Page 42 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“No. You’ll have to shove me off the bank.”

“Good thing I started lifting again.”

“We’ll do some more of that after you clean all our fish.”

“I’ll cleanmyfish.”

“Welcome back, you cocky little bastard.”

“I’m getting there.” I scoop concrete into a hole. “I might owe you more than cleaning fish could repay.”

“You don’t owe me shit. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I set the sign in place and smooth out the top of the concrete around the posts. I could’ve left it messy. Nobody around here would’ve cared. Except Ivy. She’ll want it to look nice.

Besides, I intentionally over-poured so I could spread out the excess. It gives the flower pots a level place to sit. If I don’t smooth it out, it defeats the purpose.

The concrete hasn’t cured enough to put the pots on it by the time Cujo comes back, but I’ve set them on the ground between the posts, so if Ivy happens by, she’ll know I didn’t forget. I told her I’d secure the posts, and I did.

“The flowers are a nice touch. They match your eyes.”

“Shut up and get in the truck.”

The wind tries to blow us off the bank a few times, but we wait it out and keep fishing. We manage to pull a couple of fish out of the water before we’re done. There was another pair of guys out here when we threw our lines in, but they gave up and went home before they got a bite. Ran off before the chop eased up.

Their pillowcases won’t feel rough against their windburned cheeks tonight. They probably called us dumbasses while they were loading up to leave. But we’re the ones having fresh fish for dinner because we didn’t give up.

Cujo takes his second fish off the hook, and we call it.

“Sometimes, it pays to be hardheaded.” He tosses the fish into the cooler with the others.

The wind picks up again. It’ll blow this way all night, off and on, gusting and then going quiet until you almost forget about it. “My dad used to say stubborn and stupid were the same thing, that you couldn’t be one without being both. He believed he was neither. I spent a long time thinking he was an asshole on purpose, that he worked at it. Now, I catch myself thinking he was just stupidly stubborn. And for what?”

I know I can be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I know when to wait out the wind and when to cut bait.

Cujo nods like he’s mulling over what I’ve said. “There were plenty of times I didn’t understand why my old man did the things he did.”

“Every boy hits that stage where he thinks he’s smarter than his father, but it sucks to be a grown man and realize you were right. You’re supposed to look back and see that he was a wiser man than you thought. Mine wasn’t.”

“You can’t pick your parents. But you don’t have to repeat their mistakes.”

“I don’t want to be a damn thing like my dad.” I slide my tackle box into the bed of my truck and slam the tailgate. “But I don’t think I’m mad at him anymore. I don’t know what I feel.”

I’ll always be mad he took Jenna, but that anger feels less like an active volcano now. More like the hardened lava of a past eruption. It’s still there, and it probably always will be. Not dangerous anymore, but a permanent reminder of how fast things can go wrong.

“Maybe you’re done with being weighed down. Tired of just existing. Ready to live again.”

“Might be long overdue.”

“There’s no deadline. Getting there is all that matters.”

Cujo and I lift for a while as soon as we get back to Ivydell. I think we both know we won’t do it if we wait until after we eat. I don’t comment on how much weight he puts on the bar. And he doesn’t try to shame me into adding more.

He lights the grill behind my shop, and I grab us some cold beers from my fridge. If I offered him a glass of wine, he might shank me with the corkscrew.

Some nights, a meal you’ve eaten hundreds of times before tastes better than it ever has. The food’s the same. But it’s better.

Ivy

---