Page 10 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“Good to know. But I don’t have one.”

“Yes, you do. Your eyes get big like a cartoon character for just a split second.”

She opens her eyes as wide as they’ll go for the alleged split second to demonstrate.

“My eyes have never done that.”

“You also didn’t use that ointment this morning.”

“I’ll do it later. It’s fine.” I take her hand and squeeze. “How’d you know?”

“I’m not sure. I just knew.”

She swings our hands, causing my shirt to rub against the fresh ink on my shoulder that I didn’t moisturize this morning. It’s agitating, but it makes me smile. She just knew.

Looks like we’re the last arrivals at the coffee shop. All eyes are on us when we walk in together. A few people lift their mugs to say hello.

Petra’s mouth becomes a hard line.

A hard no.

Not that she can stop us, but she would if she could. I don’t understand her concern. Ivy’s grieving, but she’s not fragile. I’ve been single and never apologized for acting it, but I’m not an uncaring asshole. I keep telling myself it’s not about me, but damn. It sure feels personal when she looks at me that way.

She doesn’t know all there is to know about me. And I understand her less every time she expresses her disapproval of me spending time with Ivy.

Sometimes, the way we don’t ask questions around here just creates more.

Ivy

Caffeine, Sugar & Hope

Okay, I didn’t thinkI missed anything about my life back home, but being in the community center this morning reminds me how much I thrive on being around people. I’ve always enjoyed working remote, but I see people socially.

In Ivydell, I’ve spent a little time with Petra and Josephine, a little more with Jensen. I’ve even had coffee with Myrna, but aside from Jensen, it’s all been brief, and not everyone is around all the time here.

This is nice. Community, like the sign says.

Some days back at home, I take my computer to a local coffee shop for a few hours so I can be around people while I work. It’s not like being in the office. The people working at the othertables aren’t my coworkers. No one is going to come over to vent about the company, or ask me to help them with anything. We’re just busy people, sharing our energy and the occasional casual conversation.

I might be a little conversation deprived at this point because I’ve asked Tawny a hundred questions about the places they’ve been since they were last in Ivydell. She’s eager to share stories, so I think maybe she’s missed this, too.

Leo requests everyone’s attention so he can explain the blend we’re all currently drinking. He tells us about the young couple who own the farm in California where the beans were grown and how they roast them.

Tomorrow, he’s going to wow us all with roasted cacao, but he promises there will be regular coffee available, too. He says he has a lot of new things to introduce, and we can check our skepticism at the door. The mild laughter in the room is accompanied by a few groans, Myrna’s being the loudest.

She says she likes her coffee plain and simple.

Unlike her jewelry.

I can’t wait to try the brewed cacao. Iffy on Leo’s enthusiasm for mushroom coffee, though. I’ve tried it once, and it was so bitter it brought tears to my eyes. Leo assures me I’ll be impressed. Tawny makes a yuck face behind his back.

They’re probably in their early sixties, two of the most energetic people I’ve ever met. Tawny’s hair is dyed jet black like her eyeliner, and Leo has a thick, gray ponytail. I like them already. I want to hear all their stories.

Guitar chords fill the space, and I turn to see who’s playing.

My eyes blink in disbelief.

Sitting on a stool in the corner, strumming an acoustic guitar, is Cujo. He doesn’t just play. He sings. Well. Very, very well.

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