Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(26)

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?”