Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge

by Peggy Ann Craig

  “In the report, I’ve listed both your income and expenses. Of course, this does not include the donations you received at your charity event, but at the moment I entirely suggest you don't spend that money, instead invest the funds and produce as much return on the dollar as long as possible.”

  His professional demeanor was quite effective in cooling Laura’s cheeks, for which she was grateful. It was humiliating at being caught fantasizing about the man. Drawing herself out of her musings, she focused on the importance of properly maintaining her accounting records.

  From a nearby printer, he retrieved the complex document simply by selecting a key. Laura silently marveled at the intricate processing of the technical apparatus. Apart from the programs that were a requirement in university along with a Facebook page she hardly used, she knew very little about computers. Selecting the right icon for Dexter had been a fluke. They just had never been her strong suit. But in today’s day and age, with the use of the internet and instant access to data and facts, she knew really ought to. Maybe she could get him to teach her. Then she scoffed at herself. Right, he begrudgingly was teaching her how to administer her own bookkeeping, she doubted he could care whether she knew the intricate details of operating a computer.

  He dropped a colored sheet in front of her, followed by another. “Here is a balance sheet summarizing both your assets and your liabilities. In other words, what you owe and what you own. To get a better understanding of your net worth, I designed this pie chart which will show you the percentage breakdown of your assets and liabilities.” He shuffled in his chair so she could get a better view. “As you can see, the difference isn't that great now. But I can guarantee you in a years’ time, tops, this red portion, which represents the liabilities to the house, will increase.”

  “Unless I do something about it?”

  He sat back in his chair and stared hard across at her. “You won't give up this absurd idea and close the shelter?”

  “No.”

  “You're going to lose your home—your father's home.”

  “I won't. I'll never let that happen,” she boldly stated, entrusting the care entirely upon herself. There was no one else. She was alone in this world, and she better not forget it.

  Dexter shook his head, obviously in disagreement, however he pushed himself back into an upright sitting position and said, “Then we shall continue. You'll need to keep track both of your accounts payable, accounts receivable, as well as any job, projects, or client costs you endure. Keep up-to-date income statements and balance sheets. This is very important, you must be monitoring the bottom dollar at the end of each month. If you're careful, you'll be able to break even before you declare bankrupt. Now, you don't have any employees down at the shelter do you? No payroll records to keep track of?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Okay, good, let's move on.” He pulled out some brochures and flyers and laid them out in display for her. “These are our best investments. I highly suggest anyone of them, but it is up to the customer entirely. If you want your money in a high-risk stock than I suggest this one, if you want semi-risk, non-risk, it goes on down the line from there. You make the choice.”

  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.

  “Laura?” His voice changed immediately, surprising her by becoming edged with concern. “What's wrong?”

  “There was a fire—”

  He swore. “Where are you?”

  “At the hospital—”

  The phone in her hand went dead. She stared at it dumbfounded. Then noticing the inquisitive look of the nurse sitting behind the counter, she foolishly hung up the receiver. Embarrassed, she wanted nothing more than to be by herself and wallow in her self-pity. How could she have allowed herself to be so gullible? She knew she was alone in the world and had come to face the reality of that fate.

  But tonight, feeling utterly vulnerable, she made the mistake in believing maybe, just maybe, she no longer was. It had all been wishful thinking on her part, she realized, and like a blithering idiot she acted upon it.

  Not wanting to dwell on the thought further, she turned them in another direction. The sight of her family home with blazing flames soaring from the rooftop came back to haunt her. She closed her eyes to the vision but could not blot out the image. Every memory, every moment of her childhood went up in the inferno and all she could do was sit back and watch it happen. She felt powerless as she felt the last semblance of her being, disappear. It hardly seemed fair, time had taken her father, now, mercilessly, it took her home.