Grinchland

Chapter 7 Silas

SEVEN

SILAS

The oven beeped and the air smelled of basil and warm tomato sauce. I pressed the off button and slipped on the oven mitts that I’d pulled out of the drawer and set by the stove.

“It’s dinner time,” I called out to Isabelle. Last I’d seen her, she was twirling in the front room to a sing-a-long version of a princess movie that I couldn’t name—they all blended together.

I set the steaming lasagna down on a pair of grey potholders and then slid off the oven mitts, stacked them on top of each other, and placed them back into the drawer where they belonged.

I heard the flap of the dog door that led into the mudroom off the kitchen, and I glanced over to see Dog scurry by. He kept his body pressed to the wall like he’d been doing something he shouldn’t have and didn’t want to get caught.

I thought about calling him back and confronting him, but my stomach growled. I was starving and ready to eat.

“Peanut!” I called out again, but the only response I got was the sound of someone knocking on the front door.

I wiped my hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven door before I went to answer it. I’d only taken two steps when I heard the door open and Isabelle’s voice carry down the hall. I didn’t like it when she answered the door before I knew who was there.

“Ms. Snow?” she asked. Her soft voice had a hint of reverence to it.

My body froze. Ugh. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Is your daddy home?”

Shit. This was not how I wanted to spend the evening, although I shouldn’t be surprised. I did have Todd leave a citation for her earlier today. I took in a deep breath as I walked out into the hallway that led from the kitchen to the foyer. I’d made a stand, and now I needed to own it.

Clara was standing in the doorway, holding a plate. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she looked flustered as her gaze moved from Isabelle up to me. For a moment, I saw anger flash in her eyes before it disappeared and she was smiling again—a bit too big.

“Hello, Mayor.”

My lip twitched as I fought the smile that wanted to emerge. Was it wrong that I liked the snippy way she said my title? I knew she was trying to be pointed, but it just came across as cute. Especially when she looked so disgruntled.

That was a strange, unwanted thought. I shook my head and cleared my throat, forcing myself back to reality. I needed to never, ever think those words again.

“Ms. Snow,” I said as I nodded to her. When I got to Isabelle, I squatted down in front of her. “Peanut, what has Daddy said about you answering the door when a stranger knocks?”

Isabelle frowned. “It’s not a stranger, it’s Ms. Snow.” She leaned in. “She’s my new teacher.”

My stomach dropped. Right. Clara was the new substitute teacher, I just hadn’t realized it was for Isabelle’s class. This was going to be a disaster. I glanced over at Clara. She had a soft smile for Isabelle, but when she shifted her gaze to meet mine, her smile turned forced.

I tousled Isabelle’s hair, and she promptly swatted my hand away. “Go set the table, love. Looks like Ms. Snow wants to talk to me.”

I could see Isabelle’s whine start to build, so I reached out to touch her hair once more, and she sprinted away. Score. Worked every time. Now alone with Clara, I turned to face her. “What can I do for you, Ms. Snow?” I asked as I folded my arms across my chest and peered down at her.

She was staring straight ahead, her expression focused like she was trying to gather her courage. The determination in her gaze was almost endearing. I valued people who stood up for what they believed in—even if what they believed in was a holiday celebrating overconsumption.

“I baked cookies last night. Thought I’d do the neighborly thing and bring you a plate.” She held up the cellophane-wrapped plate. When I didn’t take it right away, she continued. “I decorated them myself.” Pause. “I’ve won multiple awards.”

I kept my arms folded as I stared down at the cookies. I wanted to take them. My upbringing taught me it was rude to reject a gift, but the other part of me, the part that knew why she was here, refused. She wanted me to crack, but I was as determined and defiant as she was.

These were Christmas cookies, and I’d specifically told her yesterday that Christmas was canceled in Grinchland.

It would be hypocritical of me to accept them.

Any other cookies, and I’d happily take them.

In fact, my stomach was yelling at me. But I remained steadfast, standing there with my arms folded.

“Are you seriously…” She paused and then blew out her breath. “Wow. Never in my life…” Her voice trailed off.

I leaned closer so I could stare down at her. “What did you say?”

She met my gaze and then shook her head.

“Nothing. Never mind.” She shifted the plate in her hands so she could pull out a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket.

“Care to explain this to me?” She made an attempt to unfold the paper with one hand.

After a bit of maneuvering, she was able to shake it open and hold it out for me to see.

Yep, that’s what I figured. She was here because of the citation. I shrugged. “It’s a citation.”

The look she gave me in response was one of pure annoyance. “I thought you were joking.”

I frowned. I rarely joked, and even when I did, I would never joke about a citation.

“I thought I made it pretty clear last night that you will be fined if you break the law.” I flicked my gaze down at her with her red jacket and Christmas-patterned scarf.

“The atrocities that you put up in your yard knowingly”—I emphasized that word so she knew I knew what she was doing—“clearly break the law here in Grinchland.” I shrugged.

“I would do the same with any resident here. You’re no different. ”

She furrowed her brow. “But it says, excessive storage of materials.” She looked up at me.

I nodded. “Your front yard is not a dumping ground for your stuff.”

Her eyes widened. “Dumping ground…my stuff…” Her face turned red.

“They’re Christmas decorations. They’re supposed to go on my lawn.

They’re supposed to be”—she paused and glanced down at the paper—“visible from the public right-of-way.” She met my gaze.

“What is wrong with you? What’s wrong with this town? ”

I took a step closer to her. I didn’t appreciate what she was saying.

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with us. Maybe, it’s you.

” I stared down at her. “Grinchland has been enjoying peace and quiet since the laws were put in place. No one’s complained.

We didn’t stop Christmas for the whole world.

If you want to celebrate, maybe go back to whatever town you came from. ”

She blinked once. Twice. Three times. I could tell that she was trying to think of something to say, but then she just sighed and took a step back.

“So you’re just banning Christmas. You can do that.

” The way she said the last sentence was almost like she was confirming with herself that it was true.

I shrugged. “Looks like it.”

She glanced at the citation, then down to the cookies, then straight ahead toward my staircase that led up to the second floor. “What a waste,” she whispered before she turned and twisted the door handle.

Once she was down my front steps and making her way over to her house, I shut the door and sighed.

That’s not how I’d wanted this evening to go.

I didn’t want to fight with my neighbor.

Why did she have to be so stubborn? We had rules here for a reason, and even if she didn’t like them, that wasn’t an excuse for her not to follow them.

I hoped now she’d realize that I was serious and just fall in line. It would make things so much easier for me—and the town. In three weeks, Christmas was going to be over and this would all be in the past.

I flipped the lock on the deadbolt and headed into the kitchen. Isabelle had set the table with two mismatched plates, a set of utensils, a glass cup for me, and a plastic princess cup for her. The lasagna was cooled to an edible temperature, so I glanced around, looking for Isabelle.

“Peanut?” I called out as I grabbed the edges of the pan and brought it over to set it in the middle of the table. “Belly?” I called again, tipping my head to listen for her response. “Time to eat.”

I heard a soft giggle, so I moved in that direction. I found Isabelle in the corner of the living room with Dog. She had her back to me and was holding something, which Dog was intently looking at as well. Whatever she had, it had captured both of their attentions.

“What did you find, love?” I asked as I stepped closer to peer over her shoulder.

She glanced at me as she pulled the item closer to her chest and drew up her knees like she was trying to hide it. “Nothing,” she whispered, but her wide eyes gave her away.

“Isabelle,” I said, using my best dad voice as I raised my eyebrows.

“Daddy, I…” Her voice trailed off and she jutted her little chin out. Then, slowly, she lowered her knees and let her hands fall into her lap. “Dog had this.” She held up an ornament the size of a grapefruit. It was bright green with red sequins glued all over it.

My heart started to pound as I glanced over at Isabelle, waiting for her reaction to it. Had she had a flashback? Did she remember that night?

But Isabelle didn’t look uncomfortable. Instead, she looked reverent as she gently turned the ornament over in her hands. The look on her face was the exact look that Nicole used to get when she’d find the perfect Christmas decoration.

My chest squeezed at the thought of her mother. I’d done such a good job keeping her memory locked away in a box in my mind, and now, thanks to Clara, I was having a hard time keeping the lid closed. I cleared my throat and reached out my hand.

“It’s not ours, Belly.” I wiggled my fingers.

Isabelle looked up at me with her eyebrows knit together. “But, Daddy—”

“They’re probably missing it. We need to find out who it belongs to.” Even though I already knew who it belonged to. “Come on.”

I watched her start to bring it closer to her chest before her expression softened and she slowly handed it over to me. Once it was securely in my grasp, I leaned down and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms tightly around me and buried her face into my neck.

Her little sob broke my heart, but I forced myself to stand strong. This really was the best thing for her.

When I got to the kitchen, I set the ornament on the top of the fridge—hopefully, out of sight, out of mind—and then bumped Isabelle a few times with the hopes of getting her to giggle. I could tell that she was fighting it, but on the third bump, she pulled back and squealed.

“Ready to eat?” I asked as I smiled down at her.

She returned the smile and nodded.

I dished up our plates and was moments from taking my seat next to Isabelle, when the sound of muffled music caused my entire body to freeze. The lyrics to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” carried to my ears, and my gaze snapped over to the nearby window.

Clara.

“Sit,” I told Isabelle, who had shifted her weight like she wanted to climb off the chair. She gave a disgruntled harumph but thankfully stayed put.

I strode over to the window and looked out to see Clara standing in her front yard with a lit string of lights wrapped around her body. Her arms were stretched over her head like she was trying to detangle the mess. A speaker sat on the top of her deck railing, blasting her Christmas music.

“What is this woman doing?” I growled under my breath as I stared at her, hoping she’d look in my direction so I could convey just how angry she was making me.

As if the gods heard my wish, she flicked her gaze in my direction. She stared at me for a moment before she let the lights drop to the snow at her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Merry Christmas!” she shouted over the blare of her music. Then she gave me the widest smile ever before turning her attention back to the lights.

I stared at her, anger rising up inside of me. Then I reached out, yanked the drapes closed, and turned my attention back to Isabelle, whose eyes were wide.

“She made her choice,” I muttered as I joined my daughter at the table.