Wreath

What People Are Saying About

Wreath

Captivating, moving, haunting at times—yet hopeful; Judy Christie’s
Wreath
is a dynamic and adventurous read. Highly recommended for all audiences.

—Alice J. Wisler, Christy Award finalist and author of
Rain Song
and
How Sweet It Is

Wreath Willis will win her way into your heart with her tenacity and tenderness. Judy Christie has crafted a wonderful, gripping story of overcoming hardship against all odds. Teens of all ages will love Wreath’s story.

—May Vanderbilt, coauthor of
Emily Ever After
and The Miracle Girls series

Compelling, gripping, and relevant to what today’s teens are facing,
Wreath
grabbed hold of my heart and would not let go. I found myself rooting for Wreath and caring for her as I would a long-lost child. A must-read for every teenage girl.

—Janice Hanna Thompson, author of the Backstage Pass series

From the first scene of
Wreath
, when Wreath has to say good-bye to her beloved mother, this girl—this Wreath—drew me into her story and her struggle. I found myself rooting for her. Wreath’s story is one I will share with my own teenage daughter.

—Marybeth Whalen, director of She Reads (
www.shereads.org
) and author of
She Makes It Look Easy
and
The Mailbox
.

Chapter 1

A
s much as Wreath wanted to stay, Frankie pushed her to go.

“You need to leave,” her mama said. “Today.”

“Not yet. Please, Frankie, not yet.” Wreath hated the way her voice trembled. “You’re better this morning. Let me stay a little longer.”

Her mother lifted her hand and pulled Wreath weakly down to the bed. The skinny teenager snuggled as she had done hundreds of times, Frankie running her fingers through Wreath’s long, reddish-brown hair.

“Be strong for me, sweet girl. Show the world what Willis women are made of.” The words were little more than a whisper. “When you get scared, remember that I’m in your heart.” Wreath was already terrified.

She wished Frankie’s words were not more and more difficult to hear. Her mother’s breathing sounded ugly and strained, like the time the window fan motor went out and the blades kept trying to turn.

“You want me to get your oxygen?”

Frankie shook her head, and for the first time Wreath noticed tears in her eyes. She moved even closer to Frankie and kissed her forehead.

“Wreath Wisteria Willis!” Frankie’s voice startled Wreath with its sudden fierceness. “What’s our motto? Tell Mama our motto!”

Wreath propped herself up on her elbow and looked into her mother’s eyes. “Where there’s a Willis, there’s a way,” she said with a trembling smile.

Her mother nodded, her chin bumping into Wreath’s shoulder. “Don’t ever forget that. It’ll see you through the hard days.”

“I won’t forget.”

“You need to get out of here before it’s too late. I don’t want Big Fun to know where you’re headed. Are you ready?”

“Everything’s set.” Wreath turned away from Frankie and sat up on the side of the bed. Her stomach churned. She didn’t mention that she’d never called the number on the piece of paper and that she had no intention of signing up to be a foster child.

“Be sweet. Make good grades. Help around the house. You’re good at that,” Frankie whispered. “Your new family’ll treat you right.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The fact that Wreath had fooled her mother into believing she would live in a house with strangers showed how out of it Frankie was.

“Promise me you’ll go to college.”

Wreath said nothing. She wondered how she would get through her senior year of high school, much less pay for college.

“Promise Mama. Promise.” The words seemed to take all of Frankie’s energy and frightened Wreath with their intensity.

“I promise.”

“Good, Wreath …” Her mother’s voice trailed off as she squeezed the teenager’s hand.

“Shhh, Frankie. Rest. Everything’s going to work out okay.”

A slight smile came to the dry, cracked lips. “You’ve been telling me that since you were a little bitty girl. ‘It okay, Frankie, it okay,’ you’d say. I was supposed to be the one telling you that.”

“You’ve told me lots of stuff.” With her hands shaking, Wreath poured a cup of water from the pink plastic pitcher on the bedside table, a remnant of one of her mother’s hospital stays, and held it for Frankie to sip.

“I should’ve given you another daddy after yours got killed. I never could find one who would take good care of you.”

“Don’t worry.” Wreath tensed at the rare mention of her father, who had died before she was born, not even married to her mother, his name never spoken.

Frankie rubbed Wreath’s arm gently, the glass of water sloshing onto the sheet. “Your daddy was a nice guy, but we were both just kids.” She looked past her daughter as though she could see someone standing on the other side of the room.

Uneasy, Wreath pulled the worn bedspread up around her mother’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mama to you,” Frankie said.

“No one ever had a better mama. You’re the best.”

“I love you, Wreath Willis.”

“I love you, Frankie Willis.”

“Remember our plan, sweetie. Do better than I did.” Frankie’s voice stopped. She didn’t gasp or wheeze. She just slipped away.

“Not yet, Mama.” Tears rolled down Wreath’s face.

She held her mother’s hand until it grew cold, folded the bedspread back neatly, stroked her fine brown hair, and reached under the matress until she found what she needed.

Fighting sobs, she made the call to 911, mimicking the grown-up voice of a neighbor, and headed to the back door.

“Good-bye, Frankie.” She walked out as though leaving for school or an errand.