Page 8 of The Making of Mila and Blake
Tires crunch down the dirt road behind me as I make for the house, massaging my temples. Dad will wonder why I’m back so soon, but maybe I can feign sickness. The throbbing headache is there, that’s for sure.
But seriously. If I knew Blake would be home this summer too, would I have been so desperate to visit? Would knowing that information have changed my decision? It’s my worst nightmare, bumping into Blake, but it was inevitable that it would happen eventually in a town as small as Fairview. I thought I was over him and that if we didcross paths, I would only have to deal with the awkward tension. I never imagined in a thousand years I would react likethis.It fills me with nausea, all of these mixed emotions.
“That was a quick dinner,” a voice chimes from nearby.
I flinch and fire open my eyes, turning to my left. Approaching from the stables is Teddy with a pail of water hanging from one hand, marching through the dry dirt in his rubber boots. Under his arm is a bag of berries.
“Whoa, Teddy. Way to give a girl a heart attack,” I say, nervously toying with the shoulder strap of my purse. “What are you still doing here?”
Teddy stops in front of me and sets down the water. “I work here,” he deadpans.
“Well, yeah,” I say with a laugh. “But what are you still doing here at this time? I didn’t know you guys worked in the evenings.”
“We don’t, but there’s one more thing I have to take care of before I head home for the night.” Teddy hugs the bag of berries tighter to his chest, his cotton tank top stained with dirt from working the stables, and narrows his eyes inquisitively at me. “That really was a quick dinner, though. What happened? Did you guys end up at Sonic or something?”
“My ex was there at Jefferson’s,” I blurt, glancing down at my feet and kicking at the ground. The image of Blake flashes inside my head and my stomach knots. “I haven’t seen him in forever, so I got the heck out of dodge.” Or at least I tried to.
Teddy wipes his brow. “That doesn’t sound like a great first night home. But luckily, you’re just in time.”
I suspiciously look him up and down. “For what?”
“Follow me,” he says with a smirk.
Teddy grabs the pail and sets off. He tracks his way down the dirt road toward the gate and I follow behind him, trying my best not to focus on the width of his shoulders. We curve around the rear of the house to the Harding Estate’s unused land, where the fields are empty and overgrown, where I’ve never really ventured before. The dry blades of grass brush my ankles and I realize, only halfway through the field, that my sandals aren’t exactly appropriate footwear.
“Where are we going?” I ask in a hushed voice, kicking the long grass out of my path.
Teddy looks back over his shoulder with an amused laugh. “You don’t need to whisper, Mila. I just want to show you something.”
We trek a little further through the overgrowth until we near the ranch walls. Teddy stops and holds out his arm to block me from taking another step.
“Look,” he says.
With his arm still across my chest, I squint at our surroundings. This side of the ranch is neglected, with weeds snaking up the stone walls, and there are old logs buried in the grass from trees that were most likely cut down many years ago. I turn to Teddy. “What? I can tell Popeye they need to get some people in to clean this field up if that’s what you’re hinting at. But we don’t use this part of the ranch.”
“No,” Teddy says, moving his hand to my shoulder and angling me a few degrees to the side. “Look.”
By the wall and beneath a lump of abandoned earth, I spot a flicker of movement. Teddy and I stand in concentrated silence, waiting, and then I spy a flash of orange fur. There is more than one. A few feet away, something else moves– through the gently rustling grass, a pair of pointed ears emerge and two beady black eyes peer back at us.
“Oh!” I gasp.
“Red foxes,” says Teddy. “I discovered them here back in the spring when the cubs were first born, and now I check in after every shift to see how they’re doing.”
“I thought foxes didn’t come out during daylight hours.”
“They do when they feel safe.”
Teddy gestures for me to remain still while he carefully moves ahead, each step forward a slow and calculated one, and when he gets within ten feet of the den, he places the pail down. As gently as he approached, he retreats. I blink in fascination as another little orange head pokes out from behind a tree log.
“Berries are pretty inferior to rabbits and mice,” Teddy continues, “but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.” He pulls open the bag of mixed berries and tosses handfuls into the overgrowth, then he holds out the bag to me. “Try it.”
I stick my hand into the bag, grab a fistful of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries, and scatter them into the grass. Teddy and I take turns until the bag is empty and this forgotten corner of the Harding Estate now caters a buffet for the foxes.
“Just wait,” Teddy says. He crouches and grasps my wrist, guiding me with him.
Beneath the golden sun dipping in the horizon over the wall, Teddy and I remain crouched in the grass, silent and unmoving. It takes a minute for the pack of foxes to trust that we don’t pose a threat, and finally they emerge one-by-one. They shift stealthily through the grass with their lanky legs and bushy tails to scavenge for the fruit, and I count seven of them in total as they move around, nibbling at berries and drinking from the pail of water.
“Wow,” I whisper.
