Wreath (7 page)

An auto repair shop and used tire store were the first businesses she passed, and she considered asking for a drink of water but decided it was too risky. She walked on. Her spirits dipped almost in tandem with the backpack sliding off her shoulder.

In the distance she saw a flashing red light, and the highway made a T, veering into town. Her relief was so strong she wanted to lift her arms in triumph. “Yes,” she said under her breath. “I made it.” A bench with a cover over it, maybe a school bus stop, sat on the other side of the road, and she crossed, hot and thirsty. With a little rest in the shade, she would decide what to do next.

“Hey, Wreath,” a voice called.

She skidded to a stop, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might have a heart attack.

“Over here,” the voice said, and Wreath turned, feeling like a mechanical toy, jerky and unsteady.

“It’s me. Clarice. From the other day. Do you need a ride?”

At the sight of the fancy car and the woman’s big smile, Wreath steadied herself. “No thanks,” she said. “I’m doing a little hiking.” She pointed to the pack.

“Looks like you’re about hiked out,” Clarice said.

Wreath knew her face was flushed, and she had sweat rings on her clothes. “It’s a little hotter in Landry than I remembered.” She wiped her brow and forced a laugh. “But I need the exercise. Thanks for the offer.”

Walking fast across the road, she turned at the first street, hoping to get out of Clarice’s sight in a hurry.

The woman was all Wreath could think about as she tried to figure out what to do. She could scarcely bear the thought of the long walk back to the junkyard, but she didn’t want to hang out in town where she might run into Clarice again.

Still, she had to get food and a few other supplies. She had been foolish to think this might actually be simple.

A handful of cars and pickups drove past, and Wreath looked down, expecting to hear the woman’s voice at any moment, half hoping she would. Maybe Clarice would butt into her business and put an end to this mistake once and for all.

Almost talking herself into looking for the woman’s car, Wreath bumped into a signpost and slapped it with anger. She was hot and hungry, and she missed Frankie so much it hurt.

She rubbed her hand across her face and tried to keep from crying.
Lo, I am with you always
. The words popped into her mind.

Her mind raced. Her guts churned.

She turned around again, to see if Clarice might be near. Her eyes went to the sign she had stumbled against. The Landry Library.

The library! That was on her list of places to investigate.

She would see about public Internet access, maybe check out a book or two. Wreath wasn’t sure how she was going to get a new library card, but she’d figure something out. Where there’s a Willis, there’s a way, as Frankie said.

The cool air of the library hit her so pleasantly it felt like a gift.

Wreath explored every aisle, the familiar sight of rows of books perking her up. Near the teen area, she saw a summer reading display, with a stack of bookmarks and a plate of cookies. A woman shelving books turned to look at her, and Wreath reluctantly walked away.

“Take a cookie or two,” the woman said in a library voice. “They’re free.” The librarian gestured toward a group of kids about her age on the other side of the room. “Maybe you’d like to sign up for our teen reading club.”

“Thank you,” Wreath said, taking only one of the cookies, despite the desire to grab a handful. She chewed it slowly and sauntered near the shelves where the teens gathered.

She picked up a sheet about “Teen Tales,” a book club for grades seven through twelve, and pulled from a display a new novel she had read about in one of her mama’s magazines. Curling into a chair, she inhaled the smell of the book, fresh and distinct. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched kids at computers or reading on beanbag chairs in a corner.

She needn’t have worried that she would stand out. She seemed invisible.

Suddenly loneliness threatened to crush her, and she put the book back on its table and headed to the bathroom. Alone inside, she examined the space for future use as a place to clean up. It was tidy, with the strong fruity smell of air freshener, and would come in handy, despite its lack of a shower.

Stepping out, she went back to the table and took one more cookie, smiling at the woman who now sat behind a nearby counter. “Thanks,” Wreath said, doubting the woman could imagine how much she needed the snack.

She walked out the door into an entryway, licking sugar off the top of the cookie, and sat on a bench, reluctant to go out into the heat again. Her notebook in hand, she made notes.

With one last breath of cool air, she headed out to the street, gearing up to spend money she could not afford to spend.

Chapter 6

T
he streets of Landry reminded Wreath of most of the places she and Frankie had lived, with a few run-down stores, a mix of black and white people, some workmen speaking Spanish, several churches, and lots of trees. Overall the effect was that of her favorite pair of jeans—frayed but comfortable.

In a small downtown park, Wreath recognized crape myrtles, their blooms the color of watermelon. Frankie said those were Wreath’s grandma’s favorite “because they bloom boldly in the heat of summer.” She decided she’d start a list of flowers she liked when she got back to the Tiger Van.

Living in the junkyard, she liked nature more than she had expected—except for the bugs. She had figured out quickly which birds came around at certain times and what sounds they made. The crows were the noisiest … and the nosiest. The woodpeckers were persistent. The blue jays were loud, and mockingbirds dive-bombed her if she went too close to a certain bush. As she walked, she considered checking out a book on birds.

Wandering through downtown, Wreath chose the Dollar Barn for her shopping debut, a store she recognized from Coushatta and Oil City. These stores were cluttered and inexpensive. She figured she would blend in, just as she and Frankie had in the other ones.

As soon as she pushed the smudged glass door open, she could tell the air-conditioning wasn’t working. The store smelled like the locker room at her old school, and the girl clerk had a small fan plugged in next to the cash register. An angry woman in an oversized housedress and terry cloth slippers jerked a screaming child by the arm, away from the candy aisle, loudly fussing without any visible results. A man in overalls paid for a gallon of milk with food stamps, and a middle-aged woman browsed through the cheap greeting cards.

No one paid any attention to Wreath as she chose food that met the requirements on her notebook list:

As a treat, she chose a small sack of sale candy, passing over the chocolate for cheaper hard pieces that wouldn’t melt. Frustrated, however, she couldn’t find the item she most wanted—a big flashlight. She went up and down every aisle three times before asking for help.

“Excuse me,” Wreath said to the clerk, who wore a store smock over a cute shirt. The girl stopped scrolling through her cell phone to look up. “Can you tell me where the flashlights are?”

“Those are seasonal,” the clerk said, going back to her texting.

“Seasonal?” Confusion and anger blasted through Wreath. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” the girl said in an exaggerated tone, “that we ran out, and we aren’t getting any more. Seasonal means seasonal.” A pretty teenager with a name-brand watch and a small diamond necklace, she looked out of place in the store.

Wreath shuffled back down the aisles, picking up necessities, her head low and her mood lower.

She could adjust to the junkyard. She really could. However, she didn’t think she could stand one more night of the pitch-black darkness, the unseen sources of weird noises in the woods, and no way to read or find her way outside. The night was too scary without a light, and her eyes filled with tears at the thought.

Her arms full, she plopped her items on the counter, sensing her money dwindle every time the scanner beeped. She counted a few crumpled bills from her pack and wondered how she was going to keep from starving. Frankie had taught her to be thrifty at a young age, but even that wasn’t going to make her little bit of money last.

“You might try the hardware store,” the clerk said in a friendlier voice as Wreath placed her purchases in the thin plastic bags next to the register. “They might have flashlights, and sometimes Mr. J. D.—the owner—runs sales.”

“Thanks a lot,” Wreath said. Her relief must have shown, because the girl gave a small smile before going back to her cell phone. Carrying the sacks and fretting about the lack of a light, Wreath figured she had messed up. Landry didn’t look nearly as appealing under this load.

Discouraged, she crossed the street and shifted the packages. Her shoulders throbbed, and she tripped on the curb, a sack tearing and precious cans of potted meat rolling down a slight hill. Frantic, she chased them, dodging a pickup whose driver gave her an annoyed look.

The meat was vital. But at the moment, the cans looked like animated pieces in a crazy video game, rolling along the street, evading obstacles. She watched in despair as one careened right in front of an approaching delivery van, crumpling in front of her eyes. She stood so close she could smell the odor of the smashed heap, but the driver seemed not to notice and sped on down the street.

Snagging the second can, she watched a third roll to the curb and bounce, landing next to the tire of a beat-up red bicycle propped in front of a store. Breathless, Wreath lunged for the potted meat, knocking the bike onto the sidewalk.

Looking around to see if anyone was about to scold her, she righted the bike. Then she noticed the F
OR
S
ALE
sign taped to the handlebars. Wreath touched the seat and looked at the tires, imagining how good it would feel to put her packages inside the wire basket and ride away. She knew she could not afford it, but after only one foray into town, she was tired of the long walk and dreaded the time it would take to get to school.

The price on the bike, written in blue ink, was smudged and unreadable.

She made a list in her mind. Perhaps having the bike could help her find a job and give her a head start if she needed to leave Landry fast. She could get to school more easily and go to the library to check out books on a regular basis. She’d have more time and energy for fixing up her camp.

She and Frankie had almost always been broke, and she had gotten used to wanting things she couldn’t have. But she wanted this old bicycle more than she had wanted anything in a long time.

“Use that good sense God gave you,” her mama would have said. But Wreath didn’t have money for the bike, and she needed to get back to the Rusted Estates before dark.

With shoulders slumped, she walked five minutes before jutting her chin out, straightening her back, and exhaling the deep breath she had held. She whipped around, arms aching, the supplies heavy. She could at least look at the bike and buy a flashlight at the hardware store, maybe more expensive than one from a discount store, but even a small one would be better than nothing.

Wreath had never been a quitter, and she was not going to start now.