Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge (12 page)

Totally confused at this point, Laura stared
at the brochures and could only see Latin. “I don't know what's
best.”

He sighed, and retrieved the charts. “If you
like, if you trust me enough, I can take your money and put it
somewhere where I believe is its best chance at growth. But, I warn
you, I don't have control on the market and can't guarantee capital
growth.”

“I'd appreciate that.” Without blinking she
complied. Funny, she didn't like the man much, but for some reason
she whole-heartedly trusted him.

He nodded then proceeded to hand her yet
another set of forms. These appeared more legal and binding. “What
I recommend is we place the money in an annuity share that will
begin payouts in a year’s time.”

Her spine stiffened as she stated, “When you
assume I shall start to fail.”

His unyielding grimace did not falter. “And
that is being generous. I give you six months.”

Taking an unsteady breath, she bit down hard
on the hurt daring to tremble across her lips. How could such an
unemotional character have such an overwhelming effect on her?

He slid the mandatory forms across the
gleaming surface of the desk toward her. “Sign and date these and
I'll take care of the rest.”

She did as was told, then sat back. It was
all done, she realized as he gathered up the papers and began to
slip them into a file folder on which he scribbled her name. There
was no turning back, she handed over her money, signed the legal
looking documents and left him sole guardian of her finances.

“How much do I owe you for all this?”

He paused, shooting her a brief look. “I’ll
send you the bill.”

Feeling uneasy, she squirmed in her seat.
Lord she hated dealing with money matters. “I can’t afford
much—”

“I’m well aware of that.”

His gaze locked on her face for an awkward
moment, then got to his feet and knew she was expected to follow.
“I’ll pay you, eventually, I promise.”

“Good.” He headed for the door and held it
open. “Now, if you don’t mind I have other appointments today.”

She followed him to the door, suddenly
feeling very insignificant. “I guess that closes things.”

“The papers will be processed right away and
your investment will be put to the dollar immediately.”

“That sounds good, I suppose. When do you
need me to return?”

He looked puzzled. “Return? I won't need you
to come back.”

“Well, won’t I need to follow up on my
investment?”

He shook his head. “This is where it ends,
Laura. From this point on, we will no longer need to deal with each
other. Each year you will receive a statement indicating the status
of your investment, mailed to you through the post or
electronically to your email account, whichever your preference.
Any other correspondence can be made the same way. If you have any
questions or concerns, I suggest you call our pool of consultants.
They will only be too happy to assist you.”

He walked her to the door where they came to
a halt. She stared up at him, trying to decipher his unreadable
face. So this was how it was to be. Laura was a proud woman she
would not allow him to see how much it bothered her. Holding out
her hand, she offered him a formal salute of farewell.

Dexter’s eyes dropped and took in the fine
boned structure with its slender fingers and soft pale skin.
Swallowing hard, he reached out and grasped hold of it. His hand
was much larger, much rougher, whereas hers was much smaller and
warmer. Its touch shot a heated current along his wrist and up his
forearm, leaving the one side of his body tingly and aware.

Swiftly, as if he had singed his fingertips
on a hot coal, he attempted to shake her hand away, wanting to be
rid of the feel. But to his chagrin, she would not easily let go
and caused him maddening and insufferable moments.

At last she released her hold and gave him a
small grateful smile. “Thank you, Dexter.”

He ignored her gratitude.

“Goodbye Laura.” He said it quickly, as if
wanting to dismiss an annoying child.

Yet, as he watched her beguiling form saunter
out of the adjacent office, not exactly abandon it forever.

CHAPTER 5

It was surprising how much could happen
within a month. Sitting down at her account books, Laura totaled
the income and expenses for September, and grimaced when she
realized she had more expenses than she did income. Last night's
Charity Bingo had not been as successful as the first one. She
hadn't even raised enough to balance out her net worth.

On top of matters, she had to come up with
bail money for Ingrid once again. The girl was arrested for
possession of drugs. Being her temporary guardian, Laura was
dragged out of bed in the wee hours of the morning down to the
police station.

Stifling a yawn, she ran a weary hand through
her hair and wondered how she was going to handle this. She thought
of the bundle of money she had handed over to Dexter and cursed
herself for letting it go. She wondered what he would say if she
were to come back asking for it, and knew instantly she could never
give him the satisfaction. He gave her six months to go under, and
she managed to accomplish it within one.

A glance at the wall clock told her it was
past one o'clock in the morning. Her body already felt exhausted
from the night before, but the budget for the past month had to be
done. Dexter's warning at the importance of keeping up-to-date on
the month-end bottom dollar, came back to haunt her. How she hated
admitting he was right, but sitting staring at the figures wasn't
going to help change them.

With a sigh, she pushed them aside and got to
her feet. Tomorrow she would simply have to plan another
fund-raising event was all there was to it. A glance at her turned
down bed was too welcoming. Sleep beckoned and there was nothing
she could do to resist it.

Upstairs, the slightest vibration from
Ingrid's stereo informed her the girl had not yet gone to bed. She
knew the girl was upset with Laura for sentencing her to house
arrest, but from the beginning she laid out the rules and expected
them to be followed.

One of the main goals Laura tried to instill
in these girls was responsibility, not only toward the other
occupants of the shelter, but with themselves as well. Self-worth
was a meaningful and significant trait in an individual.

With a yawn, she closed the binder containing
her inapt attempts at bookkeeping, then crawled into bed. Reaching
over, she flicked off the bedside lamp and was immediately engulfed
in blackness. As so many nights before, an image came to mind. One
vexing likeness spurred her displeasure and had her wishing
ardently would disappear; yet at the same time, soothingly lured
her troubled thoughts into a blissful sleep.

* * *

She woke up to voices, not just ordinary
voices but frightened screaming voices. It took a full minute
before she could focus and think clearly before immediately leaping
from her bed and running to her door to see what all the commotion
was about.

As soon as the bedroom door swung open, a
blast of thick grey smoke assaulted her nostrils. Instantly, her
eyes began to sting, forcing her to close them and grope along the
wall outside of the laundry room toward the kitchen. It was no
better in there, however, at the least she could hear the girls as
they ran from the second floor.

Blindly, she reached the banister and
collided into another form. Due to the sobbing, she was able to
identify Judy London. “What's going on?”

“Fire!” the girl cried, trying to break free
of Laura and escape outside.

Laura's own natural impulse was to do the
same, but sanity thrust its logical presence through the fog of
sleep and confusion. Springing into action, she had the good sense
to ask before the girl disappeared out of the house, “Where is
everyone? Have they all made it out safely?”

“I don't know.” The girl was simply wailing
now, so Laura let her go and continued up the dark and smoky
staircase.

Calling out names, she managed to tumble upon
the room occupied by Jenny Fallon and Darcy Walker. “Hello! Is
there anyone in here?”

“Laura!” Darcy's voice could be heard through
the thickness. “Help me! I can't see or breathe.”

“It's all right, I'm here now.” Pure luck had
her reaching out and grasping hold of an arm at first shot.
“Where's Chantal?”

“In her crib. I can't see to reach her.”

Managing to govern the situation, Laura took
the teenage mother by the arm and steered her in the direction of
the staircase. “Stay to the wall, it will lead you out. I'll get
Chantal. Now go.”

Though the smoke seemed even thicker, and her
throat felt as if had swollen to a grapefruit size, she continued
further into the room. The heady particles of carbon filtering the
air were lethal and toxic to Laura's consciousness. More than once
she felt herself sway from dizziness. For the baby's sake she had
to remain alert.

What happened next, she actually heard before
feeling when a liberated beam from the ceiling above, came crashing
down to the floor below. One moment she was grasping along,
painstakingly slow, the next she was struck forcibly across the
forehead by debris falling freely from above. It knocked her off
her feet, but amazingly not unconscious. The burning beams provided
her with a temporary, if not cooling, path of light to Chantal's
crib.

Finding the strength from nowhere, she leaped
across burning beams and reached over the rails of the infant's
bed. Grasping the blankets as well as the crying baby, she covered
her up then sprang from the room with raging flames licking her
heels. Miraculously, she escaped the burning room and blindly found
the staircase, trailing the wall until she felt the cool clear
evening air fill her lungs.

She heard Darcy cry, “Thank God, my
baby.”

Jenny Fallon along with another girl, Kelly
Matthews, came over to Laura's side. “Are you all right?”

Finding herself temporarily unable to speak
due to the lingering weight of the smoke in her chest, she simply
nodded.

Behind them, Poppy Ullman's voice began to
rise loudly in angry. “It's your fault, isn't it?”

“What's going on?” Laura demanded over a
hoarse throat.

“Ask Ingrid.”

“Shut up, Poppy.” The girl suddenly jumped to
her feet, her face becoming threatening as she glared at the other
girl.

“Make me!” The fourteen-year-old turned to
Laura, defiantly. “It's Ingrid's fault, she was—”

“I said shut up Poppy!” The dark-haired
Ingrid leaped forward and gave the girl a shove on the
shoulders.

“Ingrid!” Laura berated. “We do not use
physical violence to settle disagreements, and Poppy, snitching
will not right the wrong.”

“But—”

“Poppy,” she warned, with the single use of
her name. Then turning back to the older, unruly teenager. “Ingrid,
is there something you wish to tell me?”

The girl's eyes, outlined in thick black
eyeliner, softened momentarily before turning hard and shutting out
the emotion. “No.”

A feeling of disappointment touched her
heart. The girl had been with her for the past three months and in
that time, Laura felt she had been unsuccessful in helping her.

“Okay.” She turned away, to the disbelieving
cries of Poppy and concentrated on the sound of approaching fire
sirens.

* * *

“Keep the wound covered and clean for the
next couple of days and you should be fine, Miss Witherow.” The
doctor at the emergency room smiled down at her as he placed the
last gauge across her forehead.

She required a few stitches to close the
small gape she inherited during her escape, but otherwise, she and
the other girls all escaped unharmed. The only harsh damage befell
the house solely. She was painfully reminded she no longer had a
home for the girls, let alone herself. Thankfully, she had contacts
with many of the other homeless shelters in town and was successful
in supplying refuge for the night. During her run as a homeless
shelter, she often called upon the aid of another teenage shelter
for guidance, or another bed if she was short. The favor was often
returned and Laura had no qualms in sending the remaining girls
under their protection. Herself, she put aside to later. Unaware,
tears filtered her already tired eyes.

“Is there someone you would like to
call?”

“Pardon?” She looked up, surprised at the
doctor's concerned face.

“After an incident such as this, we highly
recommend you stay with family or friends.”

Her eyes focused on his kind face and she
waited for the usual flooding of loneliness to overcome her. To her
amazement, it never arrived and she found herself nodding her head
and following him out to the reception area. Over the counter he
handed her a phone, then giving her an encouraging smile, turned to
continue the care of his other patients.

Laura stared at the phone wondering where on
earth she got the notion that she had the right to phone him. It
was ludicrous, utterly stupid, and more than likely self-torment.
However, she found herself reaching out and dialing a number long
since memorized.

On the other end she heard one, two, three
rings before nearly hanging up. Common sense began to seep in and
the foolish deed regretted, until she heard the fourth ring cut off
in mid shrill and a gruff, sleepy voice answer, “Hello?”

She could not respond, feeling her throat
close and threaten to choke her with tears.

“Hello, is someone there?” This time his
voice came louder and more aggravated, the Dexter she knew.

“Dex-Dexter, it’s m-me, L-Laura.” Stuttering
and sounding completely stupid, she wished ardently that she never
picked up the phone.