Page 20 of Prognosis Bad Timing

CHAPTER THREE

BY FRIDAY lunchtimeCarrie was looking forward to escaping for two days. The drop-in centre was an intense place. It was full of drifting kids and angry young men and jaded-looking young women. It attracted the drugged, drunk, violent and abusive of all ages. Too many of the faces told a heartbreaking story about the chilling, gritty reality of life on the streets and below the poverty line.

Carrie had just tried to keep out of the way. Charlie had been right. It was utter chaos most days. A crazy three-ring circus. On steroids. It wasn’t her job to get involved. Her job was to complete a report for the hospital board on its riskiest enterprise. To establish the viability of the drop-in centre.

And it wasn’t looking good.

So for the rest of the week she’d stayed in the staffroom, tapping away on her laptop, sorting through mounds of paperwork, ignoring the various noises she heard from the other side of the door. The very loud music, the bad language, the punch-ups, the hysterical girls, the angry parents and the police.

She had also ignored the regular troop of sweaty boys and occasional girls in and out of her work area as she’d worked through lunchtimes. And the sounds of good-natured competition drifting in through the high windows from the court outside. Not to mention the tense exchanges that all too often broke out as recreation became serious.

But worst of all, the disturbing presence of Charlie as he teased, cajoled, laughed, pleaded, reasoned, flattered and coaxed his way into the hearts and minds of a bunch of tough kids living tough lives. It was clear he was well respected by the regulars. Her ears homed in on his strong authoritative voice each lunch-hour as he encouraged and mediated, pushing the teens to be their best.

It sounded just like the voice he’d used with her at the accident scene. Calm. Confident. Positive. Designed to get the most out of a person, the best out of a situation. It had put her at ease, made her feel — made her believe —she could do it. And combined with that crooked smile of his and his shaggy, unruly, surfer-dude hair that flopped endearingly into his eyes, it got results.

God knew, he’d managed to bring her back from the frightening grip of escalating panic.

The back door opened and startled her out of her reverie. The usual ragtag crowd jostled through the staffroom, laughing and joking, crowing over who’d won and who’d shot the most baskets.

Charlie and Joe trooped in after them. Joe grinned at her, gulped down a cold bottle of water from the fridge and burped loudly. ‘Needed that.’ He winked at her. ‘Gotta go, Charles. See you next week, Carrie.’

Carrie smiled. ‘See ya, Joe.’

She watched Joe leave the room and noticed how he signalled to Charlie with his index finger as if indicating the number one and then shot him a thumbs-up. Did he mean Charlie only had to put up with her for one more week?

Charlie rolled his eyes at his friend. ‘See you over the weekend.’

Carrie waited for the door to close. ‘If you think I’ll be done in a week, I think you’ll be disappointed. You are an incredibly bad bookkeeper.’

Chuckling, he said, ‘I know.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be funny,’ she said coolly. He was sweaty and hot, his fringe plastered to his forehead yet somehow his crooked smile was sexy as hell.

‘I know.’ He laughed again.

Carrie threw her glasses on the table in exasperation and got out of her chair to stretch her legs and back. ‘You know, Charlie, if you spent as much time with the books as you do on the basketball court, things wouldn’t be in such a mess.’

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