ChapterFifteen
Oliver
The exterior of the Fox family home hasn’t changed much since my last visit. It still looks as if the Winchester mystery house had a baby with a log cabin and the doula was a blind lumberjack. We’ve pulled up in the front of the building, where the main office is. It’s basically a large front room connected to the residence behind it by an interior door.
The porch is freshly painted and has decidedly less sag to it than it did at my last visit, but the mess of a structure behind it is still an odd mixture of architectural styles, as if different hands have been adding to it over the years and the result is something that was supposed to be charming and ended up more like a misshapen mess.
The second Piper slides out of the driver’s seat, Finley hugs her, and they commence an inexplicable ritual of affectionate gestures combined with overly loud chattering. I make my way to the rear of the vehicle to retrieve the bags.
Archer gives Piper a hug and then jogs over to me as I push the button on the trunk. He slaps me on the upper back. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it. Hungry? You’re right on time for dinner. We’re making tacos.”
I glance at Piper as Finley ushers her inside. “Yes. Dinner would be fine.”
“Here, I’ve got this.” He takes Piper’s bag from me. “Did you want to stay here or in one of the completed cabins? We only have the one free room since Jake’s home, so you’d have to sleep on the couch again.”
I hold back a grimace. The only compelling argument for staying here involves the possibility of Piper joining me on the monstrous couch, but after our conversation in the car, the outlook isn’t good. What if she’s angry? What if my slightly obsessive—okay, very obsessive—personality scares her away? A separate accommodation is for the best. It shouldn’t affect me in the slightest.
“The cabin will be sufficient.”
“Great. I’ll show you where it is after dinner.”
I shut the trunk, leaving my bag for now, and follow Archer up the steps and into the house. We go through the office and end up in the open dining and living area. Archer jogs up the staircase on the left to deposit Piper’s bag in her room.
I stand next to the oversize dining table, glancing around as Finley and Piper are talk in the kitchen, through an arched doorway and out of sight. The Foxes have done a little bit of work. The floors appear new, shiny golden maple, but the horrid couch is still present, along with the ancient wood paneling and plethora of family photos cluttering the walls. I’m not sure if I should sit down somewhere else, go to the kitchen, or wait here for Archer.
Before I decide what to do with myself, Finley’s voice gets louder, and she stalks into the dining area, grabs my shoulder, and gives me a side hug. “Hey, Oliver. Thanks for coming.”
I freeze. She’s never hugged me. She barely tolerates me.
I pat her shoulder once.
She releases me on a squeeze. “Jake’s manning the grill,” she says, pulling Piper toward the door that leads from the kitchen to the side entrance. She calls out behind her. “Will you set the table? The plates are in the cabinet by the fridge, and the utensils are in the drawer underneath.” Then the door shuts, and I’m alone.
At least I have a task. I make my way to the kitchen. The countertops are new—white-and-gray-speckled granite—and the ancient fridge and oven have been replaced, but the dark wood cabinets are the same, their style dating from around 1986. I swing open the cupboard next to the fridge and grab a stack of mismatched antique plates, some of which are chipped. They need new dishes, clearly.
“Hey.” Archer appears behind me, opening the fridge and stacking containers, a bowl of grated cheese, another of chopped tomatoes, and a third with shredded lettuce. “Thanks for your advice with Jake. I’m glad you came. I ordered the stuff you recommended, but I might need you to help get him into it.” He glances at the door, keeping his voice low even though the sounds of Piper and Finley laughing and talking with Jake filter in from outside the door.
“What stuff?” I count out the plates and then open the drawer and stare into it. “Do we need utensils for tacos?”
“The cross-stitch thing. And no. Just grab a couple of spoons for the toppings.”
Cross-stitch? Oh, right. Carson. CrossFit. Hmm. I’m not quite sure how to break it to him.
The door opens, and the siblings march in, raising the volume in the room by at least ten decibels. Jake brings up the rear with a tray of steaming meat, filling the kitchen with the heady scent of spices and grill smoke.
Finley barks out orders like a drill sergeant—or someone who raised a brood of children. “Let’s put everything on the dining table to pass around. Piper, will you help Archer grab the fixings? I’ll get the tortillas.”
I head into the dining room with the plates. The next few minutes are a study in organized chaos as everyone steps around the mammoth-sized oak table. Jake sits at the head, Finley and Archer on one side, and Piper on the other. I take the seat next to her.
“Are you going out to the tractor tomorrow?” Jake asks Piper, passing her the platter of chicken.
She nods. “After breakfast.”
“I’ll go too,” Finley says, filling her taco with steak.
Jake reaches across the table for the container with the shredded cheese. “I can come with you.”
Archer clears his throat. “We already have plans for tomorrow, with Oliver. I told you about it last night.”