“We don’t live in the horse-and-buggy days,” her boss said. “Don’t you need to dust that grouping in the front window?”
That conversation had led Wreath to her fourth and favorite JOB category in her diary—IDEAS!!!! Here she let her imagination run wild in the good sort of way, not in the way she did when she thought she’d seen Big Fun on a side street in Landry or when she got a bad grade on an assignment in art class.
Everything, from the way the light shone on her campsite to the clothes other girls wore to school, inspired Wreath’s ideas for the furniture store. She wanted to do seasonal window displays, make a display of small home accessories all in one color, and find old books to put on a shelf in a “reading area.” Her retro arrangement drew comments from the few people who came into Durham’s. Collect more retro pieces was on her list.
Stepping into the furniture store after school had become one of her favorite moments of the day. She had recently admitted to herself that she looked forward to seeing Faye and was surprised at the interest her employer showed in the details of life at Landry High. But Mrs. Durham wouldn’t be part of Wreath’s life long-term, and the girl tried to keep from becoming too friendly with her, although as the days went by it was harder.
Faye seldom preached at her anymore, often asking her opinion instead. Sometimes—like when a stack of bills came in or Nadine invited her out to lunch—she was moody, but Wreath figured she deserved her down moments.
“So you decided to come back,” Mrs. Durham said each time the girl came to work, and it had become sort of a joke. Enough people had come and gone in Wreath’s life that she knew what it was like to wonder if someone would show up, and she thought Faye always half expected her to quit.
“Couldn’t stay away,” Wreath replied every day.
Faye’s second question on school afternoons was also standard: “Did you learn anything today?”
She’d toss the question out as Wreath walked to the back room to store her pack. Since Wreath expected the query, she considered her answer during the day. At first she had given studious replies, such as, “William Shakespeare had trouble making money as a writer,” or “The Vikings first landed in Newfoundland.”
During the past couple of months, though, she had gotten more creative with answers. “Landry High’s colors were purple and gold before LSU’s,” or “High school teachers like to wear jumpers to work.” She considered it a personal triumph when she made Faye chuckle with an observation. While her boss was considerably nicer than she had been back in the summer, she was not prone to laughter or affection.
Scarcely was the question out of Faye’s mouth this particular late September afternoon when Wreath jumped in with an answer. “Customers are more likely to enter a retail business with an enticing storefront or merchandise display,” she said, talking as she walked to the workroom.
Faye made a sound that could have been a snort or a choked laugh. “And where did you pick up this piece of information?” she asked, her voice almost echoing in the cavernous showroom.
“From this book on merchandising.” Wreath held a heavy volume in one hand and an apple in the other. “I checked it out of the school library. You can borrow it if you want. Thanks for the fruit.”
In the past few weeks, the back room was always stocked with fruit. While it seemed to be no big deal to Faye, it helped Wreath enormously. “It’s one of the perks of the job,” Faye had said when Wreath offered to pay for a banana. “Take all you want.”
“What do you think about the seasonal idea?” Wreath asked before biting into the apple, a dribble of juice running down her chin. “Are you ready to let me try a fall window display?”
“I don’t suppose it could hurt anything,” Faye said. “It’s not like customers are arriving in droves.”
Wreath did a quick tap dance with her feet and rushed over to give her boss a hug.
Faye stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” Wreath said. “I got a little carried away.”
“It’s nice to see enthusiasm around the place,” the woman said and walked to her desk, where she commanded the store like a general in a tank. “What do you propose doing first?”
“One moment,” she said, flipping through the pages of the book until she came to an eye-catching autumn arrangement. “What do you think of this?”
“Lovely,” Faye said, “but I don’t see one item in that picture that we actually have in this store.”
“We can improvise.” Wreath opened the back cover of the book and pulled out a stack of colored paper. “I finished my art test early today and cut out a few fall leaves, in case you said yes.”
She fanned the leaves. “These might look good taped to the window, and …” She scanned the room as she did a dozen times a day. “We can use that little brown table and that rust-colored velvet chair.”
“That ugly thing?” Faye said.
“Just wait till you see what I have in mind. If you don’t like it, I’ll put it back exactly the way it was.”
She tugged on the heavy old piece of furniture, tried to put a rug under it and drag it, and then inched it across the wooden floor.
“You’re strong as an ox,” Faye said, “but that thing weighs more than a grand piano.” She sighed. “We need a man around here.”
Wreath tried to hide the gleam in her eye. “Would you mind asking J. D. to help? He said to ask anytime.”
“Is that necessary? Can’t the two of us handle this?” Faye asked.
The hardware store owner was such a nice man, and Wreath had seen the way Faye watched him when he wasn’t looking. Without a doubt, the woman was lonely since her husband had died, and maybe she and J. D. could become friends.
Wreath made a big deal out of being unable to budge the chair. “Even if we get it over there, we can’t lift it onto that platform.”
“I’ll see if I can find him,” Mrs. Durham said, acting as though he was a hundred miles away instead of probably reading on a bench next door, a denim jacket having been added to his regular ensemble.
Faye smoothed her hair, the way Frankie always did right before she left the house on a date, and threw her shoulders back as though heading into battle. Wreath climbed up in the window and cleared out the faded furniture that had sat there for no telling how long. She saw Faye approach their neighbor and didn’t miss his delighted smile as he stood and listened to whatever she was saying.
He pointed to a pile of pumpkins in the front of his store and handed a medium-sized one to Faye and lifted the largest of the group as though it weighed no more than the apple Wreath had eaten earlier.
“J. D. thought you might be able to use a couple of pumpkins,” Faye said, her voice one note lighter than usual. “In keeping with the fall theme.”
Wreath clapped her hands together and resisted the urge to do another dance. With money always tight and addresses always changing, years had passed since she and Frankie had bought any seasonal decorations, and the girl could already see the display in her mind.
J. D. put the chair in the window and carried the old pieces to the back corner before a hardware customer pulled up and he had to leave.
“Nice job, Wreath,” he said, looking at her intently as he pulled open the door. Walking past the window, he turned back to look again, his head tilted to the side. Then his stance relaxed, and he waved and went into his own store.
Wreath smiled as she attached the leaves to the glass. “I promise I’ll get this tape off when I take them down,” she said. “I’ll even clean these windows.”
Faye walked out on the sidewalk to inspect their progress and gestured for the items to be shifted slightly before heading back into the store.
“Doesn’t it look better?” Wreath asked, hopping down to grab two orange pillows with brown fringe balls on them.
“It changes the entire look of the store.” Faye climbed up on the platform as she spoke, sat in the velvet chair, and patted the padded arms. “This thing w
as ugly as sin on the floor, but the window showcases it perfectly.”
“You look like a queen sitting up there,” Wreath said and then put one of the pillows over her face and giggled. “I mean like royalty, in a good way, you know.”
“You’re not the first to notice,” the woman said. “My brother calls me a royal pain. He wants me to sell the store.”
Wreath laid the pillows on the platform and tried to make her question sound casual. “Are you thinking about it?”
“I don’t think about anything else.” Faye picked up the cushions. “Where did you find these?”
“In the storeroom,” Wreath said. “There’s an amazing amount of stuff in there.”
“These things must be thirty years old,” she said. “Who’d ever buy a store with inventory like this?”
“Business has picked up a teeny bit,” Wreath said, an ugly feeling in the pit of her stomach. A recent compliment from a customer or two had probably gotten her hopes higher than they should be, but she hated to think about the store changing hands.
“Thanks to your displays.” Faye lowered herself regally back into the chair. “We’ve sold three or four pieces of furniture since you rearranged things and made new signs.”
Wreath liked the way she said we instead of I, and the knot in her stomach loosened slightly.
“You’re a good shopkeeper,” she said and patted Faye on the shoulder.
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.”
Wreath Page 15
