Chapter 8

Unlocking the furniture store door from the inside, Faye Durham stepped outside and jumped. Wreath stood silently next to the building.

“Why are you leaning on that wall?” Faye snapped.

The girl looked equally surprised, not expecting her boss to come from inside. “You told me to come back at 1:00 p.m. today. To start my job. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Faye said. “I didn’t think you’d actually be back. Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with you. Stand up straight. You look slouchy.”

Wreath straightened her T-shirt and wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts. She glanced over at the bicycle, still propped out front.

She had to have a job, and she needed that bike, even if it meant putting up with Mrs. Faye Durham.

“Thank you for the flashlight and the lantern,” she said. “They work great.”

The woman, who wore grouchy like a second skin, did not respond.

That was tolerable. Wreath could handle hateful. She’d done it before.

Mrs. Durham stared her in the eye. Wreath stared back.

“You’re Holly, right?” the woman growled, still holding the door open.

“Wreath,” she said, softly but firmly. “Wreath Williams.”

“Might as well come in.” Faye pulled the OUT FOR LUNCH sign off the outside of the door, ignoring the piece of tape left on the window.

Wreath looked around. Faye’s eyes followed hers as they scanned the big old space, more like a warehouse than a retail establishment. Water had seeped through the pressed tin ceiling; a lightbulb was burned out in back, making the rear of the store dreary; and a jumble of furniture and cardboard boxes were piled in a back corner.

An unpleasant odor hit Wreath’s nostrils and seemed to settle under her skin, and she wondered about the skimpy furniture and high price tags on out-of-style pieces. The old wood floors were covered with dust, in every visible corner and on each surface of woods that looked like oak and pecan and mahogany.

“Follow me,” Mrs. Durham said in a commanding voice.

Wreath didn’t speak as they went to a small room in the back of the store, with a refrigerator, a sink, and a small table, plus more piles of old merchandise and a few cleaning supplies on a counter.

“Sweep,” Faye said, turning to look at Wreath. “Then sweep again. Once won’t cut it. Dust, too. Everything. You will be responsible for keeping the store clean. Don’t break anything.”

Wreath nodded.

“Here.” Faye grabbed a broom and dustpan from the corner. “Make yourself useful.”

Wreath took the broom, thankful. Sweeping was an assignment she could handle. “Where would you like me to start?” she asked.

“If you can’t figure that out, you’re not going to work out,” Faye said. “Start wherever you like, and don’t nick the furniture.”

Wreath slowly swept her way through the store, getting down on her hands and knees to reach under the paltry furniture and taking in the haphazard way things were displayed. The woman returned to her desk, turned the radio up a notch, and shuffled a stack of papers on the desk.

Methodically covering the store, front to back, left to right, Wreath finished back in the workroom. She was surprised at how quickly she had made the store look better.

She wondered what she was supposed to do next. Her new boss had not spoken since handing her the broom. She wiped off the countertop, caught a whiff of something spoiled, and pulled the trash bag out of its can, noticing a handful of empty tuna cans.

Wreath walked out with the sack. “Do you have a cat?” she asked.

“A cat? Of course not. I’m not a pet person,” Faye said, walking toward the girl. “Put that trash in the alley.” She motioned to a door with a large bolt in place and walked back to her desk, watching.

Wreath pushed and pulled on the bolt until her face was red. “Darn,” she muttered and disappeared back into the workroom. She rummaged around in the cabinets, opening and closing doors and wondering if she was being tested. Wouldn’t any normal person have helped her?

She danced a little jig when she came across a small hammer and a can of WD-40 that looked like it had been sitting there for years. Within minutes she had the door open and stepped out into the alley.

Wreath wiped her hands on her shorts, wrinkling her nose. “You sure someone hasn’t been feeding a cat around here? There must have been a half dozen tuna cans in that sack. I’ll empty that more often from now on.”

“That’ll be fine,” Faye said in a waspish tone.

Twisting the cap off a bottle of lemon oil, Wreath inhaled the smell. She dug out a soft cloth from under a counter and wiped the top of a table. A glow replaced a layer of dust.

“What would you like me to do now?” Wreath asked, stepping back in with a smile.

“Now?” Faye looked at the neon clock hanging on the back wall, an advertisement for a line of furniture. “That’s it for today.”

Wreath followed her gaze. “But I’ve only been here an hour. I thought you were going to let me earn the bike.”

“Take the bike,” Faye said.

“I want to work,” Wreath said. “I need a job.”

“I don’t have any more work for you.” Faye spoke in the tired voice Frankie had sometimes used.

Wreath looked around, feeling wild and desperate. She might be poor, but she was not pitiful. She dug in her pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and laid it on Faye’s desk. “If you’ll hold the bike for me, I’ll come back when I have more money.”

“I said take the bike,” Faye said. She picked up a merchandise catalog from her desk.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Wreath said. She paused on her way to the door, straightened an area rug, and adjusted the angle of a chair and end table. “Thanks again for the flashlight.”

The woman glanced at the rug and back at Wreath. “Be back tomorrow at one, but I don’t intend to hold your hand. Take the bike.”