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paused and looked over her shoulder. “I like your name!”
    A few raindrops began to fall, but she didn’t care. She smiled all the way to the junkyard.

Chapter 8
    U nlocking 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 O UT FOR L UNCH 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