Wreath (26 page)

One of the first things Law brought down from the attic was an old eight-track tape player, complete with a stack of tapes. “Would you look at this?” he said. “I wonder if it still works.”

“Knowing my Aunt Faye and Uncle Billy, it’s probably in good shape,” Mitch said. “Billy was good with electronics and machines. Let’s give it a try.”

“Are you sure?” Wreath asked. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“It’ll give us music to work by,” Mitch said.

“The store’s not open today, so what could it matter?” Law said.

Wreath fidgeted from foot to foot. “Nothing, I guess, but it doesn’t seem to go with the, you know, tone of the place.”

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to change?” Law asked. “Mitch and I will put you in charge of choosing the music.”

From a stack of tapes by people she’d never heard of, like Jim Croce, the Guess Who, and Iron Butterfly, she chose a Christmas collection by Andy Williams. “I think my grandmother had this on a cassette tape,” she said.

“Andy Williams?” Mitch groaned. “I’m working on Thanksgiving Day, and you’re making me listen to an old guy sing Christmas songs?”

“My grandparents love that guy,” Law said, “but I’ll try not to hold that against you, Wreath.”

Between clowning around and throwing things back and forth to make Wreath screech, the guys worked out a relay system. They lowered boxes out of the attic, and Wreath unpacked glassware, a stack of leather-bound books, and a collection of salt and pepper shakers in shapes from palm trees to the Empire State Building.

With a quick look she could decide where they would go, pointing here, shaking her head when an item was placed wrong, and smiling big when an arrangement came together.

“How do you do that?” Law asked.

“Do what?” Wreath was peering into a box of weathered gardening tools, seeing them in a garden display, with old clay pots she had discovered in the closet off the workroom.

“Figure out where this stuff goes. You make it look easy.”

She pulled out a weathered pair of pruning shears and looked at Law, his words soaking in. “It’s easy.”

He shook his head, his dark hair falling down onto his face, drawing attention to his black eye. “You figure out where it goes before I’ve even figured out what I’m looking at. When you talk about all this junk, it’s interesting.”

Mitch sauntered up in the middle of the conversation and nodded in agreement with Law. “Aunt Faye has been telling my parents that you’re a talented designer. This store looks better than it has in years.”

“You guys are standing around flattering me to get out of work,” Wreath said with mock indignation. “Drape those Christmas lights inside the display window, and we’ll be finished for the day.”

Mitch picked up the bulging box of old-fashioned bulbs in deep green, red, orange, and blue and started to the window, but Law paused and moved toward Wreath. “You are amazing,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

Feeling as though her heart might explode with joy, Wreath smiled and turned back to the box.

By late afternoon, with Law and Mitch putting leftover boxes back in the attic, the store looked the way the girl had sketched in her notebook, a cozy mix of classic and corny items, clustered so that each grouping could have been a movie set. She pulled out her pack and jotted the scenes the boys had helped her create, thinking of each of them as a story of its own, with sentimental items that had stood the test of time. The red-and-white kitchen area was bright and inviting, the garden “room” restful and calm, and “Santa’s library” invited you to sit on a love seat covered with a faded quilt and read a book.

“What’s next?” Law asked, brushing his hands against his dusty pants and helping Mitch push the attic ladder back into place.

“All I have to do is put prices on everything, and I’m going to letter a few signs to draw people in,” Wreath said.

“You have to eat first,” Law said, and the trio meandered into the workroom, where Wreath put her feet up and started eating the best meal she had had in weeks.

“Aren’t you going to heat that up?” Mitch asked.

She cringed that she hadn’t even thought of warming the food. “It’s still good,” she said, her face hotter than the food.

Julia clomped down the steps of the garage apartment and put the packages of brown-and-serve rolls and tray of carrots and broccoli in the backseat.

She didn’t quite fit in with other faculty members and dreaded the Thanksgiving get-together at the home of another young teacher, married with two small children. But Julia didn’t have time or money to go home to Alabama, and she hated to think about eating alone. Four or five other Landry High colleagues were coming, a motley collection of people Julia thought of as strays, mostly singles like herself who didn’t have any other place to spend the holiday.

Putting off her solitary entry into the group, she drove down the alley and wove around downtown, sketching in her mind. After a few minutes, the emptiness of Main Street caught at her heart, making her want to create a picture that showed how the empty street mirrored her heart.

Considering going back to her apartment and pretending she was under the weather, she turned around. Instead of eating too much and listening to people she didn’t know tell exaggerated stories, she could go for a long run out to the park. She had another project she wanted to finish, too, a portrait of a faceless student, drawn in pastels.

As she circled back down Main Street, she saw Wreath’s bicycle propped up in front of Durham’s Fine Furnishings and wondered what kind of boss would make a student work on the holiday. Or maybe the girl needed the money. Julia recalled that she had mentioned saving for college.

Feeling guilty for whining about her job and the lack of time for art, she gave an audible groan. Lots of people had it worse than she did, the girl Wreath being one of them. Julia’s students, even though not all college material, were smart and energetic and friendly to each other more often than not. The rent on her little apartment was nothing compared to big cities, and she was only minutes from work. Her running times were improving by the week, and even though the weather in Landry was hot in the summer, winter runs were brisk and refreshing, not snow-covered and bitter.

Her mother, who had died when she was a freshman in college, had told her always to expect good things and to appreciate what she had. “Too many people focus on what’s wrong instead of enjoying what’s right,” her mother liked to say. “You be different.”

“You’re going to do great things,” her father always said with his easy smile. She would call him that afternoon and tell him how thankful she was for her family and how she wished she could be home.

Julia smiled, remembering her mother’s hospitality when people gathered around the table, the gentle smile and the faded cotton apron she always wore when she cooked. She looked like something out of an old painting, and Julia often wondered why she had turned out so different—a fan of abstract art and modern trends. She shook her head, then took a deep breath and turned the car toward her coworker’s house.

A boisterous crowd greeted Julia at the cute frame house near the school, colleagues throwing out names and introductions, the smell of food drawing her into the kitchen, where she was greeted with warmth and immediately put to work.

“I made rolls … sort of,” she said, holding up the plastic grocery bag.

“Thank goodness,” said a handsome man, snatching the sack from her. He looked to be about her age. “I’ll preheat the oven.” He leaned over to pull a cookie sheet out of the cabinet and looked back up. “I’m Shane, by the way.”

“Julia,” she said and was dragged out of the kitchen by a curly-haired preschooler who wanted to show off the new goldfish her Uncle Shane had brought her.

The child’s mother shooed them both out of the room. “We’re so happy you could come today, Julia. We missed you at the cookout.”

“Thanks for having me,” Julia said as the little girl tugged on her arm again. “I was feeling homesick this morning.”

The day was unseasonably warm, and after lunch most people wandered out into the yard, the men and older children tossing a football, the women groaning about how much they’d eaten and wondering which dessert they’d have next. Julia sprawled on an old blanket on the grass, enveloped by the friendliness of the crowd.

“Julia, it sure is good having you with us for a change,” an English lit teacher said.

“You should join us more often,” another young teacher said. “We know you don’t plan to stay in Landry, but as long as you’re here, we’re not bad company.”

Two or three other women laughed and murmured their agreement. “We eat well, too,” another woman said, patting her stomach. “As you can tell.”

“Look out,” the good-looking man from the kitchen yelled and made a diving catch right in front of Julia, putting his arms up in the air as though he had scored a touchdown.

“I believe my brother’s flirting with you,” the hostess said as the man rejoined the game.

“Looked to me like he was trying to catch a bad pass,” Julia said. The banter made her feel relaxed and connected.

“Shane’s a great guy, even if I am a little prejudiced. He works for the sheriff’s department out near Wooddale.”

“Just stay away from that one,” another teacher whispered, pointing to a man with a ponytail and heavy boots. “He’s trouble with a capital
T.”

Julia looked over to see a man pulling his shirt off a little too obviously. He’d brushed up next to her when they were filling their plates for lunch, but she’d turned the other way, pretending not to notice. “Who is he?” she asked.

The hostess rolled her eyes. “My husband’s sorry cousin. He moved near here a few months ago, and I got the family guilt trip to ask him over. Thank goodness he’s only here for the day.”

“He’s mighty proud of those muscles.” Julia tried for a joking tone that didn’t quite work.

“He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Big Fun’s never been married, but every time we turn around, he’s got a new girlfriend.”

“Big Fun?” Julia blurted out the name louder than she intended, and she saw the man throw her an interested look. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“He’s been called Big Fun since middle school. If he weren’t a relative, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him, but he plays on everyone’s sympathy.”

The teacher reached for a stray napkin that had blown nearby. “My husband says I’m too rough,” she said. “One of his girlfriends died a few months ago, and he’s been acting different ever since.”

“Good different or bad different?” Julia asked, not all that interested but trying to be polite.

“Like he’s got something on his mind.”

When the football game broke up, Julia hurried into the house. She would have enjoyed getting to know Shane better, but she was afraid she might have to talk to Big Fun instead. That guy definitely gave her the creeps.

With half an uneaten pie pushed into her hands, she prepared to drive off in her little red import, bought used after college. A flashy refurbished Chevrolet pulled out of the driveway as she fastened her seat belt, and the man called Big Fun caught her eye and gave her a casual wave.

She saw Shane standing in the door, watching the other man with narrowed eyes.

Sluggish from too much food, Julia traded her run for a brisk walk through neighborhoods, enjoying the occasional cluster of cars in driveways where families gathered, some waving as she walked past.

“Want a ride, teacher lady?” a male voice called, and the overdone car from the Thanksgiving party pulled into sight. Big Fun. A cloud of smoke came out of the window.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I need to walk off that turkey.”

For a moment, the man looked like he might argue, but he gave another careless wave and drove away, turning off the main thoroughfare as though heading out of town.

Shaken more than she wanted to acknowledge, Julia turned toward the garage apartment, scanning the area as she cut through the alley. Booming music and laughter came from the furniture store, both sounds she’d never heard there before.

Curious, she ran upstairs to retrieve the leftover pie and pounded on the back door of the store. She had to beat on it repeatedly, the volume on the music lessening and the sound of voices conferring.