Apart at the Seams

by Marie Bostwick

  When I left for the interview, dressed in a gray jacket and black pencil skirt I’d borrowed from Margot, the last piece of advice she gave me was to just relax and be myself. If you’re trying to make a list of the top ten most useless job interview tips, “relax and be yourself” would definitely make the top five. Nobody in that room was the least bit interested in discovering who I truly was or what I was capable of doing—me least of all. I was focused on keeping my knees together and telling them what they wanted to hear.

  For a few minutes, it seemed like it was going pretty well.

  I breezed through their questions about my personal background, speaking of how I became involved with New Beginnings without revealing too many gory details about the years of beatings, the mental and emotional abuse, the common history I share with so many of the women who come through the doors of New Beginnings and how that has ignited a desire to help repay the debt I owe to providence and the people who rescued me and helped me turn my life around by doing the same for other women.

  Instead I said, “I believe my personal experiences give me a unique ability to appreciate the stresses and challenges that many of our clients are facing and will also allow me to gain their trust.”

  And when they asked about where I saw New Beginnings heading in the future, I emphasized the need to expand the internship program, which, as we all knew, I was already in charge of.

  I said, “This program has been an enormous success for the clients of New Beginnings as well as the businesses that have taken part in it. With the right kind of leadership”—by which I meant mine, but I didn’t spell that out to the panel because I didn’t have to; we all understood the rules of the game we were playing—“I’m convinced we could double our current rates of participation and job placement.”

  Every member of the panel smiled as I said it; they loved the idea of New Beginnings helping women find full-time, good-paying jobs. So did I. Finding a job isn’t the answer to every problem facing victims of domestic violence, but it sure helps.

  I smiled to myself, thinking that it really was going well, much better than I’d hoped.

  But that was before Brad Boyle started asking his questions.

  “I’d like a little clarification on the educational portion of your résumé,” he said, frowning as he scanned one of the ivory-colored sheets of paper I had distributed to the panel when I entered the room. “It says here that you graduated from high school but doesn’t mention where you went to school or when you got your diploma.”

  Squeezing my knees together so tightly that it would have taken a crowbar and an act of Congress to pry them apart, I cleared my throat. “I got my high school equivalency diploma three years ago.”

  He lifted his eyes from the paper and stared at me with raised brows. “You got your GED? So you didn’t graduate from a real high school?”

  “I didn’t graduate from a brick-and-mortar high school,” I said, forcing myself to maintain eye contact, not wanting him to know how the question rattled me, “but I studied for and passed a series of tests that demonstrated I had mastered the equivalent educational standards required by the state. And I’ve been taking classes at the community college since then. I have a three-point-six grade average.”

  Boyle shifted his eyes to the left and right, making sure his fellow interviewers heard my response.

  “I see. And you’re a sophomore now? After three years.” He coughed. “You know, Miss Peterman, I appreciate your special circumstances. I’m sure we all do. But you’re the only candidate we’ve interviewed who doesn’t have at least a bachelor’s degree.”

  My cheeks went red.

  “I was encouraged to apply by Donna Walsh, the executive director at the Stanton Center—”

  “Yes, we all know who Donna Walsh is.” Boyle smiled patronizingly, and I took a moment to silently loathe him, even more than I had before. “She’s written you a very impressive letter of recommendation, but she isn’t a member of this committee. The letter that Abigail Spaulding wrote on your behalf praised you just as highly. How long have you lived in New Bern—just five years? The fact that you’ve gained the support of both the executive director and one of the more prominent board members of the Stanton Center in such a short period of time certainly says something about you. But I feel I should remind you that, while New Beginnings is associated with the Stanton Center, we are now a separate entity with a separate and independent board. I think what I’m trying to say here is that—”

  Susan Cavanaugh, who I knew from my work at New Beginnings and from the quilt shop, where she was a regular customer, cut him off.

  “What Brad is trying to say, Ivy, is that we’re very impressed with all you’ve been able to accomplish personally and professionally, especially in such difficult circumstances.”

  She rose from her chair and extended her hand, letting me know that the interview was over.

  “Thanks, Ivy,” she said, clasping my hand in both of hers. “We’ll be in touch just as soon as we’ve made our decision.”

  I went into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, not because I’d been crying but because I was angry and needed to cool off before I met Dan and the kids at the bowling alley. If Brad Boyle had walked into the ladies’ room at that moment, I’d have spit in his face. Or at least on his shoes.

  Brad Boyle didn’t walk into the bathroom, but Susan Cavanaugh did.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Did you come in here to tell me I’m hired?” I asked sarcastically. I yanked a paper towel from the dispenser. “I know I wasn’t a shoo-in for this job, but what was the point of embarrassing me like that? Why did Brad have to make me feel like I was three inches tall? What a jerk!” I threw the balled-up paper towel in the trash.

  “You won’t get any arguments from me there,” Susan muttered. “But Brad is looking to launch a political career. He wants to establish a reputation as a maverick, someone who can’t be influenced or prodded by the old guard. And the others really are anxious to make sure that our board is operating independently of the Stanton Center. Those letters of recommendation from Donna and Abigail definitely helped you get the interview—the committee couldn’t ignore them—but they also made it tougher for you to get the job.

  “Don’t take it so hard,” she said, standing behind me and addressing my reflection as I reapplied my lipstick. “You just got caught up in the politics of it—that’s all. And let’s be honest, you’ve been doing good work at New Beginnings, but your résumé is still a little thin. If you had a college degree, I don’t think the rest of the board would have gone along with Boyle. You really need to go back to school, Ivy.”

  “I already did.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Ivy, you are smart, hardworking, and passionate. I’d love to see you run New Beginnings. But no one is going to hire you for a position with that much responsibility without a college diploma. You need to go back to school full-time and finish your degree now. Not ten years from now.”

  I put the cap back on my lipstick tube and turned to face her.

  “Thanks for the advice, Susan. And the minute somebody steps up to pay my tuition and bills so I can, I’ll be happy to take it.”

  When I arrived at the bowling alley, Drew and Bethany were sitting on blue plastic benches, drinking soda and eating pizza while awaiting their turn to bowl. Dan was standing a few feet behind Bobby with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as my little guy crouched forward, swung his arm, and sent the ball spinning down the lane.

  “Yes!” Dan cried, pumping his fist as Bobby’s ball struck the pins. “Spare! Way to go, Bob-O!”

  Bobby did a little dance of celebration, wiggling his hips and waving his arms.

  Dan gave Bobby a high five. “You are a champion, buddy!”

  “Ha! Beat that!” Bobby said as he took his sister’s place on the bench.

  Bethany got to her feet slowly and picked up her ball. “Shut up, Bobby.”
/>   Dan spotted me standing in the back, grinned, and lifted his hand to greet me. I waved back and tried to smile, but I must not have been very convincing. Dan frowned and started walking toward me.

  “Hey, Bobby,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s be good sports, okay? Bethany hasn’t had as much practice as you have.”

  Drew put down his drink and jumped up from his seat. “Hang on, Bethany. Let me show you how to aim the ball.”

  Dan kissed me on the cheek, then placed both hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how things had gone without having to ask.

  “Thanks,” I sighed. “It’s just that I really, really wanted this job, you know?”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Until now, I think I was afraid to admit how much.” I shrugged. “Well, I’ll get over it. I always do. This is just one more item on the long list of things I’ve failed at. Honestly, I don’t know why I even bothered to fill out the application. The whole thing was a big waste of time.”

  “Hey. Stop that.” Dan squeezed my shoulders. “Maybe you didn’t get the job this time, but another time, you will. There will be other jobs. And you’re not a failure,” he insisted.

  I pulled away from his grasp.

  “Next time? Jobs like this don’t come along very often, especially in New Bern. Whoever does get the job will stay there until they drop. Of course,” I said with a derisive little laugh, “maybe by then I’ll actually have finished my stupid degree. Maybe then, when I’m about ninety, I’ll finally be qualified for the job.”

  There was a crash of bowling pins. I looked up to see Bethany standing at the top of the lane, grinning, and Drew clapping for her. Bobby was clapping too.

  He turned toward me and yelled, “Mommy! Did you see that? Bethy got a strike!”

  I forced a smile, waved, and called out, “Good job, sweetie!”

  As soon as she saw me, Bethany’s grin was replaced by a glare. “Your turn,” she said to Drew and sat down.

  I made a sputtering sound with my lips and turned back to Dan. “Wonderful. And on top of everything else, my daughter hates me. Oh, and I was also treated to a snippy phone call from Sheila Fenton, reminding me that the kids’ first meeting with Hodge is just weeks away and that she certainly hopes Bethany will have improved her attitude before then. As if I had any control over that! And I’m sorry, but Bethany gets to feel however she feels about Hodge. She may be a child, but she’s still a person. She’s got a mind of her own. And a memory.”

  I sank down into a chair, propped my elbows on one of the café tables, and put my head in my hands. Dan sat down next to me and rested his hand between my shoulder blades.

  “Can I buy you a beer?”

  I shook my head but didn’t look up. “Beer makes you fat.”

  “How about a glass of wine, then? And a cheeseburger. I’m taking everybody out to dinner.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I already told the kids we were going out. I figured if you got the job, we should celebrate. And if you didn’t? Well, I figured you’d need a cheeseburger. And maybe a chocolate milk shake.”

  “Wine is better,” I mumbled into the tent of my arms. “Thanks. Sorry I’m such a grump.”

  “It’s all right. You’re entitled. Hey, I was thinking that on Sunday we could take a picnic to Tanglewood and go to the James Taylor concert, just you and me. I’ll bring a whole bottle of wine and ask Drew to babysit.”

  “Can’t,” I said. “Virginia’s birthday party is on Sunday.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. Well, maybe next week. I don’t know who’s playing, but it doesn’t matter. It’d just be nice to get away by ourselves for a few hours.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said distractedly, then picked up my head.

  “You know what makes me crazy? Susan Cavanaugh said that if I just had my diploma, they probably would have given me the job. It’s so unfair! It’s a piece of paper! Why should it matter? And that snotty Brad Boyle . . . he made me feel about this big,” I said, pinching a couple inches of air between my thumb and forefinger. “Susan says he wants to go into politics. Ha! I wouldn’t vote for him for dog catcher!”

  “Me neither,” Dan said soberly. “Can’t stand that guy. Hate his guts.”

  His deadpan tone made me smile in spite of myself. “Do you even know Brad Boyle?”

  “Nope. But that’s not the point. I’m being supportive. Hate his guts. Hope he gets hit by a trash truck.”

  “Very funny. I should call Susan later,” I said, my smile fading. “I was kind of nasty to her today.”

  “Why?” Dan asked. “I thought you liked her.”

  “I do. She tracked me down in the bathroom after the interview, trying to cheer me up, and said I should go back to school full-time. I was pretty snippy to her, but . . . she’s right. Nobody is going to hire me for the job I really want until I finish my degree. Which, at this pace, will take until I’m forty! By then, they’ll probably say I’m too old to do that work.”

  I sighed and leaned sideways, resting my head on Dan’s shoulder.

  “Maybe I should enroll at Carrillon.”

  “The college your professor told you about? The one in Delaware?”

  I nodded. “That would be the fastest way to finish my degree. Probably the cheapest, too. But where would I get the money?”

  Dan twisted to the side, and I had to lift my head from his shoulder.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’d leave New Bern and move to Delaware? I thought we . . . I mean . . . I thought you liked it here. All your friends are here.”

  “They are. But Susan’s right. If I’m ever going to make something of myself, be able to do what I really want to do, and have control over my own life, I need to get my diploma. If I went to Carrillon, I’d be finished in two years, maybe less. Then I could move back to New Bern.”

  I paused, taking a moment to think.

  “Well, maybe I could. If there were any openings in my field. I guess I’d have to go where the work is,” I mused, and then laughed, realizing how crazy I was. “What am I talking about? I’ll never be able to find that kind of money, not in a million years.”

  Suddenly, I realized that Dan was being very quiet. I looked at him. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Sure. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah? Because you had kind of a funny look on your face just now.”

  “No. I’m fine. It’s just that I thought that you . . . that we . . .” He waved his hand dismissively.

  “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I’d better get back over there,” he said, tipping his head toward the bowling lane, where Drew, who had just thrown a seven-ten split, was groaning and smacking himself on the head. “I’m up next.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said slowly, giving my attention to a new idea that was forming in my mind. “Maybe I could—”

  Dan was already on his feet, but I grabbed his sleeve to keep him from leaving. “Gayla has been tutoring Drew for his SAT test, right? How’s that going?”

  “Good. He picked up ninety-five points on his last practice test.” Dan frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just thinking . . . Gayla knows everything about getting kids into college. Maybe she knows about scholarships too. Not for teenagers but for people like me—adults, women who’re trying to go back to school. Do you think I should ask her to help me?”

  Dan was quiet. His face was serious and the look in his eyes was . . . I don’t know how to describe it exactly. Only that I’ve never had a man look at me that way before, like he understood every part of me. It pulled me up short to see him look at me like that. For a second, it was like he’d crawled inside me.

  “If that’s what makes you happy, Ivy, then I think you should. I think you should have everything you want from life.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I started to say something but couldn’t. The sound of Bobby’s voice, calling fo
r Dan to hurry up, intersected my half-formed thoughts before I could find words to explain them, either to Dan or to myself.

  He smiled, bent down, and planted a kiss on the top of my head.

  “Gotta go,” he said. “It’s my turn.”

  25

  Gayla

  I’ve never been much of a churchgoer.

  Oh, sure, when I was growing up my parents had made me go to church on Christmas and Easter, just for form’s sake. Also, I think, to hedge their bets, in case there turned out to be something to the whole God thing after all.

  Personally, and especially as I reached my teen years, I thought that was pretty ridiculous. I mean, if God is really God with a capital “G,” would he be fooled by such transparent motivations? I didn’t think so. That, coupled with the fact that my parents almost never failed to have an argument in the car during these biannual pilgrimages to the local house of worship, put me off religion entirely.

  But I’ve been waking up early recently. The summer sun starts shining in my window by five o’clock, and Sunday was no exception. So after making coffee and going out to water the garden, I decided to treat myself to breakfast at the Blue Bean.

  As I was sitting at my table, finishing up a plate of blueberry waffles and a side of bacon, I looked out the window, saw people starting to arrive for the early service at the church, and thought, What the heck? I had to meet the others there soon anyway; why not join them for church instead of driving home only to turn around and drive back? I wanted to see the inside of the building anyway. People say it’s beautiful.

  And while I was there, maybe I’d say a quick prayer, a sort of thank-you note to God. Even though I’m not a big fan of organized religion, I do believe in God, at least in the broadest sense. And lately, it feels like he’s been watching out for me.