Necessary Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

hello to the country club, where I couldn’t quite get my bearings, and the Junior League, which I still hadn’t applied to join. I would have Robert and that would be good enough. He’d brought me back to life when I hadn’t even realized I was dead.
    I found a parking place in front of the Department of Public Welfare. My dress stuck to the back of my legs as I got out of the car. I was sure my hair was a mess after the drive with the windows open, and I tried to comb it into place with my fingers as I walked into the building. My appearance wasn’t going to make the best first impression and I suddenly felt nervous. I really wanted this job.
    There was a fan in the office where I waited to be interviewed and I sat as close to it as I could without turning my hair into a rat’s nest. The air it blew on me must have been ninety degrees, but it was better than nothing.
    A woman stepped out of her office and walked toward me, smiling. “Miss Mackie?” she asked. She was very slender and wore a short-sleeved blouse tucked into beige slacks. A Katharine Hepburn sort of look.
    “Yes.” I got to my feet and shook her hand.
    “I’m Charlotte Werkman,” she said. “Come with me.”
    I followed her into the small office, its one window wide open, an oscillating fan in front of it fluttering the papers on her desk. “Shut the door behind you, please, and have a seat,” she said.
    I sat down across the desk from her, smoothing my dress over my knees. I took in everything in the tiny office: the wall calendar with its picture of the governor’s mansion, photographs of children at various ages, a family picture of a young man and woman and two small children. A vase full of mixed flowers, the petals beginning to go brown at the edges but still adding a pop of color to the room. Someday, I thought, I might have an office like this.
    “So.” She settled behind her desk and smiled at me and I liked her instantly. Such warmth and confidence in that smile! She looked nothing like I’d imagined a social worker to look. She was striking. She had to be in her forties—maybe even her fifties—but, except for a starburst of faint lines at the outer corners of her eyes, her skin looked as if it belonged in an Ivory soap commercial. Her gray eyes were huge and her hair, which was a pale, pale blond—nearly white—was clipped into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck. But it was the smile that most impressed me, and I felt all the muscles in my body loosen as I relaxed into the chair. I wanted to be like her, someone who could put people at ease with a smile.
    “This would be your first job?” she asked, and I saw she had my thin résumé on the blotter in front of her.
    “Well, my first … professional job,” I said, motioning toward the résumé, which covered my 4.0 grade point average from Woman’s College. It also showed the summer jobs I’d had working at a day camp for kids and the Red Cross volunteer work I did with my father and Teresa one week each year for most of my life. I had reference letters from two of my professors, attesting to my work ethic. It was the best I could pull together. I hoped it was good enough.
    “Your degree is in sociology,” she said. “Did you consider a degree in social work?”
    “It wasn’t offered at Woman’s College,” I said. “I had a couple of psychology courses, though, and those in addition to my sociology courses give me a good background, I think.”
    She gave a slight nod. “Better than many applicants,” she said. “I was intrigued with what one of your professors—Dr. Adams—said about you.” She lifted one of the letters and began to read. “‘Miss Mackie’s passion for her work is matched only by her desire for perfection.’” She looked at me. “What does he mean by that sentence, do you think?”
    I’d read that sentence in Dr. Adams’s letter many times, knowing he meant it not quite as the compliment it seemed. He thought I got carried