Graveland: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

Manhattan. But now? Now he manages an electronics store in a second-tier mall in upstate New York.
    WTF.
    It’s not as if he’s the only one, though. A dozen others were let go at the same time, and most of them, as far as he knows, are struggling. The younger ones, still in their twenties, either take it on the chin and go off in an entirely different direction, or they obsessively hone their résumés and send them out to anyone they’ve ever come into contact with, co-workers, classmates, contractors, people they meet on fucking Facebook. The older ones, like Frank, mid-forties and beyond, either manage to hang on by trading their experience and skills for much-reduced salaries, or they take anything at all, whatever they can get, retail, driving a cab—it doesn’t matter, really (except for the serious damage this will do to their marketability if they ever want to get back in the game). Frank is one of these, and he figures the damage is already done. The idea of getting back in the game is remote to him anyway, a little intimidating even.
    This job he got as a favor. It was through an old connection, a middle-management guy in Paloma he dealt with when Belmont, McCann were doing their new regional headquarters over in Hartford. And he only got it because it was Winterbrook Mall. If it’d been anywhere else, chances are he wouldn’t have been hired. Like Dave’s Bar & Grill, which is beside it, Winterbrook Mall is a relic of the 1980s, morning in Mahopac, and will very probably not survive this recession. In fact, it’s hard to know what’s keeping the place afloat right now. It’s vast, but more often than not deserted, with a distinctly creepy feel to it, especially at night when you could imagine B-movie zombies emerging from behind the fake backdrops of some of the empty retail spaces to search for stragglers and lost shoppers. However, Winterbrook’s biggest problem lies two miles down the road in the shape of the sparkling and relatively new Oak Valley Plaza Outlets Center.
    That’s where it’d make sense for Paloma to have their store, but if they did, Frank would be out of work.
    He looks into his glass.
    The truth is, he’s hanging on by a thread here. There are over eight hundred Paloma stores across the country, and this is probably the only one he’d be able to hold down a job in. And that’s because—with the exception of today—it’s probably the only one that’s empty most of the time.
    Which suits Frank just fine.
    Not because he can’t do the job, or he’s lazy, it’s just that dealing with people, customers, members of the public … he’s not cut out for it. Heavier foot traffic than the store gets and he’d more than likely crack up. It might take a while, a few weeks, a month or two, but he wouldn’t last—there’d be an incident with someone out on the floor, he’d raise his voice, they’d file a complaint, and who’d end up with their second pink slip in as many years?
    For the moment, though, this position he’s got at ghostly, creepy Winterbrook Mall seems secure enough.
    Which is a big relief.
    He finishes the drink and orders some food.
    Because as long as he’s able to meet his basic financial obligations, as long as he’s able to—
    Phone.
    Vibrating in his pocket.
    He pulls it out and looks at it. Lizzie . Pretty much on cue. “Hi there.”
    “Hey Dad.”
    Tone alert.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah, I’m … I’m fine.”
    Lizzie’s at Atherton, and even though she got a scholarship it’s still costing him a fortune. She wants to be a Web … something, he can’t remember what exactly. He finds it hard to keep up, to stay in the loop, especially the tech loop. When she was starting out, he was all over it, but that was two years ago.
    “So … what’s happening?”
    “Not a whole lot. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
    Frank looks up, slowly, and out over the dusty, wood-paneled expanse of Dave’s Bar & Grill.
    Hear my voice?
    “You can hear