Wreath (17 page)

Hurriedly she applied the ointment, squinting to notice that the expiration date on the tube was five years earlier. She hoped the medicine wasn’t worse than her injuries. As she packed up the kit and returned it to the storeroom, she watched Faye pacing around the store, as though she didn’t quite know what to do, which struck Wreath as odd since she owned the place.

The woman straightened a cushion on a couch, adjusted the shade on a lamp, turned the lamp on and then off again. She studied the switch as though she’d never seen one before, tightened the bulb, and moved the shade again, tilting it and then putting it back in place.

Wreath took the small trash can out from under the desk and carried it to the back of the store, gathering her dusting supplies, which she had put together in a small cardboard box she had found in the trash. When she walked to the front of the store, the man was standing up, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Good as new,” he said. “At least until our next big rain.” He put his tools in a small red metal box, wiping each one carefully before he put it inside. Wreath watched him intently from across the room. Most of the men she’d known were messy.

As she moved to straighten a chair, he saw her and met her eyes with a look of recognition. “You must be Faye’s helper.” He smiled. “I’m J. D., from the hardware store next door.”

“I’m Wreath.” The girl looked down at the bottom of the door. “What’d you do to fix that? We have a door that sticks at our house.”

She hated to lie, but thought perhaps this man could teach her to handle a couple of problems at the Rusted Estates.

“It was swollen because of the wet weather we had back in the spring,” he said. “I trimmed it off just about this much.” He held up his thumb and index finger to indicate a tiny amount. “Works smooth as can be.”

“Does that work on any stuck door?” When Wreath asked the question, J. D. tilted his head slightly, as though listening for something a long distance away.

“Depends,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes an old building will shift, or a shoddy carpenter will put in the wrong size door. Then you have to do something more drastic.”

Wreath suspected her home-repair projects fell into the more drastic mode.

“I could come by and take a look if your family’s having a problem,” the man said. “A group from my church down the street does projects for free.”

“That’s nice, but we’re fine.” Wreath turned back to her dusting as though it were the most vital job in the world. “I was just wondering. My mama can probably get it fixed, or my uncle can. We’re staying with relatives.”

“I thought you must be new in town. I hadn’t seen you around until you started working at Durham’s. Who are your people? Maybe I know them.”

“Probably not,” Wreath said. “They live sort of out of town a ways. Near … Wooddale. That’s it. They live near Wooddale.”

“I’ve been in these parts a long time, sold lawn mower blades and tomato plants and fire ant killer to just about everyone in the parish.” The man didn’t seem nosy, just interested.

Wreath squirmed. “My uncle works offshore. He’s not around much. We’re visiting for a while. I may stay for the school year, keep my aunt company. My mama hasn’t decided yet if she wants us to move here.”

“What’s your mama’s name?” J. D. asked.

“You don’t know her,” Wreath said in a rush and scampered to the back of the store, dusting with purpose, eager to get out of the conversation.

“Like I was telling Faye earlier, I’ve got time on my hands,” J. D. called out. “If your parents need me to come out, I’d be happy to. No charge, of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell Mama you said that,” Wreath said. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for fixing that door. It sure was getting hard to open.”

As she turned away, Mrs. Durham walked up.

“Got her all fixed, Faye,” J. D. said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Thank you very much, but that’ll be all.” Mrs. Durham spoke in a formal voice, like a character dismissing a servant in one of the old movies Frankie liked so much.

“Call on me anytime. You ladies have a good afternoon.”

The store seemed gloomier when the smiling man left.

Chapter 17

A
fter the bicycle accident, Wreath missed Frankie so much her stomach felt queasy … or was it that old cream Mrs. Durham had put on her?

She went by the Dollar Barn with her precious new ten and was shocked at how much bandages and ointment cost, so she decided on a package of coffee instead. The price was exorbitant, though, and she knew she couldn’t afford that either. Without a way to heat water, it was just silly, she decided, and walked out to her bike, her bones hurting.

Destiny waved from the cash register and tried to strike up a conversation, but Wreath pretended like she didn’t see her and stepped out into the parking lot. Then she sat down on the curb near the corner of the store and cried.

She absolutely had to talk to someone, and the only person she could think of was the clerk. With the resolution of a general going into battle, she walked back into the store, no customers in sight. “Hey, Destiny,” she said.

“Hey,” the girl said, looking down at her phone.

“Sorry about not speaking a minute ago.” Wreath forced the words out.

“I didn’t notice,” the girl said, still not looking up.

“I did something dumb today.” Wreath pointed to her elbows. “I had a bike wreck.” She held up her knee, looking like she was marching in a parade. “Banged myself up pretty bad.”

“Did you put anything on it?’ Destiny asked. “My mom always uses weird-smelling spray stuff.”

Pain tugged at Wreath, not from the injuries but from the casual mention of Destiny’s mother. “I got some old ointment at the store where I work.”

“Durham’s Furniture, right?”

Wreath nodded.

“Is it hard working for Miss Faye?” Destiny asked. “You know her?”

“Everyone knows her. She and Mr. Billy were big leaders in Landry till he died all of a sudden.” The cashier’s voice lowered. “Miss Faye used to be a lot nicer. People around town say she’s got money problems but is too proud to ask for help.”

Wreath didn’t say anything.

“Is she hard to work for?” Destiny repeated.

“Not really,” Wreath said, uneasy. “Maybe a little. Sometimes she seems a little … sort of lost.”

The other girl surprised Wreath with a nod, as though she knew what “sort of lost” meant. “That’s what people are saying about you, too,” Destiny said.

“About me?” Wreath was certain the dismay shone on her face. “Why would anyone be talking about me?”

“Because it’s boring around here, and you’re new. Some of the kids saw you at the library, and a teacher was asking about you.”

“A teacher?”

“Julia Watson. She lives behind the furniture store. Law said she ran into you out at the state park.”

“My life is my business,” Wreath said, something she’d heard Frankie say on the phone one time.

“You don’t have to get snotty about it,” Destiny said. “Like I said, it’s dullsville around here. People have to talk about something.”

A customer with a full basket cleared her throat, and Wreath realized he was waiting to check out. “Well, I’d better go,” she said.

“Here.” Destiny reached under the counter and pulled out a package of chocolate cookies. “These are out of date. You can have them.”

Wreath started to refuse but was drawn by the look of friendship on Destiny’s face. “Thanks,” she said. “They’ll help me forget about my bike wreck.”

By now the ride out of town was as familiar to her as her old neighborhood had been in Lucky. Today she varied her route, in case anyone was watching, and she thought about what Destiny had said.

People were talking about her, including that artist. She
was
a teacher.

Behind her she heard a car slowing down. She eased over to what passed for a shoulder, careful to avoid a pothole, but the car didn’t pass. An uneasy feeling washed over her, and she tried to speed up, but the bike was hard to ride in the dirt and gravel. She wanted to turn around to see who it was, but she kept riding. Maybe it was the lawyer, Clarice.

“Hey, Wreath, wait up,” a voice yelled, definitely not Clarice’s, and her head whirled around.

Law, the ranger boy, had his head sticking out of the window of a sporty little car driven by the guy Mitch from the basketball court at the school.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Law said.

Wreath’s eyes got wide. They were following her? Did they know she lived in the junkyard? She kept pedaling, slowly.

“We wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m sorry about what happened at the school. We were horsing around and didn’t see you. We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled and rode on.

Mitch honked the horn and yelled out his window. “Would you stop so we can talk to you?”

“Leave me alone,” she said, trying to look dignified while teetering along the dirt and gravel, her arms and legs stinging.

“You headed to the park?” Law asked.

“The park?”

“You know … the state park. Where you hike. Where I work.” Wreath thought quickly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am.”

“You must really like hiking if you’ll do it on a hot day like today, after that fall you took.”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” she said.

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” Law said. “I’m working nights for a while. Mitch is dropping me off.”

“Maybe so,” Wreath said and headed off while Mitch whipped onto the highway and the boys sped away.

Now, in a day filled with problems, she had a new one. If she didn’t go to the park, Law might wonder where she was headed or Mitch might see her and figure out where she lived. If she did go to the park, she’d have to talk to Law.

The bike wheeled into the park, as though she weren’t even steering it.

She was a goner. Just the thought of visiting with Law made her heart pound, her palms sweat, and her aches and pains seem less … well, achy and painful.

As soon as she entered the park, she saw Law, sitting on the bench in front of the office, eating a bag of chips. He smiled when the bike rolled up, and her heart rolled over.

“I thought you had to work,” she said.

“Since I caught a ride with Mitch, I got here a little early. I usually catch a ride with someone who lives around us. It’s not the most exact transportation.”