Page 12 of To Believe In You
* * *
Who,besides Lina’s parents, would hire someone to serve as the voice on their answering machine? No one. She could imagine how it had gone, though. Mom disliked recordings of her voice. Dad, never one to suffer similar self-consciousness, must’ve thought having staff record the greeting made him seem more successful.
Lina flipped on her blinker to pull into the lot of Key of Hope as she listened to an unfamiliar female voice say, “You have reached the Abbey residence. Please state your name, phone number, and reason for calling so the appropriate party may return your call.”
Eight o’clock in Wisconsin made it nine in New York. On a Thursday morning like this, Dad had probably been at the office for hours, and Mom would be off on some charitable crusade, but Lina hadn’t tried either of their cell phones.
This game of tag was all that remained of their relationship, and a conversation wouldn’t bring them closer unless someone had changed their mind regarding Grandma’s estate—which Dad felt should’ve gone to him—or Shane—who Dad believed was good for the money he’d stolen.
Since Lina couldn’t concede either point, here she was, calling to leave her dutiful weekly message when neither would answer.
“Hi, Mom and Dad, it’s Galina.” She hated her full first name, but her parents had refused to honor her requests to call her by the shortened version, and she’d given up convincing them long ago—why let one more thing come between them? “I’m pulling into Key of Hope. We’re still looking to hire our last instructor, but other than that, the staff is in place, and we’re on track to start lessons on Monday. Running social media for Awestruck is even easier with the band close by. Anyway, let me know how things are going for you both. Love you. Bye.”
She shifted into park, hit the button to disconnect, and grabbed the phone from the magnetic dash mount. Most likely, it would be a few days before one of her parents deigned to return the message, listing off a few facts about their own work on her voicemail.
Back in the day, she used to report about her schoolwork and extracurricular activities, and they’d drone on about their efforts to better—or take over—the world.
Only when she’d been with Shane had she seen a glimmer of her parents’ interest and approval. Her ex came from a prestigious family, and he’d made Dad a tidy profit from real estate investments before Dad introduced them. Lina and Shane had hit it off, and during their relationship, they’d attended galas and dinners with her parents. Once they’d gotten engaged, Mom had been all too happy to croon about Lina’s wedding plans.
Looking back, Dad had boasted about Shane, not Lina, when he’d paraded them around to his business associates. Mom had liked the status boost of the association with Shane’s family. The spell had broken when her engagement did, and Grandma’s decision to leave the family fortune to Lina had furthered the rupture.
Now, their so-called relationship hung on by the thread of weekly voicemails.
Sunlight streamed over the roofs of the two-story buildings in the downtown business area, gracing even the parking lot, despite its trash cans and the abandoned car in the corner, with a warm and safe glow.
Inside, Adeline sat at the sun-soaked workspace along the brick wall, perched cross-legged on the chair. “Samantha stopped in. She took the last two jars of soup and wanted me to tell you you’re an angel.”
Some of Lina’s disappointment lifted. Samantha, one of the first instructors they’d hired, had young kids, including the adorable eight-year-old Bailey, whom Lina had met about a week before. At least the soup tsunami would benefit someone.
“Anyway.” Adeline fixed a wary gaze on her computer. “I figured out our mystery.” With a lifted hand, she invited Lina to look at her screen.
Lina dropped her purse on her chair and crossed the office. Cocking her head, she recognized the job search site where they’d posted their open positions. Notification settings cluttered the screen.
Each position had a field where they could specify which email address should be notified of new applicants. Most were grayed out, indicating resumes would route to the default contact, Lina. But for the bass guitar teacher, black type indicated a manually entered email address.
Tim’s email address.
“When did he do that?” Since posting the bass position, she’d received four or five applications, none viable. “He must’ve found a way to have the system forward ones he hand-picked? Ones he knew we wouldn’t take?”
Adeline tipped her head. “There are about thirty apps here.”
Thirty. Meaning twenty-plus applicants had threatened Tim’s plans for Matt. “Why is he so enamored with Matt, anyway?”
Someone sucked in a breath behind her. “Don’t make this awkward.”
Lina stiffened and spotted Tim near the entry, Matt at his elbow, shutting the front door behind them. Of all the occasions for her to miss hearing the ill-fitting door push open.
“You’re kidding.” She hadn’t meant to let her frustration slip out.
Tim responded with a self-satisfied smile.
Matt stepped into the waiting area, one hand steadying the strap of a ratty guitar case over his shoulder. He surveyed the couches and wall art as if his opinion mattered. Finally, his line of sight landed on her, and he gave a nod of greeting. “You did come all the way down to Fox Valley to offer me the job.”
“And then ignored his email, he says.” Tim lifted his eyebrows.
Lina crossed her arms. “You don’t get to play likeIdid something wrong.”
“You overlooked a qualified applicant.”
