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Dexter O’Reilly made it impossible for her to so much as like him, let alone be grateful toward him. He was rude, obnoxious, unsympathetic and above all—a hero. No matter how hard she tried, she could not bring herself to dislike him. Without being able to describe it, he was to blame for her present melancholy state and feeling of loneliness.
Idly strolling down the hall, she stopped inside the sitting room. Against the bay window stood an old antique bureau where a colorful miniature village was gaily lit. Tiny figurines of mothers, fathers, and children were historically dressed for the cold Christmas climate, their faces beaming of joy and love.
The village had belonged to her mother. Each piece collected over the years she was alive. It was her favorite collection. Carl Witherow had left the home completely as his late wife had left it on her deathbed. Not wanting to change a single thing. Each Christmas they pulled out her decorations and hung them as she had done years before. Visual memories of her mother graced the walls in honor of her memory and in doing so, Laura never forgot the image of her mother.
The night before, she left the lights of the village burning brightly, so when she arrived home from the party, alone, the Christmas spirit would remain. With a despondent sigh she reached over and flicked off the large black switch. The festive lights blinked off leaving the shop windows dark and bleak. Reminiscent of her heart.
Still, she hadn't spent Christmas Eve alone, though she could think of plenty more pleasant ways of spending it, and she was alive today. For that, she was grateful. But, oh, how he made it so difficult!
Determination gripped her suddenly. She had been given a second chance, a second chance at life. With a sudden surge she realized it was time she picked up the shattered pieces of her life and try to get on with it.
Quite frankly, as she felt her car go off the road, she felt a sense of resolution. She almost welcomed death. In matters of only hours, her life suddenly had meaning once more. For the first time in months she sincerely believed that, yes, she could live on without her beloved father.
What plans she decided to make and follow in the future would need to be thought thoroughly through. For some uncertain reason she knew getting another chance at life, would not come again.
* * *
The day was especially hot for late August as Laura swiped yet another strand of hair from her sweaty brow. It had been eight months since her brush with death. In those eight months she decided to make use of her education and follow a desire she had always had before her father's death, to work with troubled teens. Her inheritance was a godsend, leaving her doors open and choices to make. The choice she decided in the end was to transform her home, which she had shared so lovingly with her parents, into a shelter for troubled teenage girls. Hoping the homey environment would help make the teenagers feel welcome and safe. With her educational training she was able to hold group meetings which included group counseling. At present, Laura found the program to be successful.
More than half of the teenagers were sent from the Family and Children’s services, however a vague number were young offenders on probation. For the teenagers who visited her shelter, the majority discovered their problems weren't as big as themselves and they were worth dealing with. Many went back home to anxious parents, but the odd one Laura knew had no home to return. To those, she reinforced they would always have a home at the shelter. Then when the time arrived, she would help them with the next stage of their lives. At present though she allowed them to be teenagers, reinforcing responsibility with unconditional love.
This decision in Laura's life left her completely fulfilled and happy with her choices. But, as any new small organizat
ion, there were some drawbacks. Namely, the cost. For the past few months she relied on an annuity her father left behind, which arrived on a monthly basis and helped supplement her expenses. However, as teenagers came and went minor damages were left behind as reminders of their stay, as well as the unexpected, Laura’s bottom dollar had unwillingly been thrown into the negative.
To make matters worse, a bleak hindrance arrived in the post the morning before when the federal funded grant which she had applied for at the outset had been declined. Early on, she came to the realization she would not be able to supply all required provisions and setbacks on her tiny inheritance.
Such as the alternator on the aging van she presently attempted to fix. Grimacing, she fiddled with a thing-a-ma-jib and was rewarded with a splat of some type of black oozy oil across her already dirty plaid shirt. With a defeated sigh, she admitted she knew absolutely nothing about vehicles. After she lost her pretty little Chrysler to Hungry Hollow gorge that Christmas morning, Laura took the insurance money and purchased this eight seater van.
It was perfect with her plans to transfer her three-bedroom home into a shelter for homeless teenage girls. The house could easily sleep eight, including herself, and when the situation called for it, she was able to transport all seven girls in the van.
However, at present, she was at nine occupants if you included Darcy's four-month-old baby. They arrived five weeks before. Her parents refusing to acknowledge their fifteen year-old daughter's pregnancy and after attempting to live with an abusive boyfriend, Darcy ended up one rainy night on Laura's doorstep, baby in tow. They were given a clean change of clothes, a warm bed for the night, and had not left since.
Unfortunately, however, Laura discovered the cost of formula would not help matters with her meager rations. She had pointlessly been depending on the much-needed federal grant, which now would never be arriving. But she would not give up, she had to find the money and somewhere fast.
Conditions were getting dire. The roof needed to be replaced, the washing machine groaned it's last that very morning, and the upstairs bathroom had plumbing problems. On top of all that, winter was coming and the cold months ahead would drive the thermostat higher. Which meant Laura could face higher medical bills rather than heating bills if all the girls came down with illnesses.
She simply had to find someone who felt her shelter was worthy of an investment. She attempted, thus far, without any luck. Six companies turned her down flat. Tomorrow she had an appointment with the seventh. She crossed her fingers, praying her fortune would turn.
* * *
The following day, Laura drove into the business sector of Bracebridge and parked in front of a tall-story building. Gazing up at the blue and white sign, she read Britten Investment and Financial Group. She had an awful forbidding ache in the pit of her stomach, but immediately quenched it remembering the innocent faces of the teenage girls at the shelter. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the cement walkway leading to the entrance of the building.
Immediately in the entrance was a huge circular desk with an elegant woman somewhere in her late forties seated behind it. Laura approached the receptionist with as much professionalism as she could project, and announced herself. “My name is Laura Witherow. I have an appointment with Mr. Virgil Britten.”
The older woman smiled politely up at her. “If you go down this hall to the right, there is a set of elevators. Take them up to the tenth floor. You'll be expected there.”
She thanked the woman then followed her directions. The corridor floor was long and elegantly fashioned in red marble with large black diamond eyes peering up at her. Its surface so smooth, Laura found herself carefully watching her step hoping her pumps would not give way from underneath her.
After she rounded a bend of wild ferns she came across the full-length mirrored covered elevators doors. Taking the opportunity, Laura quickly checked her reflection for any untidiness before pressing the red button glowing against the wall.
Up on the tenth floor she was faced with a long carpeted hallway, lined with offices, stretching both ways across the elevators. With surprising assuredness she turned right down the hall, recalling a time before when a decision to turn left landed her on the rocky edge of a ravine.
She was startled at the unexpected comparison. It had been a long time since she thought about that incident. A time she kept firmly in the back of her mind. Dexter O'Reilly was a man she cared not to think of twice. After the accident, she had more than her share of thoughts of him.
Many, many times she had an urge to drive by the Sunny Meadows grocery just to get a glimpse of him. She convinced herself it was simply to thank him for rescuing her and closing that chapter of her life. She even went so far as going into the shop one day. A quick perusal brought up no familiar faces so she quickly snatched up a head of lettuce, purchased it, then swiftly fled from the store. She never returned since.
Since then she firmly set the man and the incident from her mind. He had not wanted her gratitude and so Laura simply had to accept this, whether she agreed or not. She wasted enough time in her life she wasn't about to waste anymore. Chasing down a man who obviously did not want to be chased would have been fruitless.
