Foxholes
Finny the Fox was missing, and Lillian started to panic. Every morning, the animals gathered on the windowsill, delivery staff on the left and babies on the right. But today Finny failed to report. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen, and the pail where he slept was empty. Her throat tightened.
Where had she seen him last? A family of pirates adopted Finny yesterday, so she checked their hideout in Dirty Clothes Bay. The stowaway wasn’t on the ship. The pirates suggested the kitchen; after all, he loved snacks almost as much as he loved hiding. Maybe he was eating Goldfish or talking to the animal crackers.
At the kitchen table, her father was staring at his laptop. Lillian paused.
When everyone started working from home, it felt like a big party. Dad cooked pancakes with sprinkles to celebrate their new adventure, and he even joined her in the playroom, teaching a lion cub to use his inside roar. But the house seemed smaller now. There were fewer places for her T.O.T.S. to explore, and her parents blamed the clutter on her Legos and art projects, not their junk mail and coffee cups.
Lillian tip-toed past him and opened the pantry.
Finny was a master sneaker. Even Freddy the Flamingo, hide-and-seek champion, had trouble spotting him. She needed help. Dad glanced up, setting a finger on his lips. Down the hall, Mom was pacing in the office as she talked on her headset.
No, if anyone could find Finny, it would have to be Kate.
*
In her bedroom, staring at the parts of a leaf, Kate’s day was getting worse. Who cared about crenated and serrated edges? When so many people were sick, did the difference between pinnate and palmate lobes really matter? Photosynthesis was cool, she supposed. Everything else was busywork.
She reached for a pine green colored pencil, touched the tip to paper. It snapped, and she had to settle for an inauthentic lime. It was all so useless. Take a picture, upload it to a site her teacher barely checked, recycle the wasted paper.
Above her desk, drawings hung on a wire from IKEA. Imaginary landscapes—secret waterfalls and dragons’ nests and planets with multi-colored suns, most of them sketched BQ, Before Quarantine, when she still enjoyed working in her room. Others were gifts from her younger sister: pictures of their house, swings at the park, and scenes from Lillian’s favorite shows.
She winced at the crayon drawing of Freddy and Pip, the flamingo and penguin from T.O.T.S. A reminder of the morning she ruined, not long into the pandemic.
Kate had been working on reading comprehension questions as Dad pulled a bagel from the toaster and bragged about Lillian. She tried to focus. Their father would yell at her to turn down the iPad from two rooms away, but he was clueless about his own volume.
“What an imagination!” he raved. “The Tiny Ones Transport Service.”
Kate frowned, annoyed at his enthusiasm. Of course her sister was creative. As her daily playmate, she was pretty much the family expert on the topic.
“Tiny what?” Mom asked, half-interested, stretching in the foyer after a run.
“This game Lillian invented, animals that deliver baby animals.” He gestured toward the playroom with a butter knife. “She’s created an entire mythology about a penguin and a flamingo.”
“Pip and Freddy. It’s a show, Dad. On Disney Junior.”
Kate didn’t know why she interrupted. Perhaps she was surprised at his ignorance. The T.O.T.S. collection had been a special Christmas present, only a few months before.
Maybe she envied the praise. She remembered how excited he’d get at her soccer games and perfect report cards. Now excellence was expected.
“Lillian didn’t invent it?”
Kate shook her head. It was the first great discovery of quarantine: how little their father knew about their lives. Their favorite brand of peanut butter, how Kate preferred Hint of Salt Ritz over Multigrain, or that Lillian always needed her nightlight because she and Freddy were both scared of the dark.
“It’s still impressive,” Dad mumbled, “especially for a four-year-old.” But the wonder had left the kitchen.
Now, weeks later, the moment still bothered Kate. She kept her head down and focused on her leaf, avoiding Pip and Freddy’s eyes.
Behind her, the door creaked open. Lillian toed the edge of the carpet. She had clearly ignored the handwritten sign to knock first.
Kate scrunched her face like a wad of paper, a look that meant “leave me alone.”
Lillian flinched, bursting into sniffles and sobs.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Kate rushed over and wiped the tears with her shirt. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough morning.” She wrapped Lillian in a snuggle-hug. “Tell me what happened.”
Soon the sobs calmed enough to explain the morning’s disaster—that Finny was lost, he needed help, she’d looked everywhere. Kate brushed Lillian’s bangs back as she talked, but the strands stuck to her forehead.
“Finny’s just playing with you, Lil. Remember how good he is at hiding?”
Lillian nodded. “Last time, we didn’t find him until bedtime.”
“He spent the whole day exploring the caves in your room, that sly little fox.” Kate tickled Lillian’s tummy, and she giggled.
“His nose was poking my cheek from inside the pillow.”
They’d find him together, Kate reassured. She’d make sure of it.
Kate upturned blankets and cushions, Lillian trailing her like a shadow. She wedged her hand deep into the couch, ignoring the crumbs, and hoped that the prick on her thumb was from a spring, not a silverfish. They raided Legoland, breaking open each house in search of the fugitive, and rummaged through Lillian’s room, squeezing under the bed past bouncy balls, a princess purse, and hair clips . . . but no fox.
Kate sighed, picking a dust bunny out of her hair. The half-colored leaf still sat on her desk, and if she and Lillian tore up any more of the house, their parents were bound to get upset. And it was almost time for Lillian’s nap. Kate turned to her sister, about to call off the search, but saw tears returning to her eyes.
“Looks like this mission is going to take some special planning, cadet.”
Lillian rubbed her eyes. “Are we going to the Fort, Katie?”
The Fort was a well-lit nook between her bed and window, stocked with her favorite books, pillows, and stuffed animals. BQ, it was strictly off-limits to Lillian, a place to escape from her constant need for attention. But priorities changed in the pandemic. With extra chairs from the art table, she used a sheet as a roof and renamed it the Fort. Her sister added board books and a few of her own animals. Any time that Lillian was scared or lonely, like when a thunderstorm burst through the neighborhood, they would huddle together beneath the blankets.
“Into the Fort, soldier,” she said. “We’ll gather supplies and plan the next stage of the rescue.”
“Yes ma’am, sir.” Lillian took her sister’s hand and marched down the hall.
Kate was proud of herself. Instead of feeling helpless, too young to heal the sick or search for a cure, she was actually making a difference. Sharing her special space was something useful. She could make things better, if only for a single, important person.
Lillian crawled inside and threw herself on the pillows. “Finny loves this place, so many places to hide.”
“Maybe that’s the key, let him come to us.” Kate sat down, and Lillian nestled close, giving her a stack of books. They read Little Blue Truck, Knuffle Bunny, and an Elephant and Piggie book about sharing ice cream.
Lillian’s eyes closed and her breathing slowed. Carefully, Kate slipped out, her legs numb from sitting on the floor.
Their parents’ voices rose from the kitchen: “I’m tired,” Mom said. “I need you to do your part.”
Kate hesitated, concerned that they’d wake her sister. She slipped into Lillian’s room. She needed a blanket or stuffed animal to tuck under her arm, something to squeeze when she woke and Finny wasn’t there.
Between the mattress and wall was a small gap where Lillian hid some of her favorite dolls and toys. Their beaded eyes looked up at her, content in their hiding hole. Kate ran her arm along the crack, dislodging a baby bottle and pieces of Duplo. But no Finny.
She selected a blanket, sat on the edge of the bed, and sighed, examining the clutter on the floor, the scraps of paper taped to the walls. Lillian’s shelf was crammed with board books. She knelt on the floor and selected a few to take back to the Fort. As she tugged at the spines, a handful of toys tumbled out of their secret lair and onto the carpet.
A small plastic fox rolled onto his back and stared into her face, grinning.
*
Kate laid a blanket over her sister and set Finny near her arm, angling his face toward the desk. She returned to her worksheet and its mis-colored leaves.
Glancing at the drawings above her desk, her eyes returned to Pip and Freddy. They smiled back. The sly fox stood watch, a minor victory, a reminder of the things that she could change.
This is a collaborative piece written by three co-authors. Hannah Butcher is an English major with Creative Writing and Jewish Studies minors at Rollins College. Kendall Clarke is a recent graduate of Rollins College, where she majored in English and minored in Creative Writing. Matt Forsythe teaches in the English Department at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida.
