Page 69 of Another Fox Bites the Dust

“Young enough that I don’t remember much about her.” She pauses. “I remember her being sad a lot. She had dark hair and a necklace with a phoenix on it. But I don’t remember her face or the sound of her voice.”

“You don’t have any pictures?”

She leans her head back against the seat. “No. Maybe Dad got rid of them.”

My chest aches. “It must have been hard for you when she left.”

“Harder on Finley. And Dad. He did the best he could, but there were six of us. I helped Finley as much as I could with our siblings, but . . .” she shrugs.

Of course, she thinks she wasn’t enough. “You were just a child.”

“So was Finley. She’s a year older than me.” One corner of her mouth curls up. “She was born old, though.”

“You never heard from your mom again?”

“Nope.”

“You never tried to find her?”

“Don’t see why I would care to locate someone who didn’t care enough to stick around.”

I want to dig into her past and uncover whether any of these early life experiences are at the core of why she’s built up so many walls, but I don’t want to pry, either. She’s already shared so many of her vulnerable pieces.

An hour later, we pull up to the split-level ranch house, flanked by skeletal trees dusted with snow. I take in the familiar red brick and white siding. I glance over at Mindy, wondering what she thinks of my childhood home.

“I apologize in advance for anything my family says.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“They can be loud and obnoxious and a bunch of busybodies.”

A wry smile twists her mouth. “It’s like you haven’t spent the last month dealing with my drama-ridden family.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt with a grimace. “It’s different when it’s your own. I’ve been able to act all high and mighty, but now you’re going to realize the truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“We’re all a mess. Some people are just better at hiding it.”

She chuckles, and for a second the shadows in her eyes recede. Delight fills me at being the one to put the light back in her face, even for a moment.

We get out of the car, and I halt Mindy at the trunk. “Let’s go in first. We can grab the bags once we figure out where Mom’s gonna put us.”

She bites her lip. “I hope it’s not a trouble for her to accommodate me last minute.”

We head up the sidewalk, between the hedges. “Are you kidding? She loves this stuff.” I stop in the middle of the walkway and face her. “But if she breaks out the album with my old report cards, run.” I turn and jog up the concrete steps.

She frowns, about to ask more, but I push open the mahogany front door and call out. “We’re here.”

The announcement is heralded by the stomping of multiple feet on the hardwood flooring.

“Uncle Luke!” Cassie is the first to make it into the entryway, throwing herself at my legs. Her hair is in pigtails, one braid coming lose. She has a streak of chalk on her forehead, and when I reach down to hug her, something sticky and red transfers from her hands to mine.

The small room bursts at the seams with people. My mom embraces Mindy in greeting. Mindy is frozen stiff, her movements jerky as the rest of the family follows suit, welcoming her with hugs and sometimes cheek kisses. I probably should have warned her about all the affection. From what I’ve observed over the past month, Finley is the most demonstrative of the siblings. Mindy is generally more reserved.

I don’t have a chance to rescue her from their attentions because Adam is excitedly telling me about how he’s been practicing drums, and Diana is tugging on my hand, wanting to play Uno. I’m suffused with guilt for how big they’ve gotten while I’ve been gone, like a physical manifestation of my lengthy absence.

Mindy gets dragged into the living room, presumably where Granny Bea is prepping for football, and Dad and Daniel press me into service in the kitchen. It’s our year to cook.

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