Wreath Page 7

  “There’s not a train in sight, Mama.” Wreath rubbed her mother’s hair. “Everything’s going to be fine.” She couldn’t quite believe how fast her mother had declined after that day. Frankie went so fast, almost as though the illness were a speeding train about to mow her down.

  Trying to stay a step ahead of the sadness that wanted to overtake her, Wreath peered every day into smashed cars, sat in the driver’s seat of the ancient school bus, pretended to scold the kids behind her, and poked around in overgrown travel trailers, wondering if their owners had ever gone somewhere exciting.

  She thought of the van as home, the one place in the whole world that was hers. Each morning Wreath climbed out of the van, nervous about what she might find. The homestead was different, but the feeling was not unlike that at the run-down house where she and Frankie had lived for the past year.

  She made herself walk throughout the junkyard both morning and evening, checking for clues that others might have been there, but all seemed well.

  Using tricks she had read in a detective novel in seventh grade, she set up traps to let her know if anyone came around when she was gone or sleeping. As she went, she noted the tricks in her journal one morning before work.

  SECURITY SYSTEM AT RUSTED ESTATES

  1. String tied to Tiger Van doors on left and right sides.

  2. Coke can on floor just inside door of travel trailer.

  3. Piece of rope across path to pond/mud hole.

  4. Leave one item daily on steps of trailer next to van. Monitor item’s placement.

  Even compiling the list made her nervous, and she quickly dressed.

  She collected a few items from trailers, amazed at what people left behind, and silently thanked the previous owners for their generosity, from mismatched dishes to a heavy iron pot that would come in handy if she ever decided to build a fire and cook.

  She picked up three tattered books and a handful of T-shirts that had not decayed, but walked away from rotted things that fell apart when she touched them.

  The scattered stuff reminded her of the things she had abandoned at the shabby house in Lucky. She could almost see low-life neighbors pawing through them, a lot more concerned about her hand-me-down clothes than they were about her.

  Her favorite find on this morning was an assortment of photographs that she lined up on the van’s dashboard, next to one of the pictures of her mom she had carefully saved. The children in the found photos would be older than she was by now, she thought, and some of the hippies were probably dead, just like Frankie. Wreath made up stories about their lives, wondering if life had dumped something unexpected on them, too.

  Every day she made herself examine at least one different vehicle, and today she added five to her list. They were old and smelly and full of a history that Wreath couldn’t understand. She found faded photo after faded photo, greeting cards, cracked dishes, and odd pieces of clothing, some still in good shape even after years in the Louisiana heat and humidity.

  The cars and trailers and RVs were alive—not with people but with bugs and mice and lizards and something that looked like an oversized gummy worm.

  Life here felt much the way it did in the weeks before Frankie died. Wreath felt as though something hung over her head, waiting to drop on her.

  Chapter 10

  The pavement was hot, but Julia loved the way it felt to hit the road. She headed out to the state park, her favorite route in any season. Thick green trees came up close to the road, providing enough shade to make her feel cooler. Scraggly wildflowers bloomed along the ditch, and she saw a box turtle trying to make it across the road.

  During the sweaty run, she usually sketched pictures in her mind. Today the thought of her art turned her brain back to a subject that was never far from her mind—whether it was time to get out of Landry.

  She had come to the high school intent on shaping young protégés and paying off college loans. Instead she was teaching antsy students how to read the newspaper and why the Constitution mattered. Most of her students were good kids, but a few of them made her want to pull her hair out. The subjects bored her, too, so she understood why she couldn’t make hyper teenagers care.

  She had slid into a paycheck and health benefits and wasn’t sure she had enough cash to make a move, even at the age of twenty-four.

  Julia wondered if she might turn into someone like her landlady, Faye Durham, whose daily routine seemed closed off and dull. The very idea made her want to pack her car and drive up the road to anywhere but here. She was scared, though, that wherever she went she would find more of the same.

  Turning into the park, she sprinted down the entrance lane and headed toward the restroom for a splash of lukewarm water out of the faucet. As she entered the building, she thought for a second about the teenager she’d encountered earlier in the summer. Wreath. What an unusual name.

  She hadn’t seen the girl since, but Julia couldn’t quite forget her. She wondered if the family had been camping for fun or if they moved around, living at parks like this. She had heard some families had to do that. Something about the girl Wreath niggled at the edge of Julia’s mind.

  Lawson Rogers stood outside the park office as she ran past, and she doubled back to speak, hitting PAUSE on the timer on her watch. Law was one of her favorite students, a conscientious boy who didn’t sleep in class and made good grades. She’d heard her colleagues in the teachers’ lounge say his father was in jail, but he’d never mentioned it to her. He was so polite that it was hard to believe his father was a scoundrel.

  “Too hot to run today, Miss Watson.” The boy walked from the shade to where she stood. “Where’s your water bottle?”

  Just like in class, he noticed details. “I forgot it,” she said.

  “If you have a minute, I’ll get you some from the office.”

  “That’d be great,” Julia said. “It probably is too hot to run at this time of day, but I have a meeting later and want to get my run in.” While the boy went inside, she sat on a wooden bench, catching her breath.

  “How’s the job?” she asked when he returned with the water.

  He grinned. “It’s good, but don’t tell my friends. They think it’s lame to work here. I like the park. Makes the days go faster.”

  “Go faster?” Julia gulped a swallow of water. “I thought high school students wanted summer to last forever.”

  “Not this high school student. I’m ready to graduate and head on to college.”

  “You have the grades for it,” Julia said. “Wish that would rub off on your fellow students.” Julia had noticed many of her students didn’t even think about college. The principal seemed happy if he could keep them interested enough to finish high school.

  Law shook his head, a rueful look on his face. “Most of my friends aren’t that interested in school. They want to get a job and buy a new truck.” He looked sheepish. “Not that I’m criticizing them. College costs a lot of money, and most of them haven’t been out of Landry. They don’t think about what’s out there.”

  “So you’ve traveled?” Julia asked.

  “I’ve read about places and seen them in movies. I want to see them in person, and I want to make money.” He stopped. “Sorry. You didn’t ask for my life plan.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how will you pay for college?” From what she’d seen, the boy didn’t have a lot of money.

  “Loans. Scholarships, I hope. I’ll work, too. My grandparents. Whatever it takes.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “Let me know if I can help. I’ll write a recommendation for you.”

  Julia glanced at her watch and stood. “By the way, have you seen a girl around here lately? About your age, long brownish-reddish hair, backpack?”

  Law didn’t pause to think about that one. “Is her name Wreath?”

  “That’s her,” Julia said. “Do you know her?”

  “Not really. I’ve run into her a couple of times, and she seems real nice.” He blushe
d. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not that I know, but I met her out here and wondered if she might need help.”

  “She doesn’t talk much, but she acted like everything was okay when I saw her,” Law said.

  “Will you let me know if you bump into her? I want to give her a hand if she needs one.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I hope I do see her again.”

  Chapter 11

  Wreath had found happiness in being needed by her mother, and she was surprised to find a similar pleasure at Durham’s Fine Furnishings.

  She still tiptoed around the furniture store owner, always afraid of losing her job, most of the time ignored. But Wreath had begun to feel a level of accomplishment at the store. Some days she looked forward to propping her bike against the post out front and scooting inside, wondering what she could do today to make the place look better.

  At the junkyard, she walked to the trunk of a rusty old Chevrolet and pretended to unlock the trunk, though the hinges had sprung long before. She reached inside and counted her small stash of cash, putting most of it back under the spare tire. She also hid cans of food, bottles of water, and a picture of her mother.

  Taking her bike out of its hiding place, this time in the bed of a pickup covered with a blue plastic tarp, she pedaled down the road, enjoying the wind in her hair and anticipating a visit to the library before work.

  She kept careful track of every day she worked, using little ink marks in her journal along with a comment or two about Mrs. Durham. Dear Brownie, she wrote one day. My boss almost paid me a compliment today. When I finished dusting, she said the spiders must wonder what’s happening to the place. Wow! She actually made a joke. She’s not the joking kind, but she pays me in cash and lets me have a few old items from the back.

  Mrs. Durham had told her she could take whatever she wanted “out of that pile of junk,” and Wreath chose an item or two every day, trying not to look obvious. Today her pack held an outfit she had picked from a cardboard box in the storeroom, and she looked forward to cleaning up at the library and putting it on.

  The hot air felt like a blow-dryer on her skin as she rode, and she wondered what cooler weather would be like in her new home. Every time she stepped through the library door, she savored the cool air, tired of being hot and sweaty. She breathed in the familiar smell as she walked in, the scent of paper and ink, a clean scent that felt like visiting the home of a friend.

  Walking into the bathroom, Wreath glanced under the stalls to make sure the room was empty, then washed her arms, hands, and face. This was not as good as a shower at the state park, but it was a lot easier and didn’t cost a dollar, so she had done it several times in the past weeks. She stepped into one of the stalls and slipped into the cotton skirt she’d paired with a faded blouse. Surveying herself in the mirror nearby, she felt presentable. Almost pretty.

  The library had become one of the few public places she allowed herself to linger, stopping in most days before work. The employees were friendly and sometimes offered her a snack from the story hour for little kids or a book club meeting. She read magazines and scanned regional newspapers, curious if she might see her name. Stories about missing children from California to Connecticut always caught her eye, but no one seemed to be looking for Wreath Willis.

  Today was the day for another of her big steps.

  She went directly to the main desk. “I’d like a library card, please.”

  The gray-haired man who worked weekdays looked over his glasses and picked up a pen. “It’s about time you decided to check out a book,” he said with a kind wink, not the creepy kind that Big Fun had sometimes thrown her way. “My grandson’s about your age and likes to read. I can recommend his favorites, if you’re interested.”

  “That’ll be great,” Wreath said, although she already had a long list of books she wanted to check out.

  The man handed her a pen and a form on a beat-up clipboard. “Fill this out, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  Wreath settled into one of her favorite chairs, where the sun came through the window like a pretty lamp, but also near an air-conditioning vent where cool air blew on her face. Her eyes scanned the form, and she relaxed. She hated lying, but the form was brief. She filled in the blocks one by one, listing her real age. She gave the address of the furniture store as her home address.

  When Wreath wrote the new last name, she felt a piece of herself slip away. Williams. One of the worst things about hiding was giving up her name. “We are Willis women through and through,” Frankie always said.

  Perhaps getting a library card wasn’t such a great idea. The information could be pieced together to track her down. She would take a book in her pack without checking it out. She’d bring it back in good shape. Wreath started to rip the form in half, but longing clung to her as she looked around. She didn’t want to be accused of stealing books from the library, and she couldn’t depend on the few books at Wreath’s Rusted Estates. They were mostly horror stories or technical manuals for various pieces of equipment that had been thrown out, and were falling apart, no matter how careful she was.

  Only the old, mildewed Bible had interested her, and she had searched for stories she remembered Grandma Willis telling and looked for the words she’d found in the notebook. Lo, I am with you always. They sounded like something you might find in the Bible, but she couldn’t locate them. She wondered again who had made the entry in her diary.

  But here, at her fingertips in the library, were free books. She didn’t have money to go to a movie and had no electricity, even if she could afford a television. She needed a library card. So she kept at it and felt good when she came to the spot for the date under her signature. At least that wouldn’t be a lie.

  She looked across the room at the big calendar behind the copy machine and sucked in her breath.

  Eight weeks ago today Frankie had died. Clenching her teeth, Wreath let her chin droop to her chest. She missed her mother so much that for a second she felt as though she’d suffocate.

  By now they should have moved on together, not Wreath all by herself. They would have found a place to rent, and Frankie would have gotten a job as a waitress or a clerk. They could have come to Landry together, and her mama could even have worked at the Dollar Barn. They could have turned the evidence over to the cops and gotten Big Fun sent away for good. Or would he have gotten out again?

  Wreath tried to pull herself together when she saw the man from the counter walking over to her chair. “Everything all right?” he asked, his look of concern so intense that she wanted to burst into tears. “Need help with that form?”

  “I’ve got it.” Wreath was glad her voice didn’t shake. “I’m almost finished.”

  Nodding, he moved on to a group of toddlers and the women who must be their mothers, and Wreath’s eyes lingered on the gathering. The children were adorable, and the women sat cross-legged on the floor next to them, pointing to pictures in colorful books and rubbing their backs or embracing them.

  Frankie took her to the library once, when Wreath was about seven. They had chosen a stack of books and practiced reading together. After that, her mama was always working or cooking or “trying to find a nice man,” as she put it. Wreath went to the library at school or, when she got older, with a friend or sometimes the old neighbor in Lucky.

  Wreath squeezed her eyes shut to block out the sight of the happy children, and gritted her teeth as she finished the short, official-looking form. She walked back to the front counter before she could change her mind, and tried to smile as she handed the man the form, but all she could think about was how Frankie should be here with her, how Frankie had looked that last day, the cover pulled up under her chin, her body so still.

  The library employee glanced over the form, his now familiar smile on his wrinkled face, his teeth big and somewhat yellowed. Wreath drew in her breath when his brow furrowed. “You’re only sixteen, Miss Williams?”

  “Yes, sir.�
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  “I’m afraid one of your parents will have to come in and sign this. You have to be seventeen to get a card on your own.”

  Wreath felt tears come to her eyes and started to walk away but feared that might look suspicious. “My parents are out of town, and I wanted to check out a book today,” she said. “I’ll be seventeen in December.”

  “It’s library policy.” The regret in his voice was evident. “You’re welcome to read while you’re here. At least it’s nice and cool. Hot as blue blazes outside.” He chuckled. “However hot that is.”

  Wreath frowned, despite herself. “Thanks anyway.”

  The man went back to his computer, and Wreath walked over to the new releases and pulled out several. Looking around, she started to slip one into her pack but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

  Dejected, she headed out, knowing it was too early to go to work, but afraid she’d burst into tears if she stayed any longer. Everything was so hard.

  As she reached the door, the man at the desk called to her in a loud whisper. “Miss Williams?”

  For a moment she didn’t realize he was talking to her. “Miss Williams?” he repeated, louder. She stopped, nervous. “Sir?”

  “Step over to the counter, please.”

  Once again, she wanted to run. But she was already tired of running, of hiding. Maybe the librarian had figured out her secret, but how would that be possible?

  She walked to the counter.

  “We have used paperbacks over there for our upcoming annual book sale. Feel free to pick one or two of them up. You can drop them off when you finish them. We have plenty.”

  Looking at the shelf by the door, she saw dozens of interesting-looking books and was touched by the man’s thoughtfulness. She thanked him and left the library with a worn copy of a novel she had read in sixth grade and a like-new biography of a woman named Harriet Tubman, who helped free slaves in something called the Underground Railroad. Both were in much better shape than the books she had in the Tiger Van, in as good of shape as the ones she’d left behind in Lucky.