Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(22)
For the remainder of the lunch Traci continued to talk about her project and Lindsay tried to choke down a sandwich that sat dry as dust in her mouth. When they said goodbye she drove to the center of town, parked her car and climbed out. Lindsay had neither heart nor courage enough to face a resume that proved she had done nothing with her life thus far, so she strolled along Main Street. The reflection in the shop windows she passed seemed such a sorrowful figure—the hair so flyaway, posture so slouched. Had she always been this way Lindsay wondered or had she somehow become exactly what her resume said—a nothing. Although the sun was hot and beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead, Lindsay walked from shop to shop, peering at the reflection, hoping that it would somehow change. It was late in the afternoon when she stopped and bought an ice cream cone. Leaving a trail of chocolate drips dotting the sidewalk she walked back to where she’d left the car.
It was nine-thirty before she could muster up enough courage to once 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 could hear 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. “At least Dad’s happy,” she sighed but her heart wished that she was the one sitting beside him. He’d promised it would be like it had always been, but the truth was, it wasn’t. Lindsay 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?” she exclaimed. Her name and address was 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 overflowed the page and 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…
“Wow,” Lindsay sighed, and leaned back in the chair. None of the things listed were lies, but where she’d been seeing herself as a deflated balloon, this resume was pumped full of helium. It was big, round, plump and ready to soar. She printed three copies, then dashed into the living room and threw both arms around her Dad. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”
John looked at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?” he asked.
Lindsay knew it was so like her dad to shy away from taking credit even when he’d done something spectacular. “For fixing my resume,” she said laughingly.
“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, did you—”
The edge of a smile curled Eleanor’s lips ever so slightly. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “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 it 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 planted the resume repair idea and moved the copy of that resume to where it was easily seen, but Eleanor was the one who pulled Lindsay’s yearbook from the shelf and gathered together enough information to make it work. What she wrote wasn’t a bunch of malarkey either, Lindsay did all those things. Unfortunately, she’s so focused on what she’s lost, that she’s blind to what she’s got. That’s one of the major design flaws in humans.
Life Management can be blamed for a good part of Lindsay’s problem. This lack of confidence started right after they took Bethany. John tried to make up for the loss, but his mothering skills left a lot to be desired. He’s quick to react to physical needs, but when it comes to emotional needs—well, he’s a male. With humans, the male and female units don’t just look different, they have different operating systems. The males are designed for doing and fixing, the females for feeling and sensing. Here’s a perfect example—two days ago Lindsay complained that the outfit she was wearing looked hideous. Instead of telling the girl she was beautiful in whatever she wore, he offered to buy her a new dress. See what I mean? She didn’t need a new outfit, what she needed was to know that somebody thought she was special. Eleanor tries, but Lindsay closes her ears to most of what the poor woman says.