Linny's Sweet Dream List

by Susan Schild

  Annalise opened the manual, but glanced at the camera with a mulish look in her eyes. “I know the material, Linny. I know it backward and forward.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Thinking about her own image on Annalise’s screen, she worked at a more neutral expression. “I’ve made some changes in the design that seem to work better than the exact way the program was written.”

  “Better than the one written by the experts at corporate?” she asked, with a curl to her lip. “I think I’ll just stick to the material as it’s written.”

  Linny tried unsuccessfully to tamp down a flare of temper. The little ingrate. “Annalise, whether you take my suggestions about the manual is your decision. But you do need to listen to me about how to work with these people . . .”

  “I’ve done training classes before, Linny.” Annalise looked disdainful.

  About three of them, Linny thought bitterly. She should just let Annalise step in it, but decided to make one last appeal for the sake of the participants. Her voice sounded steely. “This is a very different audience. These people are suffering. You need to make a point of talking to each one individually. You need to listen hard, and not talk very much. When they talk about their reactions, never say ‘I understand, ’ because you don’t. You’ll pour gasoline on the fire.”

  Annalise stifled a yawn. “Linny, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll do fine.”

  Linny wished Skype had a feature where she could reach through the connection and slap a person, maybe with a dead fish.

  Annalise glanced down at what had to be a phone in her hand. “I need to go. Their V.P. just texted me. He wants to meet to talk about the remarks he’s going to make when he kicks off the program in the morning.” Her smile was smug.

  Linny opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She gave up. What a waste of breath trying to talk to this girl. Briskly, she said, “Well, good luck tomorrow,” and ended the connection. You’ll need it, she thought, as she blew out a breath.

  On Thursday morning, Walt called Linny into his office. Unsmiling, he offered her none of his usual pleasantries, and said in a brusque voice, “Have a seat.”

  She felt her heart pound. What was going on?

  “Linny, we have a problem. The Participant Surveys from the first two days are in, and they’re unacceptable. On a scale of one to five, we got ones and twos. We can’t get those kinds of ratings and keep the client.”

  Internally, Linny had a little celebration going on with sparklers, noisemakers, and funny hats. So it wasn’t as easy-peasy as young Annalise had thought it would be. It served that girl right. But her party was cut short by Walt’s hard look.

  “Linny, you dropped the ball. The responsibility for the performance of the team rests squarely on the coach’s shoulders.” He nodded meaningfully.

  “What are you saying?” she managed to stammer.

  He frowned. “Annalise told us you didn’t offer her much useful coaching, and in fact, said you cut the session short. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you.”

  “No,” she spluttered. “I tried to coach Annalise, but she was . . . not very receptive to my input, and she was the one who cut the session short . . .”

  “Really.” Walt’s eyebrows telegraphed his disbelief. “Because before she left, she made a point of stopping by to tell me how much she appreciated your willingness to help, and how she valued your expertise. Annalise said you were her role model.” Walt raised one wooly brow and stared at her coldly. “Now, she claims you deliberately fed her bad information about how to conduct the class.”

  Linny opened her mouth and closed it again, floored that after all the years they’d worked together, he’d believed the conniving young woman instead of her. “I would never—” she began in a shaky voice, and felt a flash of guilt because she’d considered doing just that.

  But Walt cut her off. “We know you’ve been through a lot lately, but I’m starting to question your commitment to the team, and frankly, to Kipling. First you request a job redesign, and now, you set a teammate up to fail.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “There’s no I in team.”

  Linny felt a surge of panic, knowing that to Walt, not being a team player was akin to treason. She started to protest but he raised a hand. His voice was steely now. “I can’t have it Linny. We’re going to need to let you go.” His face closed, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes

  Linny stared at him uncomprehendingly, and, as what he said sank in, outrage swelled inside her. He was firing her. Her heart sank. Walt’s decision would be final. He was a company man, living and breathing for Kipling. For him, this was solely a business decision.

  Linny’s stomach roiled as she flashed on horror stories she’d heard in her Managing Career Change class from employees who were too shocked to negotiate a fair payout when they got laid off. She felt a rush of adrenaline-fueled anger, and saw with perfect clarity what she needed to do. Linny had gotten shafted by Buck, and she was danged if she’d let herself get shafted by Kipling. Lifting her chin, she announced, “I want to be laid off and not fired, and I want a glowing letter of recommendation. I want pay for all my unused vacation and leave, and a lump sum pay of two weeks for every year I’ve worked here.”

  Walt eyebrows shot up almost to his combed-over hair, as he realized his Labrador retriever had turned into a Doberman. His eyes narrowed and he shot back, “Can’t do the two weeks, and you know it. One week per year of employment is what we offer here at Kipling.”

  She couldn’t believe she was being so cutthroat. “Walt, we both know how sensitive Mr. Kipling is to any unflattering media attention.” Linny paused meaningfully to let that sink in. Last year, the company’s landing of a huge no-bid contract by a company run by Mr. Kipling’s brother-in-law had the news wires zinging. “I would just hate for it to get out that Kipling laid off a long-time employee who’d just been widowed.” Linny shook her head, looking pained. “I need that two weeks per year.”

  Walt stared at her, his eyes cold as ice cubes. “A week and a half. I’ll talk to the attorney and get H.R. to make the changes. Stop by within seven days to sign off on the release.”

  “Thank you,” she said as pleasantly as if he’d just held open a door for her, but resentment and fear were right beneath her veneer of calm. Gathering her purse, she rose, desperately wanting to get out of that office.

  He stood, and said stiffly, “Good luck to you.” He coughed. “Policy is to have the security guard help you clear out your desk and leave the building.”

  Linny worked at keeping her face bland, and nodded. “Fine.” What a rat. Walt should know her well enough to know she wouldn’t take a paper clip that didn’t belong to her, much less steal a client list or documents. Determined to not look as beaten down as she felt, Linny walked to the door.

  A half hour later, Stan, the security guard, stood at the door of her office, and shook his balding head regretfully as he handed her a cardboard box. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor.”

  “It’s okay, Stan,” Linny said briskly and tossed in the personal contents she’d hurriedly fished from her desk drawers. As Stan sealed the box for her, Linny felt a stab of sadness as she saw how pitifully small the pile was. Twelve years at the place, lots of early mornings and late nights, and this was all that it amounted to? Not much to show for all that hard work and dedication.

  On the walk of shame from her office to the car, Linny kept her head high, her eyes straight ahead, and a pasted a smile on her face. It was hard to play at normal though, when walking beside a hulking uniformed man carrying a box. From the corners of her eyes, she saw colleagues steal furtive glances over the tops of their cubicles. She was perspiring with mortification, when a phrase her father had used came to her. “Never let the pissants see you sweat, shug.” Linny straightened her shoulders, and strode surely toward the door.

  On the drive home, she cried so hard she had to pull over. What would she do? She cried great gulping sobs. She was an utter failure. She couldn’t do anything r
ight. Mopping trailing tears with a Wendy’s napkin, she still couldn’t believe Walt had done this to her. He’d mentored her, and Linny had worked hard to earn his approval. She felt a flash of anger. He’d called her his rising star, but easily replaced her. She flashed to Buck and Kandi, and shook her head in disgust. Why did men always need newer, younger women?

  Her storm of tears subsided and, with a shaky finger, Linny tapped in Mary Catherine’s number. James, the paralegal, put her through. “I just got fired,” she sniffed, and felt a searing wash of shame.

  “Okay.” Her friend’s voice was even. “Come on by the office. I’m free for the next half hour.”

  James didn’t blink an eye at her red face and raccoon eyes. He just gave her a sympathetic smile and waved her back.

  Looking sharp in a cobalt blue linen pantsuit, Mary Catherine gave her a hug and pushed her into a chair. “I’m eating lunch. Join me.” She handed Linny a bottle of sparkling water and a handful of pistachios. She got busy with her own nuts, popping them in her mouth. Crick, crick. “Tell me.”

  Fighting tears again, Linny told her story. Mary Catherine didn’t seem as alarmed as Linny thought she should. “Isn’t it awful?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “Probably not.” Mary Catherine took a long sip of her drink and belched daintily. “Good job on the negotiating the severance.”

  Linny acknowledged the praise with a quick nod but, puzzled at her friend’s calm take on her dire news, reiterated slowly, “I just lost my job.”

  Mary Catherine cracked a nut with her teeth. “They did you a favor. You hated that job.”

  Linny was stunned. She’d come in for a little compassion. Was that too much to ask? She spluttered, “But I . . .”

  “Sorry, Lin. I’m not saying this well.” Mary Catherine shook her head, looking chagrined. “I know it’s a shock, but good will come of it. You’re going through a rough stretch of road, but you’re tough. You just negotiated yourself about five months of time?” Mary Catherine looked at her questioningly.

  Nodding, Linny suddenly felt proud of herself for being so steely with Walt. Maybe all those affirmations about dancing warrior animal goddesses had finally kicked in.

  “Well done.” Her friend leaned toward her, and spoke with intensity. “This time is a gift, Linny.”

  “A gift, huh?” Linny gave her a wry smile but listened especially hard, since Mary Catherine was not prone to self-help talk.

  “You had dreams for your life with Andy, and with Buck. Both were cut short. You need to find your new dream and go get it.”

  Linny mulled it over, nodded tentatively, and sipped her drink. The icy drink tasted surprisingly good.

  Her friend paused to pry open a tricky pistachio, “Can you find work you really care about? That’s been the anchor in my life.”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head doubtfully. “I never wanted to climb a corporate ladder, and chasing a big career has never been my thing.”

  “You don’t to need to do either. Find work that makes you feel good about yourself, and lets you use your gifts.” Her friend gazed at her levelly. “Did the job you just lost do those things for you?”

  Linny grimaced. “It was soul sucking.”

  “I rest my case.” Mary Catherine grinned, and stood up. “I need to go. Love you, girl.” She gave her a hug.

  Outside Mary Catherine’s office, Linny blinked in the bright sunlight, and it took a moment to remember where she’d parked the car. She flashed through all the events of the morning, and felt like she’d just stepped off a dock into icy water. Linny shivered, and grinned shakily, realizing that along with the panic about losing her job, she felt a tiny flicker of excitement.

  At home, Linny left an overly long voice mail for Kate, who was, by now, at school shaping up her fresh crop of students. Slumped in front of her laptop, she listlessly browsed the job-posting websites. As she read and reread job descriptions, she realized she didn’t comprehend any of it. Her mind was on strike, not ready to start job hunting.

  Linny prowled the trailer, filled with restless energy. She tried giving herself a captain-of-her-own-destiny, dream-the-new-dream pep talk, but it wasn’t working. After eating a half a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, she drank a glass of iced tea, and tried to think about how to kick start the whole dream-finding process. Her mind nagged at her about something, and she recalled an affirmation she’d read recently. Wiping off her red-dyed fingers, she turned on her Kindle to reread it. With vigor and resolve, eradicate the ugliness from your life. Linny glanced up at the faux wood paneling right in front of her eyes, and smiled. Now she knew where to start.

  Linny enjoyed the sound of the paneling cracking and splintering, and liked the cool heft of the crowbar in her hands. By the time she’d pulled off the last jagged edge and dragged it outside, sweat dripped around her eyes. Raising the dust mask onto her head, she surveyed the growing junk pile in the front yard, and felt inordinately proud of herself. The broken venetian blinds needed to be junked too. She strode back to the trailer.

  “Knock, knock,” Kate called a few minutes later as she breezed in the open door looking cool in a flower-sprigged cotton shift. With one hand, she held a dozing Roy over her shoulder like a sleeping baby, and in the other was a paper bag with EARTH AND SEA scrolled down its side.

  Linny broke into a smile to show how glad she was to see her sister. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

  Handing Roy to Linny, she said, “The school’s brand new HVAC system went on the fritz. They sent us all home because it’s boiling in the classrooms.” Her eyes lit with concern. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough day.”

  “I have,” Linny admitted. She slipped the sleepy puppy into his crate and turned to meet her sister’s gaze. Mental pictures of the walk of shame flooded back to her, and she flushed. “I can’t believe I got fired.”

  Kate squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be okay, sweets.”

  Linny sighed deeply. “Why is everyone so calm about my disaster at work?”

  “I know it feels like a disaster.” Kate nodded sympathetically. “But these things happen for a reason, and I agree with Mary Catherine about the time being a gift.” She took Linny by the hand and led her to the chipped kitchen table. “Sit. Let’s eat and talk.” Reaching in the bag, she handed her a sandwich wrapped in white paper.

  Linny didn’t have much of an appetite, but took a small bite, and the subtle flavors of avocado, tomato, and cucumber on freshly baked sunflower bread was amazing. She chewed slowly, not wanting to miss a nuance. “This sandwich is heaven.”

  “I know. A couple we know own Earth and Sea. They’re good people, and their sandwiches are the best.” Kate dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

  As Linny recounted all the gory details of this morning’s meeting, Kate tsked in all the appropriate places, but when Linny had finished, nodded thoughtfully, and said, “Mary Catherine’s right about you needing a new dream, too.” She smiled slowly. “A sweet dream.”

  “Maybe,” Linny said wearily, but thought about it as she took a last savory bite of sandwich. She had no plan whatsoever. The people who loved her the most were both suggesting the same thing, and she needed to listen to them if she was ever going to get out of this jam. “Should we start a list?” She asked tentatively.

  “Excellent idea.” Kate hopped up to grab Linny’s spiral notebook from the counter, slid back into the chair, and fished a pen from her purse. “Okay.” In her perfect slanted handwriting, she titled a fresh page, LINNY’S SWEET DREAM LIST. Let’s get some ideas going about what might make you happy now.” Her pen poised, she said, “Shoot.”

  Linny pinched her lip, baffled. “I’m drawing a blank.”

  “You could find a job that you really like, start your own business, or ditch the whole professional thing and work in a wine store or a bookshop. You could go back and get a Master’s degree in . . . something.” She waved a hand airily and furiously jotted down notes on the page. “Th
is can be a prime-the-pump list to get your ideas flowing.”

  “Can’t we just rewind this whole movie, and get me back my life with Andy?” Linny felt the weight of the old familiar darkness, and tears pricked at her eyes.

  “Would if I could, sweets,” Kate said softly. “If what you want now is family, you could do it. You could adopt a baby like Sandra Bullock or Sheryl Crow. Very modern.” Kate paused, giving Linny a cautious glance. “You could get married again. To a much nicer and monogamous man, of course,” she added hastily.

  Linny raised her eyes heavenward. “I was so deluded about Buck, I don’t trust myself to choose a nice man.”

  Kate tapped the pen on her cheek. “Mary Catherine and I could screen candidates—make them take lie detector tests and run background checks.”

  Linny rested her chin on her hand and thought about it. “A calm family life is what I thought I was getting with Buck—the whole white-picket-fence, handful-of-kids dream. Not a man to rescue me, but a life that was safe and secure.”

  “That’s still a fine thing to want with the right man,” Kate said staunchly, and warmed to her subject. “You could experiment. Date an artist, or a professor, or a mogul—men that aren’t your usual type.” She wrote those down.

  “My type being a liar,” Linny clarified, and tried to grin, but just felt sad as she pictured bookish Andy with his rangy build, gentle humor, and soulful eyes behind black-framed glasses. Now he’d been her type. “Maybe I ought to just let the smoke clear from this last wreck. I’m not sure what I want right now,” she admitted.

  Kate put down her pen, and reached over to pat her hand. “I understand. I just don’t want this mess with Buck and work to divert you for too long. Don’t waste too much time grieving over things that weren’t good for you.”

  The question niggling in the back of her mind came to her. Cocking her head, she gazed at her sister. “Do you think Mama and Daddy had a happy marriage?”