Wreath (45 page)

Wreath crouched in the woods close to Law’s trailer, more scared than she had been since Frankie died.

She looked at her watch. Nearly two hours had passed since she’d run from Clarice’s car, but she still felt winded. J. D. and Faye had come by earlier, pounding on the door and calling her name in a hoarse voice. “Wreath, please come out,” J.D. begged, while she huddled nearby.
I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry
, Wreath thought.

“She must have gone somewhere else,” Wreath heard Faye say.

“But where?” And then they left.

Within minutes, a battered pickup pulled off the road and drove right up to the front steps, bypassing the driveway for the little bit of grass in the front yard. Law’s mother stumbled out of one side, laughing loudly, and a man walked around the truck.

The door had hardly closed when Law and his grandfather turned into the drive. The two talked for a couple of minutes, but Wreath could not hear what they said.

When Law got out of the car, he leaned over the window and spoke. “If you hear anything, let me know. I’ll start calling everyone I know.”

Wreath sighed with relief. Her pack was slung over his shoulder.

She stared as the taillights of his grandfather’s car disappeared into the night. Law, illuminated by a streetlight, looked at the old truck on the grass of his front lawn and at the still-dark trailer, and stepped away from the mobile home, his head up, as though searching the sky.

She drank in the sight of him and wished her life didn’t have to be so weird.

“Law,” she called out so softly that she wondered if he would hear, but he turned instantly.

“Wreath?”

“I’m over here. Near the end of your house.” After the close encounter with Big Fun today, she intended to stay in the shadows as much as possible.

Law rushed toward her. “What in the world?” he asked, embracing her so fiercely that her feet came off the ground. He ran his hands over her hair and down her arms. “Did that man hurt you?”

Wreath clung to him, barely shaking her head.

“You scared the living daylights out of me. We’ve got to call Mrs. Durham and the others. They came to the church, and they’re out of their minds with worry.” He was wild-eyed, speaking rapidly.

“No, I can’t go over there,” Wreath said loudly, and a light came on in the end room.

A minute later a woman’s slurred voice called from the front of the trailer. “Law, is that you?” Then the light went off again, the sound of muffled voices inside.

“We have to get you over to Mrs. Durham’s,” Law said. “They need to talk to you.”

“She was hurt, wasn’t she? Faye’s hurt.” Wreath’s heart broke at the thought.

“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” He scanned her face. “Except for you. Wreath, we have to get you to them. They can work all this out for you.”

“I can’t be near them,” she said. “He’ll find me. He’ll hurt me.”

“Has he been stalking you all this time?” Law curled his hands into fists. “That guy won’t ever hurt you again. Shane arrested him. He chased him all over downtown and tackled him. He’s in jail.”

“Is Shane okay?”

“Yes. Shane’s fine. And you’re safe. Listen to me.” He put his hands on each side of her face, as though she would break. “That jerk’s behind bars.”

“He’s been arrested before.” Wreath sighed and leaned against Law’s shoulder. “It never sticks.”

“He won’t get within a hundred miles of you again. No one is going to let you get hurt again.” Law swallowed and put his arm around her. “All of this is going to work out. The whole mess will.”

Wreath didn’t think it was possible to tense even more, but at his words, she did. “What’s wrong?” she said in a rush. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you or not.” Law’s arm lay heavy on her now, the comforting feeling gone.

“Tell me,” Wreath hissed, sitting up and jerking back.

He hesitated.

“What is going on?” Wreath’s mind skidded around horrible possibilities.

“J. D.’s son, John David, who was killed by that train, was …” Law paused.

“Was what?”

“He was apparently your father.”

“My
father?”
Wreath could scarcely take in the words. “J. D.’s your grandfather,” Law said. Matter-of-factly. Just like that.
Your grandfather
. She sank onto the ground, and Law knelt by her, holding her hands. “Now do you see why you need to get to Mrs. Durham’s?”

Wreath knew she had to get back to the junkyard, retrieve her hidden money, and lose herself again. Growing up with Frankie, she knew when it was time to run—and the time had come, while Big Fun was out of the picture.

She also could tell by the feel of Law’s grip and the look in his eyes that he had no intention of letting her get away. “I don’t know what to do,” Wreath said. “Big Fun—Fred Procell—hurts people.” She nudged her pack with her foot. “He
kills
people.”

“You’re safe,” Law said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. All safe.”

Wreath didn’t believe that.

“Will you walk with me to the junkyard to get my things?” she asked. “You can call and let the others know I’m all right and that we’ll be there soon.”

“Are you sure?” Law said. “That’s a long walk, and they need to see you for themselves. They’ll want to come pick you up. This has to end, Wreath.”

“I need time to think,” Wreath said. “A grandfather …” Law looked at her intently. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I can’t take it in.” She did not have to pretend to tremble. “I need a few minutes.”

“Fair enough,” Law said. “Come inside with me, and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Wreath gestured toward the trailer. “Your mom’s in there,” she said. “I’d rather wait here.”

Law looked at the light and looked back at her. He kissed her on the forehead and got to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“And, Law, will you tell Faye I love her?”

He smiled. “Will do.”

As soon as the boy opened the door to his home, Wreath started running, across the road and up into a stand of trees, weaving back and forth, again calling upon every shortcut she’d ever used, looking over her shoulder until she entered the unofficial boundaries of Wreath’s Rusted Estates.

The familiar array of cars and oddball landmarks didn’t calm her tonight, nor did the grip of fear around her heart ease. Without using a flashlight, she dug up the cans where she had hidden her earnings from the furniture store, stuffed her old Bible and a couple of shirts in her pack, and headed for the brush.

She could already hear Law calling her name and thought she heard Faye’s voice, too, and possibly J. D.’s. He was her grandfather?

She hopped on her bike, crashing down the escape trail she’d cleared months before, with enough money to buy the bus ticket she needed.

Chapter 41

D
ear Brownie
, Wreath wrote in the diary.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the junkyard
.

She looked around the shabby motel room near Lucky, rented with a wad of her hard-earned cash.

Anguish churned in Wreath over running away; she was missing her friends more than she’d imagined. She’d seen her mother pick up and move a dozen times and didn’t know how Frankie had done it. Waking in the middle of the night, Wreath looked at the floral bedspread dotted with cigarette burns and the crooked drapes. She thought of the way Durham’s Fine Furnishings looked when she first walked in. She thought of the cozy Tiger Van and her campsite.

She went to the lobby and bought a stale pastry from a vending machine, studying a big calendar from a bait and tackle shop. Someone—probably the grumpy clerk behind the counter—had marked a big
X
through each day of the year, as though wishing the time away.

Today’s date swam in front of her eyes. Tonight would have been her graduation ceremony.

She figured her disappearance had cost her the honor spot she had held, but maybe she could still get her diploma. Her grades were good, and she’d only missed school when she had the flu and that first day when she’d been too nervous to go. And these last three days.

She would love to hear Law give his speech, with his deep voice and sweet smile as he stood before the crowd. The safe crowd. Wreath out of their lives.

Staring out the window, the darkness closed around her until a hint of gray tinged the sky. As soon as there was a trace of daylight, she hurried to her former neighborhood, stunned that it could look as though nothing had changed.

With quick steps, she walked up the elderly neighbor’s sidewalk and rang the doorbell. “I’m sorry to come so early,” she said when the door opened. “I need to see my mother’s grave. Can you take me there?”

“I knew you’d come back one of these days,” the neighbor said, opening her arms to Wreath. “Frankie left a letter for you. She didn’t trust that boyfriend of hers to give it to you.”

The daybreak visit to the cemetery choked Wreath up but didn’t break her down. Frankie would always be a part of her life, and her mother’s letter answered questions that had nipped at her all of her life. J. D.
was
her grandfather.