Page 63 of Another Fox Bites the Dust

“On your left,” a deep voice calls out.

I twist around. A man runs toward us, over six feet tall, wide as a tank, a slighter figure propped on his back, arms wrapped around his neck.

Wait. Is that Mindy?

They pass by, Laila and I stepping to the side to get out of their way.

“Sorry!” Mindy calls out when they’re a few feet ahead.

Laila laughs. “Who was that?”

“I think it’s Archer’s friend Mason?” Jake mentioned him the other night. Archer doesn’t have any living family, the closest he’s got are his two childhood friends Oliver—Piper’s boyfriend—and Mason, who flew in from LA and drove in with the couple.

On the heels of Mason and Mindy, two golf carts come up the path. We move to the side so they can pass.

The first one stops next to us. “You two want a ride?” Jake calls out. “We have extra seats.” He gestures behind him. Archer and Finley are with him on the first cart, and the cart behind them is loaded up with Oliver, Piper, and Ursula.

“We’re good, thanks.” Laila waves at everyone.

“Suit yourselves,” Jake waves. “Last one there gets chucked in the pond.” They take off, kicking up dust in their wake.

A couple of hours later, the sun has set and we’re all sitting around the fire, roasting hot dogs and drinking hot cocoa and tea. The buzz of conversation, interspersed with the periodic bubble of laughter, fills the air.

No one was chucked in the lake since the last one there was technically Laila, and Jake can barely manage a full sentence if she’s within ten feet of him. He’s a little star-struck.

Finley is telling Ursula and Laila about the upcoming winter camp weekend. Oliver and Piper disappeared somewhere fifteen minutes ago.

Mason and Mindy are huddled together on the other side of the fire, talking in low voices.

Jake and Archer are arguing with Taylor about whether mashed potatoes or stuffing is the best Thanksgiving side dish.

“Mindy, help me out here,” Jake calls out.

“With what?”

Jake lifts a hand. “Sweet potatoes are disgusting, right?”

Mindy considers the question. “They make decent fries, terrible mashed, though.”

“See?”

Taylor shakes her head. “Hello, consider the source! I win.”

Mindy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A taut pressure fills the space, silence descending on the glowing circle of faces.

Taylor and Mindy have been under a sort of fragile truce since Laila and Ursula arrived. It probably helps they haven’t been around each other much, but when they have been in the same room, at least it’s been civil.

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Nothing. Stop being so sensitive.”

Mindy’s mouth pops open, but then she shuts it, leaning toward Mason to tell him something in a voice too low for the rest of us to hear.

“Do you have something you want to share with the rest of us?” Taylor asks, her voice rigid.

Mindy stares at her, letting the silence sit for a few long seconds. “Believe it or not, it’s not always about you.”

Jake stands up. “Anyone want to throw around some axes? Only those not actively contemplating murder may apply.”

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