Chapter 74

Still don’t, she admitted, if only to herself. But she knew more about the workplace now, and her resume had more than just her college years listed on it. So she took a few days to spruce it up, spending some time at the library to use their computers to format it properly and run off enough copies to wallpaper the town. To her untrained eye, it looked impressive; even if the jobs it listed were only hourly positions, they weren’t local, so she liked to think it showed worldly experience, if nothing else.

Well, east coast experience, at least. How many of the people looking at her resume in her tiny hometown would have actually goneto DC or New York? She was betting not too many. So it made her look good, in that regard.

Then she wrote an impressive cover letter, cribbed almost entirely from a book on getting the perfect job. She spent every Sunday trawling the classifieds for potential jobs to apply to, circled each one carefully, and was at the library first thing Monday morning to tailor her cover letter to each position. She sent a copy of it along with her resume to every job listing, every single one, then sat back and waited for the phone to ring.

And waited. And waited.

One or two of the jobs, the ones she reallyliked, she called to follow up on after a week or so. She never got past the receptionist, who would tell her yes, her resume was received, and yes, it was under review, and if she proved to be a likely candidate, someone would be in touch.

They never were.

After a month of this, her father began griping about freeloaders under his breath. So much for being on her side. Her mother wanted to know when she was going to start doing something constructive with her life, as if she wasn’t trying to do that already.

She’d been crazy to come back. She needed a job so she could move out on her own or she’d suffocate. Did everyone struggle like this after college?

Not Bethany,her mind whispered.

Fuck Bethany! In the four weeks since Dana had left New York behind, her phone had not rung once, not once, and it wasn’t just potential employers who weren’t calling, either, but her former best friend had apparently forgotten her number, as well. Things hadn’t been good between them, true, but Dana had expected a late apology, or a call to see if she was alright, or even a frantic buzz to her parents to let them know she was missing

But no, nothing. As if Bethany no longer cared.

Well, I don’t, either,Dana thought, but when she lay in bed at night, once her parents were asleep and the house was quiet around her, she found it hard to convince herself she didn’t miss her friend. When that happened, it was on the tip of her tongue to apologize first, and she sometimes found herself reaching for the phone, no matter how late the hour. If only she could hear Bethany’s voice again, everything would be alright. If only they could talk things out, if she could say she was sorry for going too far—it’d been one little kiss, for Christ’s sake, onekiss, that was all!—then maybe she could break through the ennui that had her trapped like a fly in amber, pinning her into place.

One lousy, goddamn kiss. It wasn’t like they’d even had sex or anything. Jesus.

On nights like that, when the urge to call Bethany first grew too strong, Dana got out of bed, grabbed her car keys, and threw on a shirt over whatever it was she might be wearing, then left the house as quietly as she could. Sometimes she put on shoes, but if it was nice out, she didn’t bother. She liked driving barefoot, and it was still warm enough that she didn’t need to pull on pants over her boxers, either. All she needed was an old flannel shirt over the tank top she slept, and as long as she didn’t get out of the car, she was fine.

She’d slide behind the wheel and drive—where, she didn’t care. If she was in the mood for speed, she hit the interstate and took it as far as Richmond, then got lost in the cloverleafs and intersections, driving in circles until she wore herself out. If she wanted something slower, she stuck to the roads at home, coasting through empty streets and trying not to think of anything at all. A few times she ended up at the elementary school where she’d gone as a child, and she’d sit on the swings, her feet in the sand as she stared into the dark woods skirting the playground. Once she ventured into the woods themselves—this on a night she’d worn shoes, of course—in search of a path she remembered from her youth that had led to the James River and a dock she thought she’d stretch out on under the stars, but she got turned around somehow and ended up back at the gravel lot where she’d parked, as if the trees didn’t want to be bothered with her and had spit her out.