Wreath (41 page)

Faye followed with a bemused look. “You have a talent for this, Wreath. This could be your best idea yet.”

“Maybe the school yearbook will publish some of them. Think of the publicity for Junkyard Couture,” Wreath said. She had her journal in hand and stood sketching ideas, Faye looking over her shoulder.

“You ladies casing the place?” J. D. asked, wandering over from the hardware store. His voice had a gentle quality.

“Wreath’s coming up with those marketing ideas she’s so good at,” Faye said. “She’s making one of her famous lists.”

“I like to write things down,” she said to J. D. as he looked down at her notebook. “What do you think about this look?”

The man laid his hand on her shoulder as he peered at her drawing. “That’s imaginative,” he said. “Where’d you get that artistic talent?”

Wreath shrugged. “From my father, I guess. Frankie—my mama, that is—said I sure didn’t get it from her.”

“So your parents passed away?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Wreath said, moving back toward the store, not wanting to mar her excitement with thoughts of Frankie. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish this up before closing time.”

“I shouldn’t tell her yet, should I?” J. D. said to Faye.

“I don’t think so,” Faye said, taking both his hands in hers. “Let her have the joy of prom before we blow up her life again.”

Julia threw her artistic energy into the Durham’s Fine Furnishing prom window design, laughing as she and Wreath sketched and experimented.

One day she arrived at the back door carrying three huge canvases, an old-fashioned ball gown painted in a pastel color on each canvas. “We’ve been hoping you’d let us display your art sometime,” Wreath exclaimed. “We can hang one in the boutique, one in the new prom parlor I’m putting together, and one in the window.”

“Just what I hoped,” Julia said.

Excited by Wreath’s quest for an old dress, Julia had called her father, who dug around in the attic and shipped her senior prom dress to the store. She ripped into a box covered with brown paper and tied with twine and pulled it out in front of Wreath and Faye. A beautiful plum color, it had spaghetti straps and a small ruffle around the neck and hem. “You can wear it if you want,” she offered, holding it out.

Wreath fingered the soft fabric even while she shook her head. “It looks just like you,” Wreath said. “You have to wear it.”

“I want you to wear it, though.”

“No,” the store owner said to Julia. “Wreath’s right. That dress was made for you.”

“I hope I can still fit into it.”

“All that running has to be good for something,” Faye said. “Try it on, and we’ll see if I need to do any alterations.”

The girl and the older woman drew in their breath when Julia walked out of the workroom, gliding like a glamorous model.

“That is stunning,” Faye said.

“I would laugh at the looks on your faces,” Julia said, “but I’m afraid I’d tear a seam.”

Within minutes Faye was seated on the floor with her old red pincushion shaped like a tomato. She pinned here and basted there, mumbling to herself about nips and tucks.

“Stand still,” she said, the words garbled by a host of pins in her mouth.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Julia said with a salute and then winced when a pin poked her. “You did that on purpose,” she said.

“I most certainly did not,” Faye said, and Wreath laughed.

Wreath felt as though she had gotten on a tall slide at the park and started down before she was quite ready. With homework a priority, college plans gradually settling, and work at the store, she was constantly busy.

Nearly every girl in the senior class had come by to look at the store’s Junkyard Couture collection of party dresses. Faye had updated some, with touches suggested by Wreath, and the result was an amazing array, lacking in only one thing. The perfect dress for Wreath.

One afternoon Faye was at her desk assembling a box in the purple and gold colors of Landry High when Wreath came in from school.

“So you decided to come back,” Faye called out automatically when the bell sounded.

“Couldn’t stay away,” Wreath said.

“What’d you learn today?”

“That my boss is holding out on me.”

Faye’s mouth fell open for a moment. “What?”

“Miss Watson told me about your marketing ideas,” Wreath said.

Faye exhaled. “Oh, you’re talking about my prom-shopping box.”

“What’d you think I meant?” Wreath asked, plopping down next to her.

“Nothing.” She held up a brown box with a pink ribbon.
“Voilà!
Open it and see what you think.”

Inside were a tube of lip gloss, a small piece of high-end chocolate, and a packet of tissues with fancy high-heel shoes printed on them.

“Let’s give the prom shoppers the red-carpet treatment,” Faye said, “including punch and cookies and a box of favors. The shopping experience can be like a party.”

“I love that idea,” Wreath said. “How’d you think of that?”

“I’ve been doing research myself,” Faye said with a smile.

Wreath couldn’t resist and threw her arms around Faye’s neck. “We need a sign on the highway,” she said. “We’re about to go big-time!”

Chapter 38

B
etween a billboard hastily designed by Julia and Wreath and word of mouth, the store exploded with customers. Students, best friends, and moms from all over the region oohed and aahed over dresses, sipped punch, and nibbled on cookies while declaring they had to watch their diets. They bought dresses by the shopping sack full, gearing up for proms at every high school in the area.

Grandmothers began to tag along, too, putting their feet up and sipping Faye’s new blend of tea, often leaving with a custom-ordered designer pillow or one of the pricey candles that she had ordered wholesale.

Faye paid off a line of credit Billy had carried for years and opened a savings account in which she deposited regular amounts for tuition without telling Wreath.

Through all the busyness, she and Wreath bought leftover belongings from others, needing more and more merchandise to keep up with the demand, visiting house after house in Landry’s old neighborhoods. They had started getting phone calls from people with merchandise to sell, and Faye recruited Julia to watch the store in late afternoons so they could check out potential goods.

“These people heard about us from a neighbor,” Faye told Wreath one afternoon as they drove to a worn neighborhood to look over the contents of a house. “The owner is moving to an independent living center and wants to get rid of a lot of furniture. “I do believe we’re developing a bit of a reputation as junk lovers.”

“We’re called pickers,” Wreath said matter-of-factly. “I looked it up at school.”

“I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Faye said and punched the gas on the old car. “Although technically I believe pickers are people you hire to do the dirty work for you.”

Wreath cast a sideways glance.

“I keep telling you that I’m doing my research, too,” Faye said with a smile and turned the big car onto the street where the house sat. She even drove differently these days, faster, with more confidence. She had begun to imagine herself in a sports car instead of the gigantic model.

When they pulled up next to the curb, Wreath visibly stiffened, and Faye’s lighthearted mood shifted. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden. You’re not having a relapse, are you?” Ever since Wreath had gotten sick, Faye hovered over her. She regularly served her fruit juice and lectured her about getting enough rest.

“I’m all right,” Wreath said, “but I think I’ll wait in the car.”

“You’re sick again, aren’t you?” Faye touched her forehead. “You’re clammy. I’m taking you home. I can reschedule this anytime.”

Wreath drew a deep breath. “I’m not sick, but I can’t decide if I want to go in this house or not.” She paused long enough for Faye to look puzzled. “It’s where my mother grew up.”

“Oh, Wreath, this must be so hard for you,” Faye said. “Why don’t I take you to my house, and I’ll come back.”

But Wreath was already climbing out of the car. “Maybe seeing it can help me learn more about Frankie and my grandmother. Besides, I don’t trust you to buy the right pieces from the owners.” She offered a small smile and reached for Faye’s hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

While Faye dealt with the owner and the owner’s daughter, Wreath wandered through the rooms, touching the walls and trying to sense her mother’s presence. She had intended to come over here since arriving in Landry, but every time she started by, her heart got that heavy sick feeling. She’d turned back at least five times before deciding she didn’t need the grief.