Wreath (21 page)

Setting the alarm on the windup clock she had found, she squirmed and brushed off bugs she thought were crawling on her in the thick carpet.

She woke up well before the puny bell rang on the old clock, awake every hour during the night, holding the clock close to her face, using her flashlight to see what time it was. Finally at 5:30 a.m., while it was still dark outside, she allowed herself to get up, eat a cereal bar, and grab the supplies she had assembled the evening before.

Propping the flashlight, which flickered a few times, on the seat next to her, she pulled out her journal and started a new list, writing so hard that the lead in the pencil broke.

The list looked so efficient and easy, but Wreath knew there were big hurdles ahead, including the forged registration papers. They were full of holes, but she’d move ahead.

Not knowing what the kids wore to class in Landry or the school dress code, Wreath chose a skirt and a peasant blouse she had found in one of the campers.

She wrestled her bike out of its hiding place and set out for the park, determined she wouldn’t be a weird-looking homeless kid on her first day of school. Riding in the early-morning darkness was different from her usual treks, and she swerved into a pothole a time or two.

When she made her usual turn into the state park, she nearly ran into a gate, closed across the drive, a padlock on it. The park entrance was locked!
How did I overlook this?

Getting off the bike, she propped it against the gate and walked from side to side, trying to see if she could scoot around the fence. In the two or three places where there were gaps in the fence, chicken wire had been tacked, preventing entry. An armadillo scooted out of the ditch right behind her and, looking like a little dinosaur, nearly ran right into her leg. She yelped and jumped and the confused creature headed back down into the ditch.

“That’s it,” Wreath said out loud. “That is just it.” She yanked her bike upright and started home, riding as hard as she could. She’d been insane to think she could go to school and live in a junkyard.

She packed and unpacked her belongings at least four times, laid down on her mangy blanket and cried, and ran a path around the worn-out vehicles until she had a stitch in her side. Then she lay back down on the blanket and cried again.

So much for prayer.

So much for graduating from high school.

So much for Frankie, for that matter. She still didn’t understand why her mother had to leave her.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Faye said when Wreath entered the store. “School out already?” The girl shrugged.

“Everything all right?” Faye rolled her chair back from the desk, looking at the clock over Wreath’s head.

“Fine.” Wreath headed for the back room. “I need to sweep.”

Faye made a small clucking noise, the kind she used to make when Billy tracked mud onto her clean carpet, and couldn’t resist following Wreath to the rear of the store.

“You told me you’d be getting to work about three o’clock once school started,” Faye said.

The teen concentrated on the broom and dustpan as though she were hypnotized. “Well?” Faye said.

“Well, what?” Wreath’s voice was much louder than usual.

“It’s not three o’clock.”

The girl slammed the broom against the wall so hard it bounced back and hit her in the face, and she stormed out of the room. As she brushed past Faye, the woman was startled at her urge to grab Wreath and pull the girl to her in a hug. Instead, she spoke in her most matter-of-fact furniture-store owner voice. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

“I’ll be back at three o’clock, since that’s
apparently
when my shift starts.” Wreath spoke without looking back, striding toward the front door.

“Since you’re here, you might as well stay. You can work on that new display you’ve been all fired up about.”

Wreath stopped but still did not turn. “Really?”

“Really.” Faye’s emotions were a strange mix, like the sweet-and-sour soup Billy used to get at the Chinese buffet in Alexandria. She wanted to smile at Wreath’s interest in the displays, but she couldn’t get rid of the worry about whatever problem had brought Wreath in early. When the teen turned, Faye felt a moment of triumph and a happiness long missing from her life.

“You’re willing to let me do that sixties room?” Wreath asked. “The one in the catalog?”

This time it was Faye who shrugged. “What’s to lose? I’m going further in the hole every day, so something’s got to give.”

“We’ve got all the pieces we need to put it together.” The girl’s voice held a rare note of excitement. “I can use that chair there, and the shag rug over here, and that lamp.” She stopped. “But first I need to sweep and dust.” She seemed to be thinking out loud. “And the trash needs emptying.”

“Get started on the display,” Faye said. “I’ll sweep for a change. I need the exercise.” She patted her stomach. “I don’t want to get fat sitting behind this desk.”

“You always look nice.” Wreath studied the woman as though she’d never seen her before.

“So do you,” Faye said. “You’ve got that look I see in all the magazines.” She paused. “What do you call it? Antique? No, that’s not it. Vintage! That’s it. You have that vintage look.”

Wreath looked down at herself and seemed surprised by Faye’s description. “Really?”

“That outfit is exactly like one I saw in an article about how retro looks are coming back.” She shook her head. “Hard to believe that look is in style.”

Wreath wore the oddest assortment of clothing Faye had ever seen, usually clean, often worn, and occasionally ill-fitting. Somehow the teenager gave it panache. “You have great style,” Faye said, walking up and straightening Wreath’s skirt. “This geometric pattern looks nice.”

Then she patted the girl’s shoulder. “It looks cute on you, a nice outfit for the first day of school.”

Wreath met Faye’s questioning gaze and then dropped her eyes. “I didn’t go,” she said. “I, uh, overslept and, uh, didn’t think it’d be that big a deal to miss the first day.”

Faye feared she was getting too attached and wanted to walk away, but the defeat in Wreath’s eyes kept her standing there. For a fleeting moment she wished she were home in the den, watching her soap opera, trying to decide what to fix Billy for supper.

“I’m surprised you skipped school. That doesn’t sound like you,” she said. “You’re usually so prompt.”

Wreath nodded.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Faye said.

“You think so?” Wreath asked, as though the cliché were a piece of deep philosophy.

The woman thought about it for a moment, looked around the store, and nodded. “I really do.”

Wreath heaved a heavy red vinyl chair into the front corner and surveyed the showroom for suitable lighting. She remembered a floor lamp she’d seen at the Rusted Estates and wondered if it would be stealing if she brought it to Durham’s. The look would be perfect.

She figured that wouldn’t be right, though, taking things away from the junkyard. All that stuff must belong to someone, and she hoped they didn’t decide they wanted it back during the next year.

Getting down on her hands and knees, she straightened the pale shag rug that had been rolled up in a corner and adjusted a white-and-gold end table that had been grouped with an ugly gold couch. The bell on the front door jangled as she sat back to consider what was missing in her arrangement.

“May I help you?” Mrs. Durham asked in the frosty voice she used for most people who were brave enough to walk through the doors of Durham’s Fine Furnishings. Wreath didn’t understand how someone who disliked customers could be running a store.

“Yes, ma’am,” a confident male voice said. “I’m looking for a girl named Wreath Williams.”

Wreath shrank lower and tried to look around the edge of the chair. All she could see was a pair of tennis shoes and jeans.

“Wreath,” Faye called out. “Someone’s here to see you.” She said the last words as though a car had crashed through the front window.

While trying to decide whether to stand up or not, Wreath heard the voice again. “Wreath, is that you?”

She looked up to see Law Rogers headed her way. Her heart flipped, and she slid an inch or so closer to the floor.

“Wreath?”

Wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, she gave up and stood.

“I’m over here,” she said, knowing that sounded stupid, since he was already walking toward her.

“Wow, this looks great.” Law surveyed the display Wreath had just put together. “I didn’t know this store had cool stuff like this.” Then his face flushed, and he turned to Faye, who had scurried over to where the pair stood, clearly curious. “Sorry, Mrs. Durham. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

“No offense taken,” she said. “I didn’t know you two were friends. Seems like your grandmother would have mentioned it, Law.”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Wreath said hastily, trying to straighten her skirt and look unconcerned at the same time, noticing Law’s slight frown at her declaration. “He works at the state park where I hike some days.”

“We were trading summer job stories, and she told me she worked here,” Law said. “I thought we were sort of friends, though.” He looked puzzled.

“How are your grandparents?” Faye asked.

“Good,” the boy said. “My grandmother’s playing bridge and teaching that class at church, and grandpa’s still at the library. He’s always got a new book he thinks I should read.”

“I haven’t had time to read any books lately,” Faye said. “Wreath’s got me studying up on design magazines.”

The woman almost looked as flustered as Wreath felt. Law, on the other hand, looked downright dignified, chatting with Mrs. Durham as though he were a politician, not a teenage boy.

“The place looks better.” He stumbled over the last word. “I like the improvements you’ve made.”

“Wreath gets all the credit for the changes.” Faye twisted her mouth. “It’s about time, don’t you think? Between your grandparents and J. D. at the hardware store, I had to do something or leave town.”

Wreath thought Faye’s smile made her look years younger as she continued. “This girl has quite an eye for decorating.” The compliment hardly registered with Wreath, who watched the casual exchange between the two, feeling both possessive and protective of Mrs. Durham. The place had been a mess all right, but Faye had lost her husband only a few months before.

She never saw the woman anywhere except the store and couldn’t imagine her visiting with people in town, but she must have had an outside life at one time. Wreath coughed, and Law and Faye looked over at her.

“Did you want something?” Wreath asked the boy. “Oh,” Law said. “I need to talk to you.”

He cast a charming look at Faye and then back at Wreath, and the woman walked away slowly. “Do you get a break or anything?” he asked.

Wreath pondered the question, trying not to let on how shaken she was by his presence. “Not usually,” she said. “But Mrs. Durham is pretty nice, so she might let me have a few minutes. Is something wrong?”

Law looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “You weren’t at school today.”

“I couldn’t make it.”

“Couldn’t make it? Who can’t make it on the first day of her senior year?”

“I overslept, okay? My alarm clock didn’t go off.” She wondered if that was considered another lie, since she had turned the clock off.

“Maybe you should get a new clock,” he said and punched her playfully on the arm. “They called your name on the roll in at least half my classes.”

“They did?” Wreath’s heart raced. That must mean her enrollment had been approved. But by being absent, she had violated one of her rules. She had drawn attention to herself.

“Miss Watson asked the whole class if anyone knew you.”

“Miss Watson?”

“The jogger you met at the park, remember?” Wreath felt a jolt of excitement. “I got into her class? I was afraid it would be full. She said she only teaches one senior social studies.”

“Are you friends with Miss Watson or something?” He looked curious. “When she called your name, she seemed disappointed you weren’t there. Afterward she asked me about you. She’s done that before. Like she’s worried about you.”