Wreath (20 page)

Today, Faye turned the old key in the stubborn lock in the big glass front door of the store, but the door opened easily, thanks to the hardware store owner’s help. She walked in, greeted not by the musty smell she had grown to hate, but by the scent of furniture polish. Wreath bought the product by the dozens at the Dollar Barn, it seemed to Faye, and this morning the fragrance was worth every cent.

Flipping on the store’s charming, outdated lights, she refused to turn the O
PEN
sign around, clinging to a few moments of privacy.

The bell jangled as someone tugged at the front door.

“You forgot to turn your sign around again,” Nadine Nelson said, flipping the piece of cardboard over, a chore that made Faye’s stomach dip each morning but had gotten easier in the afternoons.

“I must have been distracted by the phone,” Faye said.

“J. D. told us you’d hired a helper,” Nadine said. “That’s great news.”

Faye fidgeted with two faded throw pillows on an upholstered chair, not sure anymore what to say to the woman who had been her best friend before Billy died.

“Whose girl is she?” Nadine continued.

“You wouldn’t know her. She’s new to town.”

“Well, Jim and I are so glad to hear you have someone.” Nadine sat down on the nicest new sofa in the room. “This store is a lot of work for one person.”

“Billy had things organized,” Faye said, not willing to confess how hard times were. “The girl, Wreath’s her name, does cleanup work, that sort of thing.”

“Since you have help now, are you sewing again?”

Faye shook her head.

Nadine sighed. “I need a shower gift for my great-niece, and I was hoping you’d make her one of those sweet jumpers.”

“I’m sorry….” Faye let her voice trail off, not sure what she was sorry for.

“Any chance you can join us for bridge one day? We never filled your spot, and we need another player. You haven’t been in ages.”

“Oh, I don’t know if she’s ready to keep the store by herself,” Faye said. “She’s only a teenager.”

Nadine stood and headed to the door. “We missed you at Bible study Sunday.”

“Business keeps me tied up, but I’ll make it when I can.”

“Nobody else in the class makes coffee as good as you do,” Nadine said. “It’s not the same without you.” She wiped away a tear. “I miss you, Faye.”

“And I don’t even drink coffee.” Faye tried to sound jolly. “I only learned how to make it for Billy.”

“We miss Billy, too. I wish you’d let us help. Anything. We’d do anything.”

“You can’t bring Billy back.” Faye hated the tone of her voice. “Things aren’t the way they were.”

Nadine gave a sigh. “We have such sweet memories, though, and the promise of a peace we can’t even understand.” She acted as though she would try to hug her old friend and pulled up short. “That’s all Jim and I know to count on when we have troubles. I pray that will help you, too.”

“I’ll do my best to make it to church Sunday,” Faye said. “Wreath is a big help, so maybe that’ll free up my time.” She forced herself to give Nadine a half hug, waving as her friend walked out and chatted with J. D., who, as usual, was standing out front, book in hand.

Faye didn’t turn the O
PEN
sign around until Nadine drove off in her fancy new SUV.

Peace? She sat down at the rolltop desk. Nadine still had Jim, even if her daughter had made a mess of her life and her son-in-law was in jail. She had money and someone to fix the faucet when it leaked and wasn’t saddled with a business that was going deeper in debt by the day.

The stack of bills to be paid grew with each visit from the mailman. Only a couple of customers had been in for the entire week, and they hadn’t bought anything. She paid the girl a paltry fifty dollars a week, which she knew wasn’t a fair wage, and stuck a little cash back for Wreath because she didn’t trust her to manage the money. She ought to be doing the chores herself, but even Billy had had a handyman off and on through the years.

Billy’s banker had called to set up a meeting, which could not be good news. Something had to change. First thing she needed to do was let Wreath go. She would miss the girl, who made the place bearable. After getting rid of her, she needed to see about selling the store, although she had no idea who would want to buy a retail dinosaur, nor how to go about it. Maybe the banker would know.

She put her head down on the desk. She hadn’t cried once since Billy dropped dead, but today might be the day. She had tried to dwell on the bad parts of life and shut out the happy memories Nadine mentioned because they hurt too much to think about. What right did her friend have reminding her of the life she used to lead?

That part of her died with Billy.

The bell jangled on the door, and she jerked her head up and rolled the chair back so fast that she nearly hit a cherry sofa table that already had two nicks in it and a cracked leg.

“Are you okay?” Wreath asked.

Faye looked at the clock, which had started making a humming sound to accompany its loud ticking. For a moment she wondered if she had passed out. The clock said ten. She was confused about everything.

Wreath followed her gaze and gave a rare laugh. “Oh, it’s not time for my shift yet,” she said. “I needed to talk to you about something.”

The teen held her head down slightly, not quite making eye contact, shuffling her shoe back and forth on the wood floor. “I wondered if you might have more work for me.”

“More work?” Faye asked.

“I hoped you could add duties to my list and give me a few more hours. I know I haven’t been here long, but I think I’ve shown I’m a hard worker.”

“You are a hard worker, Wreath,” Faye said. “But I’m going to have to let you go.”

Wreath gasped, and she clutched her ever-present pack to her chest. “No!” she exclaimed. “You can’t!”

“I can, and I will. I don’t need your help here anymore.”

“But I thought I was doing a good job,” Wreath said. “I know you don’t like me that much, but I have made the store look better.”

“Not like you?” It was the store owner’s turn to be shocked. “If I had been able to have a child, I’d have wanted a daughter just like you….”

As the words hung in the air, she laid her hand upon her chest, stricken. Faye had never, ever talked to anyone, not even Nadine, about not being able to have children. What was it about this girl that opened her heart?

She cleared her throat and tried to sound stern, mean even. “I’m used to being here by myself, and it works out like that.”

“Please give me another chance, Mrs. Durham. I’ll do anything. I need this job real bad.” Tears rolled down Wreath’s cheeks.

“Child, you’re sixteen years old. You can’t possibly need this pitiful job that bad. Ask your parents for what you need.”

Wreath started toward the door. “Thank you for giving me a chance and for helping me buy the bike,” she said. “I liked working for you.”

The bells on the door jangled on Faye’s nerves, and then the store was quiet, except for the clock. Only five minutes had passed, but she felt like she had been through the past year all over again. She walked into the workroom, propped her forehead against the cabinet door, and sobbed.

Then she opened the cabinet and took out the collection of advertising mugs from one vendor after another, for chairs and tables, fabric and office supplies. One by one she threw them against the wall.

“For Billy,” she said, crying, as the first one smashed.

“And this stupid store.”

“And my friends who don’t understand.”

“And that stack of bills.”

The loud noise of the mugs satisfied her after a year of tiptoeing around, but a whimper crept into the crescendo, and she whirled around. Wreath stood at the door, the traces of tears still on her cheeks. “What do you want?” Faye asked.

The girl nodded, keeping her distance. “I want my job back,” Wreath said. “No matter what it takes. I’ll do better. I like working here.”

Faye reached into the cabinet, pulled out another mug, and Wreath ducked, but the woman walked over and handed the cup to her. “I can’t afford to hire you back. Break something. You’ll be amazed at how much better you’ll feel.”

Wreath threw the mug, which busted into three or four pieces, scarring the already tacky wall. “May I have another one?” she asked, and Faye started laughing.

“Have all you want. There’s nearly a hundred years of useless history in that cabinet.”

Faye heard a hint of hysteria in her own laugh, and Wreath stepped toward the cabinet.

“A hundred years? You’ve owned this store that long?”

“Of course not,” she said. “How old do you think I am? But my husband’s grandfather started it, and his daddy built it up. Seems like me and Billy are the ones who managed to ruin it.”

Faye sat down at the table, and Wreath dug through the back of the cabinet, pulling out old cups, mugs, toothpick holders, ashtrays, and commemorative plates. She lined the items up on the counter, eyeing Faye.

“I shouldn’t have acted like this in front of you,” Faye said. “You’d better go.”

“Don’t make me go. Please don’t make me go. I’ll do anything you want me to do—break cups, glue cups back together, even try to sell cups. Please don’t make me go.”

The path where the tears had fallen was wet again, and Wreath was clearly distraught as she wiped them away.

“Sit down, Wreath.” The woman pulled out a chair at the small worktable. She wet a cloth with cool water and wiped the girl’s face.

Wreath gave a laugh. “You seem to be doing this a lot.”

Faye looked surprised. “I do, don’t I? It’s kind of nice for a change. It’s been too long since I’ve had someone to take care of.”

“So you won’t make me go?”

“I’m afraid I have to. As you’ve probably figured out, this store is in deep trouble. I don’t have enough money to pay the light bill, much less to pay a girl to help dust.”

“I’ll work for less.”

“I can’t do that,” Faye said. “It wouldn’t be right. And your parents wouldn’t go for it.”

Wreath looked at her straight in the eye. “I don’t have any parents. My dad ran off when I was born. My mama lives up near Lucky. I don’t think she’ll be coming down here. That’s just a story I made up.”

“But you stay in touch with her. You’re always talking about her, and she loves you.”

“I have to support myself.” The girl swallowed as she spoke.

“That isn’t right either,” Faye said. “I can help you get aid. There are agencies—”

“No, no, no….” Wreath nearly turned the table over as she jumped up. “No agencies. I’ll look for work somewhere else.”

“Wait, honey. Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

“I have ideas on how to bring customers in,” Wreath said. “I read magazines. You have a lot of good retro stuff.”

“That junk? I’ll be lucky to find someone willing to haul it off for free.”

“Can’t we at least try? If it doesn’t work, you don’t have to pay me.”

The older woman walked over and got the broom and began to sweep up the mess she had made. Wreath immediately stood and tried to take the broom. For a moment, they played tug-of-war, and then Faye gave in.

“We’ll give it a try. I’ll give you a month to see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Durham. You won’t be sorry.”

“I know I won’t be. And I don’t intend to ask you this again. Will you please call me Faye?”

Chapter 20

S
tarting school had always been hard. Moving around a lot didn’t allow her to get too close to people, and she never had many friends. The idea of her first day at Landry High terrified her more than the dark nights in the Tiger Van or the snake she had seen more than once around the campsite.

Now it was the night before the first day of school. Trying to calm her nerves, she pulled out the old Bible and flipped over to the words in red. The letters were barely legible with her weak flashlight, but she read a few verses and thought of the old neighbor in Lucky who had taken her to church and always told her she was praying for her.

Wreath didn’t quite know how to pray and had been meaning to ask Faye whether she prayed or not. If ever there was a time to try praying, tonight seemed like the night.

She pulled out her notebook and wrote.
Dear God, I don’t know if You know me. Maybe You know that my name is Wreath Willis, except some people think it’s Wreath Williams. I start my last year of high school tomorrow. I’m not sure how this prayer stuff works, but I need help real bad. Lots of people have offered to help me, but I don’t know whom to trust. Will You help me? Sincerely, Wreath Wisteria Willis
. She wrote her name in cursive, with a flourish, figuring God might appreciate the extra effort.