Page 24 of Come in with the Rain
Her lips part, and I wait. Wait for her to seal my fate.
“Do you think you can fix the sink in the dark?”
I stare at her mouth, feeling like she just asked me a question in another language. “Um…” I stutter. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I’ve got a Maglite in the truck.”
She nods, her eyes still on my mouth. “I need to get to my interview.” She’s up off the stool and out the door before I have a chance to beg her to stay.
CHAPTER25
STELLA
I’m trying to fix my makeup in my car before I go into the interview, but it’s mostly ruined and I’m out of time. I grab my stuff and go into the building, trying to keep my face down in hopes that all the blotchiness from crying earlier will be gone by the time I get to the floor where I’m supposed to have my interview.
I don’t know much about the company, some sort of charitable organization that helps establish canine rescues out in the country, but I’ve applied for so many of these jobs now that I’ve stopped entirely reading the job descriptions.
“I’m here for an interview with Ms. Jones,” I say at the front desk, glancing into the glass behind the receptionist to try and see my reflection, but I’m a little too blurry.
“Of course,” the receptionist says with a smile. “She’ll see you right through there.” She gestures at an open door on the other side of the desk, and I make my way over. The entirety of the business seems to be made up of two offices and the front desk, and for some reason, I find that comforting. All the jobs I’ve applied for over the last few weeks have been at large corporations.
Ms. Jones, a woman who looks roughly old enough to be my mother, is so focused on something on the desk in front of her that she doesn’t hear when I step into the doorway of her office. I rap one knuckle on the door and smile.
“Ms. Jones?”
The woman looks up, and I’m surprised by the smile she gives me, so sincere and so bright. She gestures at the chair across the desk from her. “Hello! You must be Stella. Please, have a seat.”
As soon as I sit down, I feel a strange peace wash over me. This feels so comfortable, so familiar, and I know I want to work here, immediately. When was the last time I felt any sort of calm in an office building? “Thank you for having me in today,” I tell her, and I mean it with my entire body. I forget about my makeup and whether or not my cheeks are spotty.
“You’re here about the volunteer position,” she says, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her lap, and I feel everything inside me collapse like something dropped out of a window goingsplaton the pavement.
“The volunteer position?” I croak. “I, um, no. I’m here about a paid position. A communications liaison?”
Ms. Jones’ face goes sour. Her mouth pulls down into a frown, and she sits up straight in her chair again. “The communications position is, in fact, a volunteer position. Really all the position entails is visiting local businesses to hand out flyers and make connections.” All of my disappointment must be written across my face because her shoulders sag before she says, “I’m so very sorry, Ms. Hart. Perhaps the ad wasn’t clear.”
“No, no.” I put my hands up to stop her, feeling all the heat flood to my face. I’m sure I’m twice as blotchy now as I was before. “I’m sure I didn’t read closely enough. It’s my fault.” And it is. It most certainly is.
I stand, and she does, too. “We have your resume should another paying position open up,” she says as she walks me to the door of her office, a grand total of four steps. “I looked it over, and I really do think you would do great here.” We pause by the door, and she sends me a look that I recognize asare you sure?
“I’m sorry, but I need an income.” A month ago, any volunteering endeavor would have made me happy, but without Mickey’s money…
“Of course,” she whispers. “Give me a call if you change your mind.”
And in less than five minutes, I’m right back out into the hall where I started. I stand at the elevator for a moment, staring at the buttons, unable to push any of them.Just reach out and push it, I tell myself, but I feel numb. I can’t move.
There’s a door next to the elevator, a bathroom, and I rush inside and wait for the swinging door to fall closed behind me before I plant both elbows on the sink, drop my face into my hands, and start to cry. God, what a shitty day. Just one in a long line of shitty days.
My makeup is officially ruined. I stare at myself in the mirror, my mascara streaking down my cheeks. I look a wreck. I grab a few paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, and try to wipe away the makeup completely. When I’m done, the flush of my tears is more obvious, but at least I don’t look like a sad clown anymore.
The door opens behind me, and I bow my head, pretending to be looking for something in my purse as someone comes in. I wait for them to take one of the stalls behind me, but the footsteps stop.
“Excuse me?”
I spin around. The receptionist is standing between me and the door, wringing her hands in front of her. “Sorry,” I say, snatching up my purse. “Am I in your way?”
“No!” She kind of scuttles toward me and then stops. “I just wanted to come in here and tell you that I really admire you.”
She could have said she was the secret wife of an orange alien, and I would have been less shocked than I am right now. “I’m sorry?”
She lets out a nervous laugh and comes closer, until she’s standing at the sink beside me, looking at me in the mirror. “Last year, I lost my dad. I was working full time at this awful job and trying to juggle a full schedule at school, and it all just kind of collapsed in on me.”
