Page 1 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

Ivy

The Preparation Begins

Cujo was the firstresident to come back to Ivydell after Jensen and I had the whole compound to ourselves for a few days. We expected to be alone at least another day before anyone returned, and Cujo was supposed to be gone for a few weeks. But he rode right past Jensen’s casita—newly namedVintage Vibes, courtesy of me—and gave us the rest of our expected alone time.

Somehow, I’m not convinced Cujo is really the loner outlaw people think he is. I think there might be a big teddy bear under that long beard and leather vest. But I recognize the name of the motorcycle club on his patches, and they’re not known for being teddy bears.

Jensen says Cujo is more of an auxiliary member, though he admits he doesn’t know exactly what that means and doesn’t want to.

Ivydell’s unspoken policy of not questioning your neighbors has its merits. There are some things you’re better off not knowing. Live and let live.

Petra and the Spirit Sisters, more officially known as Alma and Elma, along with Myrna, Ivydell’s resident purveyor of shiny obscenities, all came back this morning.

I got a text from Petra shortly after their arrival. It was an invitation to help with some prep for the annual arts festival that Ivydell will host next month. I’m only a temporary resident, so I’m not expected to contribute at the same level as everyone else, but it feels nice to be included. I came here to find out more about this place, and as the seasonal residents come back, I know more questions will be answered.

The more I interact, the more I’ll learn.

Jensen honks the horn of his truck as he drives by my place on his way to Cujo’s casita. I smile at the sound as I fill my tumbler with coffee.

Cool, crisp air greets me when I step outside. The wind is calm right now, so there’s no blowing dirt to assault my clean hair. I’ve twisted it up into a clip because it will be coated with desert dust soon enough, regardless.

My next-door neighbor, Josephine, is still gone. It’s weird to miss someone you hardly know, but aside from Jensen, she’s the only other resident close to my age.

I wonder if she knows Cujo is back already. She’s more than neighborly with him.

Myrna waves from across the dirt road that separates our casitas. She’s wearing rubber boots and has a pair of gardening gloves in her hand. The sneakers I’m wearing are the most casual shoes I brought with me, and I definitely didn’t bring any typeof work gloves. Hopefully, whatever we’re doing today won’t involve getting too intimate with cactus thorns.

Jensen probably has some gloves I can borrow. But then again, Petra probably does, too. I can’t expect to rely on him for every little thing I need, even if he has been exceedingly good at meeting all my needs so far . . .

Lost in my thoughts of our past few days together, I don’t realize Myrna has crossed the road until she’s right in front of me. She’s short and thin, but she has a big energy about her; not to mention her big silver jewelry that catches the mid-morning sun and causes me to squint.

Squinting is always the safer way to view her pieces because you never know what you might find depicted in her curlicues. She’s a master silversmith and jewelry maker. Her work is detailed. Complex. And sometimes, a little disturbing for me. But she’s fun.

“Are we gardening today? I don’t have any tools. Or gloves.”

“Don’t worry, doll. Petra will have what you need.”

Of course. Petra, the fairy godmother of Ivydell, love of Gran’s life, and the reason I’m here. She’s the only one who can fill in the blanks for me about why Gran loved this remote and rustic place so much. And why she wouldn’t come back.

As expected, Petra greets us when we round the curve to her place by waving gloves in the air. “Hope you gals are ready to work!”

I look down at my nails. My last trip to the nail salon was over three weeks ago and it shows. There are so many little things I didn’t think about it before I gassed up my car and hit the road. But I’m not sorry to be here. How could I be when Jensen kisses the way he does? Not to mention the other skilled acts his mouth performs. And the rest of his skills.

Okay, time to shake off all thoughts of Jensen. Or this is going to be a long day in the sun.

“What are we planting?”

Petra and Myrna laugh. That happens a lot around here—I say something that makes someone laugh, even though I don’t know why it’s funny.

“No planting. We’re clearing and cleaning the pathways. The festival is in less than a month.” Petra hands me a rake. “Now that I know you enjoy planting, I’ll remember to let you help with that when the time comes.”

I’m not sure I’d say I enjoy it, but it sounds better than raking dirt.

Myrna snickers. “Your back is going to be sore tonight, girlie. Maybe Stinger will give you a massage.”

Petra’s glare could slice through steel. I’m still not sure which one of us she wants to protect more, me or Jensen. I’m even more confused by what she thought would happen when I met him. She’s a lesbian, but she’s not blind. That man is a sight to behold. And a joy to hold as well. My closed hand slides a few inches up and down on the rake handle before I can stop it.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who noticed my attempt to jack a rake. I smile, thinking about how Jensen actually is a rake, or he probably was in a past life. Maybe he still is, whether that’s the current term for it or not. Maybe that’s why Petra worries about me spending time with him.

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