John said the day they went to the baseball game he and Lindsay had a long talk and now she’s okay with us getting married. As much as I’d like to believe that’s true, I have a sneaky suspicion he simply heard what he wanted to hear. Men are like that. I know, because Raymond was like that and Ray Junior is just like his daddy.
I remember when Ray was not much more than a teenager, he had a friend visiting him at the house. When it got close to suppertime Ray came into the kitchen and asked if he could invite his friend to stay for dinner. I’d only defrosted three pork chops that evening so I told him I’d prefer he didn’t. I didn’t feel guilty about saying no, because the boy lived three doors down and I knew he wasn’t about to go hungry. Anyway, I finished up cooking and when I carried the food to the table, big as life there sits Ray’s friend. I handed the boy my plate and said I wasn’t in the mood for pork, but inside I was seething.
After the boy went home I asked Ray why he’d deliberately gone against my wishes. He gave me this wide-eyed look of surprise and said, I didn’t. You most certainly did, I told him. I reminded him how I’d expressly told him not to invite his friend to stay. Before I could even finish my thought he says, You never told me he couldn’t stay, you just said you’d prefer he didn’t.
That, in a nutshell, sums up the difference between men and women. A man hears what he wants to hear, and a woman tries to soften anything unpleasant she’s got to say.
There are times when I get the feeling Lindsay will come around. She loves her daddy so much that she at least is willing to try. But as far as Ray goes, I’m beginning to have my doubts. That boy didn’t say ten words the whole time he was at the cookout. He didn’t eat either. I made the potato salad with lots of mayonnaise just the way he likes it, but he wouldn’t even sample a taste.
When they first got here he nodded hello to a few people, then he plopped down in the lawn chair and sat there like an ice cube all day long. When Traci and Lindsay started laughing, he saw how they were having a good time and I guess it aggravated him. He was none too happy to start with, but once the girls began enjoying themselves he got crankier than ever. When I walked over to ask if he’d like me to fix him something special, he was squeezing the arms of that lawn chair so hard his knuckles had turned white.
A lot goes into raising a child. You do everything you can for them. You scrimp on things you want so they won’t have to do without, you worry about them, watch them grow up, get married and move on with their life. After all of that you’d think they’d be glad if you took a small bit of happiness for yourself, but that’s not necessarily what happens.
Knowing you’ve done everything you could to give your child a good life should enable you to shrug your shoulders and walk away when they act like this, but you don’t. Even when they’re full grown and married, your baby is still your baby. For better or worse, Ray is my child and I know John feels the same about Lindsay.
I’m praying they’ll both see this can be a good thing; not just for John and me but for all of us. If Ray doesn’t come around to accepting that, I don’t know what I’ll do. What can I do? It’s an impossible situation.
I’d like to believe love can overcome all obstacles, but when it comes to breaking away from your child that’s something no mother can do.
Cupid
Resume Repair
This is not an easy job. Setting up the matches is never a problem, but dealing with the ancillary people—the sons, daughters, parents and in-laws—can be a nightmare. In-laws are by far the worse. They pick at the most mundane thing imaginable. I’ve had perfect matches where the in-laws all but caused a break-up. In poor Melanie Henderson’s case it got so bad I had to ask for help. Luckily I got it. Her mother-in-law came down with the flu and was unable to make the wedding. A month later Melanie and Tom moved to California, which worked out perfectly since his mother’s fearful of flying. They can thank Life Management for that.
Now, back to Lindsay Gray. I think I’ve got a lead on finding her next perfect match, but the girl is hopeless when it comes to landing a job. It always comes back to the same old problem: a confidence deficiency. Lindsay’s job history mirrors her love story. Time and again she’s settled for less than what she wanted, so she’s got little to show for those years of college and working.
I’ve had to deal with all of her bad boyfriend choices, but employment problems are definitely not my responsibility. Even though I feel for the girl, she’s on her own this time. Lindsay’s not without resources, she’s just too blind to see them. Unfortunately, human relationships are like a game of dominoes. When one topples, everything else goes down.
~ ~ ~
The first domino began falling on the Thursday after Labor Day. It was ten twenty-seven when the telephone rang and Traci asked to speak with Lindsay.
“I think she’s still asleep,” Eleanor said, “but hold on and I’ll check.”
Minutes later a sleepy-voiced Lindsay picked up the receiver.
“I’ve got some info on that job I was telling you about,” Traci said. “I’m working on a project deadline right now, but let’s meet for lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Lindsay replied.
They set the time and place, then Traci added, “Bring a copy of your resume.”
Although it escaped Traci’s ear, Lindsay let out a saddened sigh. The resume—or actually the lack of one—was her downfall. It was the history of misspent years coming back to haunt her. Seven times she’d started to write the dreaded resume, and seven times she’d quit. After four years at Rutgers and a string of meaningless jobs, she had little that was worth committing to paper. Regardless of how she phrased it, a few clerical jobs and two years of meandering through the aisles of a bookstore did not make for an impressive background.
It would take her twenty minutes to shower and dress and another five to drive into town. That left two hours. Lindsay told herself it was time enough to put together a better resume. Disregarding the fact that she had nothing new to say or any additional experience to add, she hurried down the stairs and sat at John’s desktop computer hopeful that she could create a more impressive resume by embellishing her experiences. Instead of bookstore clerk, she would be a Literary Sales Expeditor. She would replace the word secretary with Administrative Assistant, and maybe that short stint at the publishing firm could be called Media Coordinator.
When John saw her booting up the machine, he cheerfully asked, “Catching up on your e-mail?”
“Unh-unh,” Lindsay answered. “I need to update my resume.”
The truth was she didn’t just need to update her resume; she needed to create one.
Her resume had been the stumbling block on every job she’d gone after. Shortly after she lost the job at Seaworthy, she’d handed a sheet of paper with her name, address and two job listings to an interviewer who’d laughed in her face.
“This is it?” he’d said and laughed again when she nodded yes.
John walked into the den forty-five minutes later and peered over Lindsay’s shoulder. Other than a few lines at the top, the screen was blank. The only things she’d written were her name, address, telephone number and the beginning of a sentence saying she had a bachelor’s degree in communications from Rutgers.
“Having trouble getting started?” he asked.
“A bit,” Lindsay said.
John rummaged through a stack of magazines until he found the one he’d been looking for.
“A number of years back Eleanor worked as a guidance counselor,” he said. “She’s good with stuff like this. You should get her to help you.”
A look of annoyance slid onto Lindsay’s face. She mumbled, “I don’t need help,” as he was leaving the room.
Alone again, she moved the cursor down two lines and typed “Gift Industry News, October 2007-April 2008.” After thinking it over, she’d abandoned the thought of calling herself a Media Coordinator. Without an explanation as to what her job actually was she typed “General office
duties and proofreading.” She left out any reference to making the coffee and answering the phone.
She double-spaced then added “Seaworthy Insurance Company, May 2008 – October 2009. Administrative Assistant to one of many Vice Presidents in Marine Insurance Division.” Since she’d had so few responsibilities, she decided to say nothing more.
Her third entry was “The Big Book Barn, November 2009 – August 2011.” Since she’d never even heard of a job called Literary Sales Expeditor, she settled for Clerk.
Her entire resume took up less than half a page. After four years of college and nearly five years of working, it appeared that she’d done nothing more than take up space on the planet. She had no achievements, no publishing credits, no awards, no promotions, not even a job with a story worth telling. Sitting in her father’s office chair Lindsay reread the resume three times. With each reading it seemed increasingly more pitiful. The resume wasn’t just bad; it was pathetic.
Lindsay tried to think of ways it might be improved. First she added space between the paragraphs, spreading the text to fill more of the page. But after she adjusted the lines of copy, the triple-spaced page looked emptier than it did before. The huge blocks of white space cried out for words to fill them.
Maybe if I add something about high school or Gamma Phi Beta, she mused. But even though they originally seemed good ideas, she remembered her high school years as being academically challenged and her sorority activities consisting mostly of parties. When Lindsay glanced at the clock, she was out of time. She reluctantly hit Print, made two copies and saved the file as Resume.doc. She scooped up one copy and left the other lying on the desk.
Twenty minutes later Lindsay dashed out the door with the folded resume in her purse. Her plan was to ask Traci for help, then work on improving the resume after lunch. Traci was a friend; she’d probably have some suggestions and ideas. Anything would be an improvement on what she had.
Traci was already at the Sandwich Stop when Lindsay walked in.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she said, “I was getting my resume together.”
“No problem, I’ve only been here five minutes.” Traci segued into a lengthy tale of how she was preparing for a design consultation at three o’clock.
“Big client,” she said. “It would be a major coup if I can pull this off.”
More out of politeness than interest, Lindsay asked, “What kind of project is it?”
“Structural design for a walk-around fishing yacht with more maneuverability and less drag,” she answered. Using a string of words that were unfamiliar to Lindsay, Traci rambled on about the project for almost five minutes and then said, “Since you worked at Seaworthy, I thought you’d be perfect for this spot as project coordinator.”
“Project coordinator?”
“Yeah, you have marine industry experience and—”
“What do mean marine industry experience?”
“You worked for Seaworthy, so you must have some knowledge of ship design, maritime laws, port regulations, things like that.”
“Afraid not,” Lindsay answered sadly. “I mostly answered the phone, did some typing…”
“You weren’t in underwriting?”
“I was in the underwriting department, but I worked for a man who didn’t do all that much underwriting himself.”
“Oh,” Traci said, but the word had the sound of a runaway car slamming on its brakes.
“Not good?” Lindsay asked tentatively.
Traci shook her head. “Not for this job, but if you want I’ll see if I can come up with something else.”
Lindsay had heard similar phrases before, and she understood the truth of what went unspoken. The words differed, but the meaning was always the same. It was the sound of a boyfriend who’d lost interest. “I’ll give you a call,” he’d say, but the call never came. This situation was nothing but another disinterested boyfriend. Traci was never going to come up with something else. Jamming the resume back into the bottom of her purse, Lindsay decided against asking for advice.
“Don’t bother,” she said, “I’ve already got several things lined up.”
For the remainder of lunch Traci continued to talk about her project, and Lindsay sat there nibbling on a sandwich that felt dry and crumbly in her mouth.
When they said goodbye Lindsay drove to the center of town, parked her car and climbed out. With neither heart nor courage enough to face a resume that showed she had done nothing with her life thus far, she strolled along Main Street. As she passed by she caught sight of her reflection in the shop windows. The girl looking back seemed nothing like the Lindsay she had once been. The reflection was a sorrowful figure with flyaway hair and a slouched stance.
Had she always been this way, Lindsay wondered, or had she somehow become exactly what her resume said—a name with nothing more to offer? Although the sun was hot and beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead, Lindsay walked from shop to shop, peering at the reflection, hoping it would somehow change. It didn’t. When tears filled her eyes, she looked away and crossed the street.
For a long while she sat on a park bench wondering where she could go from here. She thought of Sara and the simple no-questions-asked jobs in Florida. She remembered the happiness in her friend’s voice and tried to picture herself in that same spot. Twice she pulled the cell phone from her purse and pushed the speed dial button linked to Sara’s number. Both times she snapped the phone shut before the first ring sounded. Running off to Florida was like buying a lottery ticket. It was a nice dream but it was just that, a dream. You bought the ticket but never really expected to win. Sara had won, but the likelihood was that Lindsay wouldn’t.
Despite the hot sun and the soaring temperature, that thought hung over her like a damp dishcloth. When the sun dipped behind the buildings, she stood and started back to where she’d parked the car.
It was nine-thirty that evening before she mustered up enough courage to again tackle the resume. She returned to the den and clicked on the computer. As she waited, Lindsay listened to the click, click, click of the computer trying to find itself, but beyond that sound she heard laughter coming from the living room.
Dad and Eleanor were watching a movie. His was a robust laughter, the kind she hadn’t heard in many years. Eleanor’s was softer, more like a chuckle.
“I’m glad they’re happy,” Lindsay said.
Although she was genuinely glad for the happiness in her father’s laugh, there was a tinge of resentfulness in her words. Deep in her heart, in the place no one sees, she wished it were her sitting beside him. He’d promised it would be like it had always been, but it wasn’t. Despite the truth of the situation Lindsay had convinced herself that she was now an outsider, the unnecessary third wheel. When the computer finally flickered on she clicked documents and opened the file named Resume.doc.
When the page filled the screen, Lindsay’s eyes grew wide. “What’s this?”
Her name and address were at the top of the page, but almost everything else was different. A double-ruled box bordered her name and address, and beneath the box was a long paragraph describing her capabilities. Included in the paragraph were words like “skilled communication professional,” “strong organizational abilities,” “excellent knowledge of…”
She continued to read. Her experience at the Big Book Barn had been moved up to just below that paragraph, and it included twelve lines of copy about her duties and responsibilities. Beneath that there was a full paragraph describing all the duties she’d had at Seaworthy. More words: “agenda coordination,” “document preparation.”
The large block of copy about her employment at Gift Industry News continued on a second page—“thorough knowledge of collectibles industry,” “editorial and proofreading supervision.” There was not a single mention of coffee-making. The lower portion of the page listed Lindsay’s activities in high school and college: “student council,” “chess club,” “editorial staff,” “cheerleading”…
“Thank you,” she said, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”
John looked at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?”
Lindsay knew it was so like her dad to shy away from taking credit even when he’d done something spectacular, and she laughed. “For fixing my resume.”
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, come on, I know—”
“No, Lindsay, I didn’t,” he said, and this time the deadpan expression on his face meant he was telling the truth. He turned to Eleanor. “You were on the computer a while ago, did you—”
The edge of a smile curled Eleanor’s lips ever so slightly. “It wasn’t me. I was looking up that recipe for crab cakes. I thought maybe I’d make them for dinner tomorrow.”
“Well, then who…”
Eleanor and John both shrugged, but hers was definitely a bit less emphatic.
Lindsay left the room scratching her head. Her father was telling the truth, she was certain of it. She’d had twenty-seven years of watching his expressions, and she knew every single one. Tonight his look hadn’t been one of false modesty; it was bewilderment. Yet Eleanor…
It made no sense. Eleanor wouldn’t have known those things about her high school years, she wouldn’t have known about the sorority, and yet…
“Impossible,” Lindsay muttered as she trotted up the staircase.
~ ~ ~
You think I changed that resume, right? Well, you’re wrong. Eleanor did it. I told you I wasn’t going to help Lindsay with her employment problem, and I didn’t. Okay, I gave Eleanor the idea and moved the resume to where she was sure to see it, but Eleanor was the one who pulled Lindsay’s yearbook from the shelf and gathered enough information to make it work.
Wishing for Wonderful: The Serendipity Series, Book 3 Page 8