Wreath (24 page)

Taking another quick look at the storefront, Wreath felt an intense feeling of satisfaction.

Mrs. Durham was right. The display made it look like a trendy store at a mall—the kind where someone might actually want to shop.

She tried to keep her thoughts focused on that as she tackled one of her least favorite parts of the day—walking home.

Occasionally she considered asking Faye for a ride. She had offered, after all. But Wreath figured it would open unwanted topics of conversation, such as where exactly she lived and why her relatives didn’t pick her up. As it was, the owner asked about her mother from time to time, and Wreath heaped untruth upon untruth.

Wreath vacillated between riding the red bicycle to school and, thus, having it to ride home, or taking the school bus, depending on what was going on at school and what kind of mood she was in.

When she rode the bus, she didn’t have to get up so early, and she got to visit with Law, something she looked forward to more than she cared to admit. The bus driver was nice, too, and Wreath liked being the first one picked up, having a moment when it was just her in the squeaky seats. The woman, whose long red hair got wilder by the day, always had a weather report and a comment on how Landry High was doing in football.

When Wreath took the bus, though, she dreaded the long trek home in the evening, especially now that it got dark earlier. She spent so much time looking over her shoulder that she had a near permanent crick in her neck.

Even after four months, she zigzagged on her way home, careful of becoming predictable. On rare days she would not think about Frankie, but her fear of Big Fun clung to her like the musty smell of her van.

Once, right before Frankie had gotten sick, her mother had cautioned her to take care around Big Fun until they could run away. “He’s not that good at keeping a steady job,” her mother had said, “but that man can sure hold a grudge. I never should have let on that I knew. I want you to be careful.”

Remembering the look on his face when the security guard sprayed him in the eyes, Wreath had no doubt about the staying power of Big Fun’s hatred for her.

The light tap of a car horn made her jump, and she was relieved when she saw it was Clarice, who appeared regularly on the days Wreath walked.

Wreath always acted like she could take or leave the offer of a ride, but inwardly she had started to breathe easier when she saw the lawyer.

She’d never realized how much time survival took, and by the time she walked home, she barely had time to check the junkyard for intruders, eat a bite of supper, do her homework, and get her clothes laid out for school.

Every other day or so, she went to the state park for a shower or to the library for a secret bath in the sink, which added considerably to her day.

“Going my way?” Clarice called out, a smile accompanying the words.

“Yes, ma’am.” Wreath didn’t waver. She put her pack in the backseat as usual and settled in up front. “Another meeting with a client in Landry?”

Clarice pulled slowly onto the residential street and hesitated at the question. “Not today,” she said. “I needed to run a few errands.”

Wreath stared out the window. She had been fretting over how to bring the issue up with the lawyer, and today she jumped in. “You’re following me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You show up no matter what route I take,” the girl said. “Do you just happen to be where I am, or are you looking for me?”

“Have you ever thought of becoming an attorney?” The woman laughed. “You’d be good at cross-examination.”

“I take that as a yes,” Wreath said. “Stop the car. I want out.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Let. Me. Out.” Wreath was furious, not at Clarice, but at herself. If the woman could find her this easily, anyone could. She was not as smart as she thought she was.

The car slowed but did not stop. “I’ll let you out, but first you have to let me explain.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Wreath said, leaning as far from the driver as she could but not opening the door.

“Well, unless you’re eighteen, Wreath, you
do
have to do certain things,” Clarice said in a voice so deliberate that the teen knew instantly how formidable she must be in court. “Are you eighteen?”

“My age and my life are not any of your business.”

“I’d like for them to be. My father, my husband, and I have one of the most successful legal practices in central Louisiana. Maybe we can help you.”

“Your husband?”

“He’s the other Johnson on that business card I keep giving you. My father is the Estes, which was my maiden name. We make a great team, the three of us.” She paused and winked. “When business is slow, I drive around and look for clients.”

Wreath deliberated over what to do.

“Why would you think I need help?” the teen asked finally. “Because I look poor? Because I don’t have a car? Because my clothes are old?”

The lawyer seemed surprised and turned to look at her. “This isn’t about how you look or how much money you have,” she said. “You’re always dressed stylishly. You’re a beautiful young woman.”

“You don’t know me, so what makes you think I need a lawyer?”

“I only
suspect
you need a lawyer,” Clarice said. “I
know
you need a friend.”

“Do I look like a loser?” Wreath felt tears welling in her eyes and dashed them away with her hand.

“Everybody needs friends, Wreath, and a hand now and then.”

“Do you give rides to other kids?”

“Not very often,” she admitted.

“Then why me?” Wreath needed to know what made her stand out when all she wanted to do was blend in.

Clarice weighed her words. “Because you’re the least-helpless helpless person I’ve ever seen. You go to school and hold down a job, which is more than a lot of grown-ups I know.”

“And?”

The woman looked as though she didn’t understand.

“What aren’t you saying?” Wreath asked.

The woman nodded, a small smile coming to her face. “Not to belabor the point, but you’re going to make a heck of a lawyer if God calls you in that direction.”

“You’re avoiding my question.” Her heart felt easier, but she still was not satisfied.

“In my job, I piece together evidence, and I’m good at it.” Clarice didn’t seem to be bragging, just stating a fact. “But the evidence about you doesn’t add up.”

“Evidence about me?” Wreath panicked. “What evidence?”

“The first time I laid eyes on you, you were carrying what looked like your earthly belongings along an isolated highway. You’ve never let me take you to your house, and I’ve never seen your mother.”

“I told you the other day when you gave me a ride. Frankie’s shy, and my cousins don’t like company.”

“Maybe so. Maybe not. I need to make sure you’re safe, and I want you to trust me.” Her mouth twisted. “To be perfectly blunt, those two things are somewhat at odds.”

“At odds?”

“The law has always been my top priority. Since I was a little girl and visited my daddy’s office, I wanted to become a judge, to wear one of those black robes and bang the desk with a gavel and have people stand up when I came into the courtroom.”

“And this affects me how?” Wreath tried to sound smart-alecky but felt genuine interest.

“My instincts tell me that you’re hiding from somebody, and yet I can’t bring myself to turn you in. I’ve done some very low-key checking….” She stopped when Wreath’s eyes widened.

“You have no right to dig around in my business,” Wreath said.

“I not only have a right, but I have a responsibility. Children are supposed to be taken care of.”

“I’m not a child!”

“You’re a senior in high school, eighteen at best, and that’s if I’m lucky. Something has caused you to grow up before your time,” Clarice said. “You don’t appear to be a runaway or to have been kidnapped, and right now that—and touching base with you from time to time—is enough for me.”

The car stopped, and Wreath was surprised to see that they were at the dirt road where Clarice usually dropped her off. “I could lose my law license—and certainly any chance of being a judge—by helping a minor stay hidden.” She turned to face Wreath. “For the first time in my life, I feel like the law might be wrong, that I wouldn’t be doing you a favor by turning you in.”

She handed Wreath yet another business card. “I added my father’s cell phone to the back, too.”

“I know, I know,” Wreath said, pulling her pack out of the car. “Call anytime, about anything.”

“I trust you with my career,” Clarice said. “When you’re ready, I pray you’ll trust me with your life.”

Chapter 23

F
aye struck a match and approached the large candle in the midst of a harvest arrangement on a dining table and smiled in the morning quietness of the store.

“With fall here, it’ll set a nice tone,” Wreath had said when she asked permission to buy it at the Dollar Barn. The girl must have reminded her half a dozen times before leaving last night to light it.

Even if it didn’t add to the warmth of the old store, Faye would have done it to keep from disappointing her young helper. The girl was turning into quite a retailer.

The trickle of daily customers was an improvement over the rare buyer of a few months ago, and Faye almost anticipated coming to work. Her spurt of energy when she opened the door in the mornings still caught her off guard, and she’d even come in on a Monday or two to plan for the upcoming holiday season.

Wreath had printed an article from a retail website about the importance of strong sales during the last two months of the year, and with November fast approaching, Faye knew it was right.

Her helper’s youthful optimism and her own small spark of accomplishment wouldn’t pay the end-of-year property taxes or buy additional merchandise. With dwindling inventory and scant profits, Faye looked back over the outdated ledger, then added the figures again with the hopes she had made a mistake.

She was rereading the how-to-sell story when the front bell jangled, and J. D. walked in, a small white sack in his hand.

“May I interest you in a doughnut?” he asked, looking cheerful and vibrant in his work shirt and blue jeans, a canvas jacket rounding out the style.

“I had toast for breakfast.” Faye deliberately didn’t reel in the haughty tone from her voice.

In addition to enjoying the furniture business more these past few months, she had also begun to look forward to her small encounters with the hardware store owner. That worried her.

“Think of this as a midmorning snack,” he said, opening the sack and peering in. “Strawberry-filled or glazed?”

Faye looked back at the ledger and opened her mouth to send him on his way. The flicker of the candle in the middle of the lovely arrangement caught her eye, and she caught a whiff of the pastry.

“Strawberry, I suppose. Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee?”

Another of Wreath’s suggestions had been that they keep fresh coffee in the workroom and offer it to customers, “at least on Saturdays,” and Faye had gotten in the habit of brewing a pot each morning, although some days it hardly got tasted.

J. D. shook his head. “Don’t give away my secret,” he said, “but I don’t drink coffee.”

“Really?” Faye thought her voice sounded like Wreath when a surprise occurred.

“I don’t tell this to most people, but I’m an Earl Grey man.” He winked, and Faye felt herself smile. “I realize hot tea doesn’t fit the hardware store image, so I try not to mention it.”

Faye giggled. She honest-to-goodness giggled, and she didn’t even care. “I’ve got the kettle ready to go. Have a seat.”