Free Wreath by Judy Christie Page B

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
    T he 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 P AUSE 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