Page 22 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

Here's to Strong Women

It’s been a fewdays since Jensen told me about Jenna, and keeping my mind on work has been harder than usual. He hasn’t mentioned her again, but he seems lighter for having talked about it.

I want to know more, but I won’t ask. I’ll let him talk when he’s ready, but I hope that’s soon because I’m so full of questions I could burst.

I’d love to see a picture of him from before that tragic night when he lost so much. Some lives have a defining before and after moment. There’s no denying that accident had to have been his. I hope he has pictures of Jenna and him together. Pictures of him growing up.

Would he have kept those things?

There was no one to guide him, to tell him he should keep things like that. That even if he didn’t think he wanted them then, he would someday. I have to believe there’s a storage unit somewhere with boxes of his life, secure and waiting for him to be ready to reclaim them.

Thinking he might not have any photos of the people and places that shaped him seems like insult to injury to me. I imagine us going through a box of photographs together. Him showing me the vineyard and the house he grew up in. His childhood pets. Maybe he at least has some saved digitally.

My mom would love to take him on a photo journey through my childhood, I’m sure. The awkward teen years, me gardening with Gran, but paying more attention to the ladybugs than the plants, and her attempting to teach me how to paint.

I never had the patience for growing things or for capturing all the nuances that turned brush strokes into art, but I wish I’d known Ivydell was active again before she died.

She and I could’ve come here together. She would’ve been so proud to introduce me to her old friends, show me around, and tell me her favorite stories about this place and the people who shaped her.

Maybe Petra feels like company.

As soon as I walk outside, Josephine pulls up next door. She rolls down her window. “Where are you going?”

“To see if Petra’s home and if she’s in the mood for company. Wanna go?”

“Yeah. I’ll unload my stuff and catch up. You care if I ask Myrna if she wants to come, too?”

“No, that’s fine.” If the four of us hang out together, it seems like we should invite all the women. “What about Tawny?”

“I’ll text her. She’ll probably want to come.”

There are two other women currently in Ivydell, though I’m not sure they’re the type who really care for girls’ night activities. Maybe they did at some point. “What about Alma and Elma?”

“Never hurts to ask. If the spirits have them occupied, they’ll let you know.”

What does that mean? Am I supposed to invite them? I guess it’s only fair if she’s going to reach out to Myrna and Tawny. That’s what I get for opening my big mouth. I don’t want them to feel excluded, though.

I like the Spirit Sisters, or what I know of them so far, anyway. But I’ve never been to their casita. They seem like they probably aren’t crazy about drop-in guests. From what I understand, most of their visitors are clients who come for readings or channeling sessions. Even their spirit visitors supposedly keep to a schedule.

But they are an integral part of Ivydell. More so than me, that’s for sure. I shouldn’t be afraid to walk up to their doorstep.

They have two casitas that share the name Whispering Winds. The houses each have a lettered tile mounted near the front door. They live in the one marked A and work in the one with the B. Maybe the spirits stay in B, I think as I walk up to A.

Alma opens the door when I approach. “Hello, sweet Ivy.”

“Hi. I hope I’m not disturbing, y’all.”

“Oh, no, not at all. Elma is making us some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you and Elma might want to go with me to Petra’s? Josephine is checking with Myrna and Tawny to see if they want to come.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. Come in.”

Not sure I want to do that, but I don’t want to be rude, either, so I step inside their living space. It’s dark, but not creepy. Elma has overheard our conversation, and she’s already stepping out of her slippers to put on a pair of shoes better suited for walking.

Alma says she needs to freshen up, and then she disappears into the bathroom. I have a feeling this could take a while. Gran never just grabbed her purse and walked out the door without checking her hair and makeup in the mirror, touching up whatever she felt needed it.

Mom is less fussy, probably because she’s used to switching gears quickly after so many years of working in the emergency room. She can be ready to go in a flash. I’m like her. I can usually be out the door in under ten minutes, unless it’s a special occasion, or if I just woke up.

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