it again when Sophie came thundering down the stairs.

“Mom!” Sophie called again as she skidded to a stop several steps away.

“I heard you the first time, Sophie. Is there a reason you’re down here interrupting breakfast preparations instead of getting ready for school?”

“My mermaid Barbie’s bald!”

Hannah took a deep breath and girded herself for Sophie’s explanation. “Why is she bald?”

“August said he thought if she was bald, she’d turn into a superhero.”

Hannah knew she should punish August for destroying his older sister’s things, but since Wagner’s death, he’d become obsessed with the Avengers.

It was his way of working through his grief, so she decided to have a talk with him after his bedtime story that night instead of berating him right before she dropped him off at school.

“I’ll talk to him, Sophie. Now, we have ten minutes before we need to leave, so go get your outfit on. ”

Her daughter scowled and walked away grumbling under her breath.

Hannah was in the middle of reconstructing her life and didn’t have time to be a mother, a father and a sympathetic best friend.

Wagner had always been the stern one and she’d been the pushover, but now that he was gone, she had to be both.

She knew that picking up the pieces after death was never easy, but carrying the weight of that loss and still being there for your kids was something no one could teach you to do.

It was up to you to muddle through it one day at a time no matter how much the little moments broke your heart.

She was glad her brother was there to help her because he and Wagner had been best friends and even if he felt it in different ways, Raine knew the depths of her loss.

They were all getting ready for school together because Hannah had needed to stay busy after stumbling through six months of mourning.

She’d gone back to work as a substitute teacher because curling up in a ball in the middle of her empty bed every night and crying herself to sleep wasn’t something she could keep doing.

She knew she needed to be so tired when her head hit the pillow, she wouldn’t have the energy to dwell on the things that were missing from her life now.

Just before spring break in the last school year, after long-term subbing since Wagner had died, she’d accepted a permanent teaching position.

She’d been relieved because she now had a steady income with benefits and as a single mom, she needed to provide that stability for her kids.

The next step to putting herself back together was making friends.

Whenever she was feeling down or unsure of herself, Wagner had chucked her under the chin and told her the future was so bright they’d need to go out and buy a pair of industrial strength sunglasses.

The kind you got if you were crazy enough to stare straight into the sun during a solar eclipse.

Tonight was the holiday staff party, and she was taking the first step into a life without him by her side, and stepping out of her comfort zone so she could make friends with her co-workers.

***

For the last nine months, Hannah had been trying to find her footing with the long-term staff.

She’d hoped the holiday party would be like a one-way ticket to the other side of grieving.

A chance to make connections, both professional and personal, with the other teachers that would make the hole in her heart begin to shrink.

So far, her hope had been in vain and she chastised herself for thinking something would come easily for once.

Wagner had been the life of the party and she’d always smiled from the wings, content to contribute to the conversation when someone asked her a question.

She was a limelight basker, not the disco ball suspended over the dance floor.

Why should this staff party be any different?

Hannah was standing in a corner with a paper cup of mulled cider, watching her fellow teachers socialize. There was a group of teachers milling around the table full of potluck. There was another gaggle standing awkwardly beside the anemic-looking tree covered in shedding silver tinsel.

The staff had all been in their departments for over ten years, and had their own cliques. Because there was already a pecking order, Hannah had struggled to feel like she belonged. She’d had her first altercation with the math teacher when he’d demanded a room switch.

Graham Hollister had been adamant with Principal O’Leary and she’d bent over backwards to accommodate him since Hannah was the new kid on the block and he’d been voted Teacher of the Year by the students the last seven years running.

Hannah had been forced to pack up her completely put together room while he crossed his arms and stood in the doorway watching. It had been humiliating and she’d silently fumed the entire time.

Instead of improving with time, the dynamic between her and Graham Hollister had gotten worse.

Hannah avoided his smug, arrogant face whenever she could, but he had an odd tendency to get in her space and she was convinced he had something to do with the recurring disappearance of the planner she kept on her desk.

He was standing in a corner talking to one of the science teachers who’d been friendly to her. When Sarah saw Hannah, her face broke into a smile and she waved her over.

As much as she wanted to ignore the invitation because he was standing there, she tossed back her last drop of hot cider and squared her shoulders.

Sarah’s smile brightened even more when it became obvious Hannah was heading toward them. Graham Hollister’s expression at her approach was the complete opposite. He was frowning and the closer she got the harder he glowered.

“Hi!” Sarah cheerily greeted her.

“Hi,” Hannah replied, her voice sounding creaky even to herself. She twisted her hands in front of her and teetered awkwardly back and forth in her low-heeled boots. Hollister was still frowning and she chose to ignore him.

“Graham and I were just talking about this year’s freshman class and how they’re not what we expected,” Sarah explained.

Hannah nodded her head in understanding. “Yes. We have to remember they were only in the fourth grade when the pandemic started, and they lost out on a lot of the stuff they needed to learn.”

“That doesn’t excuse them from lacking a basic understanding of things like long division,” Graham said with a scowl.

Hannah set her hands on her hips. “It does excuse them.”

Sarah slung an arm around her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I agree with Hannah.”

“The world expects too much of them and we can’t coddle them.”

“Being patient with them isn’t coddling them. Remind me again why you were voted Teacher of the Year so many times?” Hannah asked as she narrowed her gaze.

“My students respect me and they know when they enter my classroom it’s to learn, not be entertained.”

An angry flush filled Hannah’s cheeks. “So that’s what you think I do? Entertain them instead of teaching them?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbled.

“That’s exactly what you said!” Hannah and Sarah chorused.

He jerked his head, as if he was surprised by their vehemence. “That’s not what I meant.”

Hannah’s face creased in a frown that matched his. “Then clarify it for us.”

“I’m just saying I think they need to take accountability. It’s been two years since we were in lockdown and these kids need to buckle down.”

Both August and Sophie had learning gaps Hannah knew were a result of being in isolation and she didn’t have any patience left to listen to someone who was unwilling to look at the big picture.

“We failed those kids. Instead of helping them overcome the obstacles they faced after returning to school, we kept force-feeding curriculum down their throats conformed to standardized testing.”

“Our state and federal funding depends on those kids mastering the things included on those tests and -”

Hannah waved her hand impatiently, cutting off whatever nonsense he was about to deliver.

“Those tests aren’t designed to recognize the unique way each child learns.

They’re not designed to take life-changing circumstances like the pandemic into account, and we need to adjust our curriculum to reflect that.

If your students are having a hard time grasping the concepts you’re trying to teach them, you’re the one who needs to pivot. ”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Then don’t complain when that Teacher of the Year title you’re so proud of eludes you this year.”

“Whoa, you two!” Sarah intervened. “I agree with Hannah, but maybe this isn’t the place for this discussion?”

When Hannah looked around she realized the music had stopped and they had a rapt audience.

“I think we should make them kiss and make up under the mistletoe!” The tipsy music teacher called out.

“I think we should make them partner up for the next line dance!” Another audience member called out.

Hannah closed her eyes because even though she hated being the center of attention more than anything else on earth, she was standing by what she said and she needed to bolster her backbone.

“We were airing our differences about this year’s freshman class, and I don’t think that’s something appropriately resolved by a kiss or line-dancing. ”

Hollister snorted derisively and crossed his arms. “I’d say Ms. Snow and I have an insurmountable difference of opinion and it’s not something easily rectified.”

“Maybe the two of you just need more shots,” someone muttered.

Hannah had yet to take any shots, but maybe this kind of conversation required them.

Not that she needed shots — her college exposure to them in the form of jello had not been pretty.

She also wanted to point out to all and sundry that she couldn’t afford to indulge like that because her brother Raine and his girlfriend Cindy could only babysit the kids until eleven and she needed to drive herself home.

“I don’t think shots are the answer,” mumbled her arch nemesis.

At least they agreed on one thing, Hannah mused. “I don’t think they are either,” she said and crossed her arms too.

Hollister stepped forward. He wasn’t close enough to intimidate her or make her back up, but he was close enough for her to see the muscle popping obnoxiously in his cheek that almost made it look like he’d tucked away a jawbreaker.

“I think Ms. Snow and I should resolve here and now that we will never be friends, and our approaches to teaching are irreconcilable.”

Hannah noted that his fists were clenched at his sides as he made his pronouncement.

It wasn’t that she wanted to be friends with everyone she worked with, because objectively she knew that was a ridiculous expectation.

But she didn’t relish confrontation either, or the enmity that had sprung between them.

When she’d lost Wagner and become a widow she’d realized that life was too short to accept that kind of negative energy in her life.

“I don’t think they’re irreconcilable, but maybe there are things we can learn from each other,” she conceded.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to acknowledge there are things you can teach me, Ms. Snow.”

Hannah recoiled as if she’d been stung. She’d expected him to be antagonistic, but she hadn’t expected his curt dismissal of her skill and expertise.

“Then maybe we should just steer clear of each other,” Hannah said as she turned away to hide the sudden tears. She smiled through the glittery veil and handed Sarah her empty cup. “Can you toss this for me? I’m feeling sick to my stomach.”

***

Hannah shoved her arms in her coat sleeves and slapped her knit cap on her head. She didn’t bother getting out her gloves because she’d parked in the front row and it wasn’t a long walk.

Her battered Corolla was only a few yards away when the beat of footsteps erased her quiet contemplation. She quickened her pace because she wanted to wallow in her misery and let the tears free once she was safely in her car.

“I’m not your enemy.”

The gruff voice stopped Hannah midflight and she laughed bitterly. His admission sounded hollow and she felt the echo of it like a lie meant to placate her. She took the last few steps to her car and leaned against her door, rubbing her elbows. “You could’ve fooled me.”

He came up beside her and his arm brushed hers as he leaned back too. “I should apologize for giving you that impression.”

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

And stretched.

Until it was a heavy, monstrous weight between them.

Hannah waited in that silence for the apology he’d just admitted he owed her. She turned her head, infinitesimally, to study his profile and clenched her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.

His head was tipped back and his eyes were half-shut.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, are you ever going to apologize?”

“Nope.”

His response was sharp and swift. Just like the earlier dismissal had been.

“Why?”

“Apologizing means admitting I’m wrong. I never admit I’m wrong. I’m sorry for the way you reacted, but I don’t regret saying what I said. I don’t think there’s anything you can teach me.”