Page 39 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“I bet Gran thought you were a riot.”

“I’m not sure what she thought about me, but I adored her. And your mom.”

Myrna insists she has to feed me while we polish off the wine. She makes us grilled cheese sandwiches, says she’s a better artist than a cook.

But I think her grilled cheese sandwiches are almost as good as Gran’s. Sometimes, the simplest things are the best.

Jensen

Digging Holes

I see Ivy throughmy kitchen window. What is she doing out there? Jesus wept! Who taught her how to use a shovel? She’s going to chop her damn foot off.

“You’re not trying to dig a hole big enough to hide my body, are you?”

“In the front yard? No. I would definitely do that out back. Your sign is finished.”

“Drop the shovel. I’ll be right back.”

I jog over to the shop to get the auger. Of course, I have to put gas in it. For a damn sign that is completely unnecessary. But I agreed to it. It might’ve been my idea. The details are fuzzy. A lot of shit is fuzzy in my head right now.

“Stand back.” I turn on the auger and let it do the work her shovel couldn’t.

She leans over to inspect the first hole. “Hey, that thing’s cool. I want to do the other one.”

“Maybe next time. Hold that sign up so I can see where to drill the second hole.”

I set the auger in the right place and tell her to step away with the sign. Didn’t mean to snap, but it’s already out of my mouth.

“Somebody needs a nap. Or a snack.”

“Is it you, Ivy? Are you somebody?”

“Well, yeah, me, too. But I always need those things.”

“True.” I make the second hole. “You know the sign needs to be set in concrete, right? It won’t stay upright for long with nothing but dirt to hold it in place.”

“Do you have concrete?”

I hesitate for a minute. “Yes. But I don’t feel like mixing any right now. Just put your sign up, and I’ll make it more secure tomorrow.”

“Maybe the pots will help in the meantime.”

I look around for said pots. “That’s just what I need. More flowers to water.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sets her pots in place, and then she stands back up, tilting her head when she looks at me.

“You look like hell. Are you sick?”

“I warned you about that sweet talk.”

“Seriously, Jensen, are you okay?”

“I will be.”

The wind blows her hair into her eyes, and she swipes it away with the back of her hand so she can see me again. She’s worried, and I hate that I’m the reason. But this confirmation that she cares, it matters. I don’t want to shit on that.

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