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“Phee. They’ll be busy moving in. You’ll need to give them their privacy until they’re settled. We’re just going to say hello. I’ll introduce you, then we’ll be on our way.”
Dad knows the Foxes. He is in talks about a business deal with Sullivan Fox, the dad, and he met Mrs. Fox at a business dinner.
“I know, I know,” I say, charging toward the kitchen, where Tonia holds out the cookies she put in a pretty tin box for me. “Did you save me some?” I ask. I only got to nibble on one when they came out of the oven, and it burnt my tongue.
“Of course, Phee.” She shows me a small plate she set aside.
“Thanks!”
Dad and I head out the front door, across the porch and down the long stairs that lead to the sidewalk. There’s no fence between our properties, and each is set on a large parcel of land so even though we’re neighbors, our houses are not that close—which is why it helps to have the binoculars.
Gardeners and movers are all over the place as we make our way up the stairs toward the front doors of the Fox’s new house. They’ve redesigned everything. Our houses used to match almost exactly, but now where the stairs lead us to a cozy front porch with a swing and big, comfy furniture, theirs leads to a set of grand double doors in dark wood. It’s pretty, and inside is really nice, but I like ours better. It feels warmer.
Dad rings the bell just as two women open the door, carrying a heavy sculpture out. The thing looks like it weighs more than both of them together.
“Let me help you with that,” Dad says without missing a beat, and he takes it from them.
The women seem surprised but are quick to guide him to where to place it. In the meantime, I peer into the house. There must be a dozen people unpacking things downstairs alone, and more are coming and going upstairs.
I walk inside, turn in a circle, and look up at the sparkling chandelier hanging two stories up. Light glints off each crystal teardrop, shining onto the ceiling and the jade green walls.
The house looks very different than it did the last time I was here. It’s finished now, the marble floors so polished they almost reflect us back, and every surface is gleaming. Our house has the original hardwood floors and although it’s clean, nothing gleams quite like it does here. This house also looks to be twice the size of ours now.
A woman barks an order and I jump, turning in the direction of the shout. Dad walks in and takes me by the shoulders, scooting me out of the way of two men hauling something heavy between them.
“Watch out, sweetheart,” he says and leads me toward the living room, where sunlight pours in from the wide-open sliding glass doors. From here I can see the pool. It is almost blindingly bright.
“Horatio,” a man’s voice booms.
I turn to find Mr. Fox—I can guess it’s him because he’s the man who stepped out of the back of the limousine—coming around the corner. He’s still wearing his suit despite this heat but he’s smiling wide, his teeth so white they’re almost as blinding as the pool. He holds out his hand to Dad.
“Sorry for the mess and the noise,” he says, gesturing around. “Moving is always a hassle, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about it, Sly,” Dad says. Sly is Mr. Fox’s nickname. He and my dad shake hands over my head. “Just wanted to drop by and say hello, welcome you. This is my daughter, Ophelia. Ophelia, this is Mr. Sullivan Fox.”
“Phee,” I say, holding out my hand to shake. No one calls me Ophelia.
“Phee, what a pleasure to meet you. Your father has told me all about you.” Mr. Fox extends his hand to shake my hand and I notice the gold ring with a fox head on his little finger. I’ve never seen a man wear one before and I can’t help looking at the red eyes. It’s kind of creepy.
Dad clears his throat because I’m taking too long. I put my hand in his, not liking the ring with the rubies for eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say. His eyes, I notice, are the exact same color as the boy I saw earlier. “Your house is beautiful.”
“Why thank you. What a sweet young lady, Horatio.”
Dad smiles, his gaze moving to the woman who stepped out of the car with Mr. Fox. I assume she’s his wife. She’s so beautiful all I can do is stare. She has blond hair cut neatly to her shoulders, and pale green eyes the color of spring. Her hair is smooth and shiny, and I find myself pushing my frizzy curls behind my ears. Not that it’ll stay put. It never does. My hair is always out of control, especially in the summer with the humidity, and sometimes I just wish I had normal hair like everyone else.
Mrs. Fox looks annoyed at first, but when she meets Dad’s eyes, she exhales and shakes her head. She takes that moment to rearrange her face into asmile and if I thought Mr. Fox’s was blinding, I almost need sunglasses with hers.
“Horatio, is that you?” she asks, her voice clear and pretty.
“Mira,” Dad says, taking her hands and leaning in to kiss her cheeks.
It’s weird, like we’re European or something. We’re not. We’re just from New England, born and bred, as Dad says. We don’t put on airs. It’s one of the reasons why, when all the other girls get dropped off at school in limousines by chauffeurs, Dad insists on bringing me in our Range Rover that he’s had for seven years.
I like that about us and don’t really care if the others talk about me behind my back. I guess it’s why this kissing her cheeks thing is so weird to me. It’s not like Dad.
“And who is this darling thing?” she asks, crouching down to get a look at me, her gaze moving over my poofy hair, confirming it did not stay where I put it. Close up, I see how when she smiles, nothing else on her face changes. Her eyes stay exactly the same, and where Tonia’s eyes crinkle around the edges when we laugh, Mrs. Fox’s don’t do anything at all.
