Wreath (39 page)

Faye, Julia, and J. D. were sitting at the kitchen table drinking hot tea when Wreath tapped on the door and slipped in.

Faye leapt to her feet. “Oh, my darling girl,” she exclaimed and swept Wreath into a hug. “Oh, thank You, Lord.”

“Thank goodness,” Julia said, moving next to Wreath. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Wreath said.

“I need to call Shane and confirm that you’re safe and sound,” Julia said, pulling her telephone from her pocket and moving into the den.

Wreath clutched the edge of the counter.

“How is she?” J. D. said to Law, as though Wreath weren’t in the room.

“She’s a little worse for the wear, and she hopes Mrs. Durham will let her stay here for a few days. She didn’t have any way to call to let us know she was sick.”

“I was so afraid that horrible man had snatched you,” Faye said, her hand trembling as she touched Wreath’s face. “You’re so pale.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Wreath said. “I should have figured out a way to get in touch.”

“Do we need to take her to the emergency room?” J. D. seemed to be asking himself the question as much as asking the others.

“I hate hospitals,” Wreath said, shaking her head. “I’m getting better.”

“Let’s get you in bed, and I’ll make chicken soup,” Faye said. “J. D., do you think you could …”

Without another word, the man picked Wreath up as though she were a small child and carried her into the guest room. His gaze was so intense that Wreath closed her eyes until she felt the soft mattress.

Faye pulled a warm blanket up around Wreath’s shoulders and wiped her face with a cool cloth.

“We’ll get this sorted out,” J. D. said, but Wreath was so drowsy and secure that for once she didn’t try to figure out what he meant.

Law and Mitch said their good-byes from the hall, immediately banned from the sickroom.

“Don’t forget to pick up my assignments,” Wreath said, already sounding stronger.

Julia, who stood just inside the guest room, chuckled. “We’ll take care of that, Wreath. Don’t fret about it.”

“I’ve got to get my grades up,” Wreath murmured.

“You mustn’t worry about that now,” Faye said, tugging on Julia’s arm.

The two women followed Law and Mitch to the back door. “Thank you for bringing Wreath here,” Faye said, patting both the boys on their backs as though they were small children. “Thank you, Julia, for everything. We can find out more later.”

“I hate to leave her, but I suppose I’d better go, too,” Julia said. “I’ll let the other teachers know.”

“You let them know I intend to do battle with anyone who tries to lower Wreath’s grades because of her absence,” Faye said. “Clearly Wreath is quite ill.”

“I’m with you on that,” Julia said. “And Shane said to tell you that they’re doing everything they can to find Fred Procell.”

Faye stepped forward and hugged Julia. “Be safe,” she said.

Law and Mitch started to follow Julia out to the car, but Faye took Law by the arm, holding him back as Mitch stepped onto the carport. “What did her cousin say when you picked her up?” Faye asked.

The teenager fidgeted and seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. “He didn’t have anything to say. Wreath thought she’d be more comfortable here for a few days.”

“I see.” Faye didn’t think Law was the kind of boy to lie, but his answer sounded vague.

J. D., who had been sitting on the sofa, joined them at the door. “You said a man asked about her at school, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Law said.

“Do you think that the man who was looking for her at school was the same man who came into Faye’s store?” J. D. asked. “No doubt,” Law replied.

“Did Wreath give you any idea about who he was?” Faye said.

Law shook his head. “She didn’t act like she knew anyone who used to work at Durham’s, but she was super freaked out that he’d asked about her.”

“What about Fred Procell? Did that ring a bell with her?” J. D. asked.

“She was so sick that I didn’t mention that. I mostly helped her gather a few things and got Mitch to bring us here. We didn’t talk much.”

“Good job, young man,” J. D. said, closing the door behind him.

After checking on Wreath, who was in the stage between wakefulness and sleep, Faye started a pot of homemade chicken soup. “She may not be able to keep this down right away, but I want to have it ready when she wants it.”

“That smells great,” J. D. said.

“There’ll be plenty for us to have for a late supper, if you can stay.” She felt her face getting hot, as though she had leaned too far over the pot of boiling chicken. “Or you can take it home with you.”

“I’d like to stay,” he said. “There’s probably a better time to say this, but I’ve wanted to have dinner with you for months.”

Faye dropped the lid off the stockpot, and it clattered on the gold Formica countertop. “We eat meals together all the time. Our Sunday school class had dinner together four nights ago.”

“I want to ask you out on a date, but you don’t make it easy,” J. D. said.

Faye turned to chop two carrots, dicing them with the precision of a samurai warrior. She swept them into the boiling broth with a swift motion, her mind more on Wreath than J. D. She was relieved to have the child back under her roof.

Her life had a purpose that had been missing since Billy died. She looked through the steam from the pan at J. D. And a joy, now that she thought about it.

“Did you say a date?” she asked.

“Yes, a date,” J. D. said. “Is it that outlandish? I haven’t been on a date in many a moon, but I don’t recall women looking quite that incredulous.”

“You had your Lynn and I had Billy,” she said. “Going out with you seems … odd. Do people our age
date?”

“Beats me,” he said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll step away. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, nor dishonor the memories of Billy or Lynn. But they’re gone. That doesn’t mean we forget them, but life goes on.”

Faye pivoted to face the handsome man sitting on her kitchen stool. “I’d be delighted to go out to dinner with you sometime.”

“How about Saturday night?”

“That quickly? I’ll have to see,” she said. “I may not be able to leave Wreath.”

“There’s no rush,” he said, looking toward the end of the house where Wreath rested. “We both want to make sure she’s well.”

“I think Wreath’s on the mend,” Faye said, stirring the broth. “But there are so many questions.”

“Yes,” J. D. said quietly. “There are.”

Wreath awoke the next morning hungry and weak. She couldn’t recall where she was and thought Frankie had checked on her during the night.

Then she remembered Faye slipping in and out and recognized the lace curtains on the window.

“You feeling better, sleepyhead?” Mrs. Durham appeared as though magically summoned.

“I think so.” Wreath’s tongue felt thick, but her legs didn’t feel quite so boneless.

“Let me get you a glass of water, and we can talk about what sounds good to your stomach. You slept right through supper.”

Wreath wound up having chicken soup for breakfast, but Faye only let her eat a small amount with three plain crackers. “We don’t want to push it,” the woman said, fussing over her like she’d been near death.

“I’ve never had homemade chicken soup before,” Wreath said. “This is delicious.”

Faye tilted her head. “What did your mother fix for you when you were sick?”

Wreath pondered the question. “I don’t think I’ve ever been sick before. I did get Popsicles once when I had a runny nose.”

“I hope you never get sick again,” Faye said. “You gave me quite a scare when you didn’t show up for work.”

“How’s the store doing? Any sales?”

“That couple from Lafayette came in and bought that chair you found in the attic and ordered a new duvet cover, curtains, and a shower curtain.”

“Wow. Did you price everything for a good profit?”

Faye gave a little laugh. “I’d say we came out all right. I put your share in your bonus pool. It’s at the office—hidden. I won’t ever leave our cash in an unlocked drawer again.”

Wreath bowed her head. “Do we need to talk about what happened?” she asked. “About that man who …”

“Not now,” Faye interrupted, her voice almost as firm as it had been when Wreath started work. “The police are looking for him. There’ll be plenty of time to sort things out.”

“Whew,” Wreath said, relieved.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need the trash can?”

“No, I need a shower.” Wreath wrinkled her nose. “I’m surprised you let me sleep inside. I smell awful. What I’d really like is a hot shower.”

“I’ve put shampoo and conditioner in your bathroom.” Faye beamed. “And pajamas and a robe in that closet.”

“Thank you,” Wreath whispered.

When she opened the chest of drawers, she found a new hairbrush and toothbrush, an assortment of lotions, T-shirts, and underwear and a brand-new pair of pajamas and monogrammed robe.

When she came out into the den, Faye was dressed for work, and Wreath shyly gave her a hug. “Thank you for all the new things,” she said. “I feel like I’m at a fancy hotel.”

Faye laughed, a loud, unexpected sound. “You
are
feeling better, aren’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t be with all those gifts?”

“You deserve them.”

“Do you want me to come in to work today?” Wreath asked.

“Definitely not!” Faye said. “You are banned from work until you’re one hundred percent well.”

“Thanks.” Wreath choked up as she spoke. She missed her job but was tired from the effort of showering and dressing and didn’t have the strength to go to work … or worry about the stranger.

“Call if you need anything, and I mean anything,” Faye said. “And don’t unlock the door unless it’s me or one of your other friends.”

Friends
. The word had healing power.

Dear Brownie
, Wreath wrote in her journal for the first time in days,
I got sick, and so many people took care of me. I am very thankful
. When Faye got to work, she wasn’t surprised to see J. D. in front of his store, reading. He was an early riser, and he spent his free time with a book in hand.

“How’s the patient?” he asked, standing back a few feet farther than usual.

“On the mend, but still peaked.”

He stepped back another foot or two. “Thank goodness.”

Faye moved toward him. He moved back. “Is it my imagination, or are you rethinking asking me out on a date?” she teased.

His look was serious. “It’s not that at all.”

She walked over and stuck the key in the door, trying to act as though her heart wasn’t racing. “Then what is it?”

J. D. spoke as the heavy door swung open. “I think Wreath may be my granddaughter.”

Faye staggered into the store, J. D. walking in behind her.

“Why would you even say such a thing?” she asked, whirling to look at him.

“Wreath needs help,” he said. His usual easygoing expression was markedly absent.

“Of course she needs help,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean you need to rescue her.”
Could it possibly be true?

“I have to rescue her,” he said. “There’s a chance I’m the only relative Wreath has left.”

“Where did this come from?” Faye asked, trying to piece together hints she might have overlooked.

“I’ve always suspected John David’s girlfriend might have been pregnant when he was killed. The girl and her mother left town right before the funeral, and I never heard from her again. Things were a blur for me for a long time, and I tried not to think about John David. It hurt too much.”

“But Wreath?” Faye said, looking at the range of emotions moving across J. D.’s face.

“This is probably all wishful thinking on my part,” J. D. said. “But to have a chance to help John David’s child … What if it’s true, and my own granddaughter is here, in my life?”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Faye said. “But something drew her to Landry.”

“There are a lot of coincidences … similarities,” he said. “I’ve tried not to notice them, but looking at Wreath is like catching a glimpse of my son. It’s uncanny how her expressions favor his.”

Faye’s heart turned over. “You know I’ve been trying to figure out how to get to the bottom of Wreath’s secrets. Why haven’t you told me this before?”