Page 32 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

When I realize I’ve been staring at my computer screen for the better part of an hour, I know it’s time to call it a day. I meant to put in a few more hours, but I gave more today than I have all week. The sun is still shining, and I need to feel it on my face.

Petra is helping Myrna unload flats of flowers from the back of her SUV. Marigolds.

“Need any help?”

“Sure!” Myrna yells.

“Where are these going?” I wonder why she didn’t get a variety. So many marigolds.

“In the planters up front,” Petra says. “They’ll spread quick. Be nice and thick by the festival.”

Myrna sets another flat in the wagon. It’s the last one that will fit. This is definitely going to take several trips. I think she should’ve unloaded them upfront, but I don’t question her method aloud. She hands me a flat to carry. “They’ll be a blanket of orange by then.”

I’d noticed the large rectangular planters flanking the gate. At first, I thought they were water troughs. Then I realized there were no animals in Ivydell to use them, and I sort of forgot they were there. They became part of the scenery.

“These will grow here?”

“Not a lot will," Myrna says. "But marigolds are tough.”

“Gran always planted them with her tomatoes. She said they kept worms away.”

“I taught her that.” Petra beams. “They attract bees, too. Good for pollination.”

“Yeah, see, that’s how I think of marigolds, like functional flowers. I never thought they were all that pretty, but seeing so many of them together like this, they are pretty.”

“These simple little flowers can be beautiful if you give them what they need.” Myrna closes her lift gate and we head for the planters.

“Did you get soil?” I didn’t see any bags in Myrna’s cargo space.

Petra nods. “Jensen got a truckload earlier. He’s already filled the planters.”

Now I know what he’s been doing all day. That’s a good-guy thing to do, right? It’s not fair to keep score, to rate his good deeds like a punch card.

Do ten good-guy things, get a free blowjob!

I smile, knowing I’d reward him before the tenth hole punch. A quick laugh erupts before I can choke it back.

Myrna’s sleek platinum hair swings as her head snaps in my direction. “Oh, if the mention of his name instantly calls up something that makes you that happy, I want to know all the juicy details.”

“No details,” Petra says.

This is absolutely not the right crowd for my hole-punch joke.

“You and I need a private wine or coffee date soon.” Myrna cuts her eyes at Petra. “Without Mother Superior around to censor us.”

Our resident silversmith isn’t wearing boots for this job, not rubber or red snakeskin. Her footwear choice of the day is a pair of silver, glittery Crocs. They’re more practical for planting flowers, but Myrna is short even in her heeled snakeskin ankle boots. Without them, she’s tiny. She’s wearing plain black leggings and a long-sleeved black tee with her logo emblazoned in silver foil on the front. The curlicues look the same asher scrolled silver jewelry. And the naked woman on all fours, backed up to a standing bear, is just as unmistakable.

I bet she was the talk of the garden center. At least her shirt doesn’t include the name of her business, Wild Love, beneath the logo like her back windshield does. She told me before she’s proud of her logo, but I guess I didn’t grasp the depth of her pride because it takes brass balls to wear that in public.

Silver balls, technically. Bear balls. Bare bear balls. Okay, it would be weirder if he were wearing pants. That might be the only thing that could make it weirder.

Good for her, being her authentic self, though.

Petra and I get started putting the marigolds in the dirt while Myrna turns the wagon back to grab another load. Her sparkly Crocs catch the sun as she goes. From a distance, you’d never imagine what a big personality that little body held.

“Do you think we’ll have enough to fill these?” Now that I’m standing right in front of them, the planters look much bigger.

“Myrna has never bought too little of anything in her life. I’m sure we’ll all be taking marigolds home.”

---