Wreath (35 page)

J
ulia popped into Durham’s Fine Furnishings nearly every day after school.

She used the excuse of checking on Wreath and her schoolwork and teaching her graphics shortcuts on her prized laptop, which had finally arrived. In truth, the new liveliness of the place made Julia happy, and she liked to visit with Wreath and Faye.

Apparently the store’s zest had a similar effect on a lot of people. In late afternoon, there was usually a crowd gathered. What passed for society women in Landry looked at accessories. Young women discussed redecorating their bedrooms or family rooms. High school girls tried on the new line of clothing Wreath had come up with.

Certain customers consulted with Faye about new colors for a tired room, while others bought gifts and chatted about Landry news. Wreath flitted from the furniture to the new boutique, often suggesting outfits, quickly telling teens when something looked good and when it didn’t.

“Those colors wash you out,” Julia heard Wreath say on this February afternoon. “Try this instead.”

Julia shook her head and wondered if Wreath needed art tutoring anymore. She had pulled her grade up to an A and learned how to communicate with Mrs. Colvin as well as Julia could. The girl’s fashion drawing had caused a small stir when it was published, and the art teacher had gotten a lot of attention for coaching Wreath, the irony of which was not lost on Julia.

While a flock of girls tried on clothes, Faye demonstrated the store’s new website, using Wreath’s laptop computer on a vintage 1950s desk. “You can look at our accessories, fashions, or furnishings from here,” Faye said, pointing a finger at the screen. “Wreath made it simple enough that even I can use it. You have to call to order, but this gives you a peek.”

Faye wore a pair of rolled-up jeans, red sneakers, and a red-and-white cotton sweater. For a moment Julia had trouble reconciling the image with the woman she had ignored and judged for more than two years. A trio of older women, friends of Faye’s, Julia thought, took turns looking at the site, murmuring and nodding as they scrolled through the simple screens.

“We have free shipping for a limited time, and a discount on phone orders, so tell your out-of-town friends and relatives,” Faye said, offering them a plate of home-baked cookies in the shape of flowers.

Julia knew the old desk came from a garage sale because she had seen Faye and Wreath unloading it last weekend. When she jogged on Saturdays, she often saw the two going from garage sale to garage sale, lugging an array of items to Faye’s Oldsmobile. As she scooted by a yard sale, she’d hear them animatedly discussing this item or that, haggling over prices and carrying various items to Faye’s car.

When Julia jogged back each week, sweaty and tired, they would be taking stock of their purchases in the alley, Wreath proclaiming what they could do with a rusted metal chair or a tin pail. Sometimes Julia would help haul the items into the store, amazed at the goods they managed to wedge into the car, from backseat to trunk.

Wreath told her that frequenting garage sales was part of their new inventory strategy, and they hoped to add flea markets and estate sales when they had time.

“You have to learn to see the potential in discarded objects,” the girl said. “People overlook things that are in plain sight.”

Today Faye offered Julia a bottle of water from a small display Wreath had arranged in an old galvanized tub, and motioned to a used garden glider.

“Let’s have a seat,” Faye said, scanning the room to see if any customers needed a hand. “I may be able to grab a minute or two.”

Wreath had spray-painted the metal piece a tangerine color and strategically placed Faye’s big, handmade cushions on it. New ones appeared daily, and Julia had watched women gush over them, asking about the designs.

“This looks like something straight out of one of Wreath’s decorating books,” Julia said as they swayed slightly back and forth. She held up a small cushion that had been wedged behind her back as she spoke.

“With our orders from the website and in-store shoppers, I can hardly keep up with these pillows,” Faye said. “Now Wreath’s pushing me to consider comforters and curtains.”

“She’s a natural entrepreneur, isn’t she?” Julia watched the giggling teenagers in the boutique area.

“Junkyard Couture,” Faye said, following Julia’s gaze. “Do you think my husband is turning over in his grave?”

“Hardly,” Julia said. “He’s probably wondering why he didn’t bring you into the business earlier.”

“I doubt it. I was too critical of him, and he didn’t pay much attention to me.” Faye covered her face with her hands and added a muffled groan to the statement. “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Julia said. “I’m around high school kids all day. I need adult conversation.” She sipped the water, wiping condensation off with a bright napkin with tulips on it.

“Are you still seeing that handsome deputy?” Faye asked. She put her clasped hands in her lap and turned to meet Julia’s eyes.

Julia felt herself blushing like one of her students. “I am, and I have a crush on Shane bigger than the one Wreath has on Law. Shane’s an incredibly nice guy.”

“Take care with him,” Faye said. “Have fun. Life will pass you by if you don’t pay attention.”

Impulsively, Julia grabbed Mrs. Durham’s hand. “Well, it certainly doesn’t look like it’s passing you by now. Look what you’ve done! This store is fantastic.”

“I’ll say it again. Wreath gets the credit. She thinks up things like the website and special promotions. I just nod and do whatever she tells me.”

“I doubt that’s true,” Julia said. “You strike me as a fighter.”

A look of incredulity came to Faye’s face, and she sat perfectly still. “Maybe I am,” she said finally, “but I’m not nearly the person she is.” Faye nodded at Wreath.

“That girl’s something, all right,” Julia said. She shredded her napkin as she thought about how to ask the question on her mind. “How much do you know about Wreath’s background?” she finally asked.

“Not much.” Faye shook her head, a measure of grief in her eyes. “She won’t open up about that. I know she can’t have had it easy. She works harder than most adults I know.”

“Have you met the family she lives with?”

Again, Faye shook her head in regret. She started to speak and then stopped. Then she started again. “There’s something I ought to tell you, but …”

“What is it?” Julia interrupted.

Faye looked across the showroom, jiggled her leg up and down a few times, and sighed. “You promise you won’t spread this around?” she asked softly. She stared at Wreath, who was holding up a shirt and smiling at a young customer.

“Of course,” Julia said. A knot grew in her stomach. “Please. Tell me.”

Faye breathed in, held it for a moment, and exhaled. “Wreath confided in me that her mother passed away last May, but she won’t say much more than that.”

Julia moved her head up and down slightly. She had wished for more information. “Law told me about her mother—in strictest confidence. He worries about her, too.”

“Did he tell you anything else?” Faye asked eagerly.

“No. He’s cautious when he talks about Wreath. I hoped she’d opened up with you,” Julia said. “She’s so much more at ease around you than she is at school. Wreath needs guidance if she’s going to get into college.”

Faye’s stomach churned. “Wreath’s behind in the process, isn’t she?”

“Not hopelessly, but she needs to stay focused if she’s going to make it all work. That’s a tough process even for students with very involved parents.”

“What can I do?” Faye asked.

“Let me fish around at school and check with the counselor,” Julia said. “Maybe you can get her to confide in you. She’s hiding something, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is.”

Faye’s voice was so soft that Julie had to lean in to hear. “I wonder at times if I’m fooling myself about Wreath. I tell myself that she’s clean and healthy, never misses work, does well in school, has started going to church. Everything seems right, but I’m not sure.”

“I know,” Julia said.

“I’m ashamed to tell you this, but I’m afraid to dig too deep,” Faye said.

Julia didn’t reply.

“I’m afraid of what I might find.” Faye sat up straighter, giving the glider a quick push. “I’m afraid I might lose her, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Chapter 33

W
reath began to feel sick to her stomach after morning worship. The roast beef Mrs. Durham had cooked for lunch wasn’t sitting well in her stomach.

She took a rare nap on the guest room bed at Faye’s, the room beginning to feel more like her own. She now spent most weekend nights there. She was chilled when she woke up and chided herself for not wearing a sweater, fooled by a warm March morning that had turned cloudy.

“You look pale,” Faye said when Wreath woke up. “Would you rather go on home and skip youth group tonight?”

“No.” Wreath shook her head adamantly, even though the motion made her feel dizzy. “That’s one of my favorite parts of the week.”

She picked up on Faye’s disappointment instantly. “Other than my work at the store, of course,” she added.

Faye smiled. “You don’t have to explain to me. I remember youth group when I was in high school as one of the highlights of my week. My mother said I loved the boys more than I loved the lessons, but it felt like home away from home to me.”

“That’s exactly the way it feels to me,” Wreath said. “I thought it was because my mother died or that I hadn’t been to church much before. Then Law said he feels the same way.”

“Through the years I’ve found that church means different things to all of us. After Billy died, I could hardly bear the familiarity, the pew where we sat together, the friends we shared. Now I can’t believe I stayed away as long as I did.”

“You want to hear something corny?” Wreath asked, not sure if the congestion she felt was from a cold or from the eloquent way Faye spoke. “Even though it’s all new to me, I feel love when I’m there.”

“That’s the way it should be,” Faye said, clearing her throat.

Wreath passed on the snack supper that evening and had trouble concentrating on the discussion. Watching Law play the guitar with Mitch on the drums cheered her somewhat, but she felt as though someone had taken a box of Kleenex and stuffed each one of them in her head.

Mitch, as usual, drove Wreath and Law to Law’s house after church, where Wreath sometimes left her bicycle locked near the end of the trailer on Friday afternoons. At times she smiled when she thought about anyone trying to track her down. Her transportation system was so complicated that she could barely keep up with herself.

“Are you sure you won’t let me drive you all the way home?” Mitch asked. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine.” Wreath said, although getting out of the car took all of her energy. “I have my bike.”

With a wave and a good-bye shout, Mitch drove off.

“I’d better get going,” Wreath wheezed. Her voice sounded hoarse and weak.

“Are you all right?” Law asked.

“I’m fine.” Her head was so full that she could barely sort the words coming out of her mouth, and her knees buckled as she walked toward the bicycle.