A Christmas Message Page 24

He frowned but reluctantly agreed. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”

  “That’s the way it has to be.”

  “At least let me hold one for you,” Jake said before she could compose herself enough to ask.

  “You can do that?”

  Jake nodded. “Sure. I’ll set one aside right away and put your name on it. I’ll tell everyone on staff that it isn’t to be sold. How does that sound?”

  She closed her eyes as relief washed over her. “Thank you. That would be perfect.”

  “Are you all right now?” He placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

  “I’m fine. I apologize if I seem unreasonable.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” Holly wasn’t convinced she could explain it herself. She just knew she had to do this. For Gabe, for Mickey...and for herself. The robot had become more than a toy. It was a symbol of her commitment to her nephew and her desire to give him the Christmas he deserved.

  She saw that the department was busy and she was keeping Jake from his customers. “I have to get back to the office,” she said.

  He grinned. “Next time maybe you could stay longer.”

  Holly smiled back. “Next time I will.”

  “I’ll call you. You’re in the phone directory?”

  She nodded, hoping she’d hear from him soon. “See you, Jake.”

  “See you, Holly.”

  As she walked toward the elevator, Mrs. Miracle joined her. “Mr. Finley suggested I take my lunch hour now,” she said as they stepped into the empty car together. “What I feel like having is fried chicken.”

  “Fried chicken,” Holly echoed. “My mother, who was born and raised in the South, has a special family recipe but she hasn’t made it in years. I can’t even remember the last time we ate fried chicken.” In this age of heart-healthy diets, her mother had focused on lean, low-carb meals.

  “A special recipe?” Mrs. Miracle murmured. “I’ll bet it was good.”

  “The best.” Now that she thought about it, Holly figured she might have a copy in her kitchen. “Mom put together a book of family recipes for me when I left home. I wonder if she included that one.” Fried chicken was the ultimate comfort food and would make a wonderful dinner when she invited Jake over—sometime in the new year.

  “She probably did. That sounds just like her.”

  “You know my mother?” Holly asked, surprised.

  “No...no, but having met you, I know she must be a very considerate woman, someone who cares about family and traditions.”

  What a lovely compliment. The kind words helped take the sting out of her employer’s refusal to give Holly a Christmas bonus. Lindy Lee was a modern-day Scrooge as far as Holly was concerned.

  That evening, as dinner heated in the microwave, Holly searched through her kitchen drawers for the notebook where her mother had written various recipes passed down through her family.

  “What would you think of homemade fried chicken for Christmas?” Holly asked Gabe. It wasn’t the traditional dinner but roast turkey with all the fixings was out of her budget now. If Gabe considered her fried chicken a success, she’d serve it again when Jake came over.

  “I’ve had take-out chicken. Is that the same?”

  “The same?” she repeated incredulously. “Not even close!”

  “Then I’ve never had it.” He shrugged. “If it’s not frozen or out of a can Dad doesn’t know how to make it,” Gabe said. “Except for macaroni and cheese in the box.” He sat down at the computer and logged on to the internet, preparing to send an email to his father, as he did every night. He hadn’t typed more than a few words when he turned and looked at Holly. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

  “Leftover Chinese. You okay with that?”

  “Sure.” Gabe returned to the computer screen.

  Ten minutes later, he asked, “Can you invite Jake for Christmas dinner?”

  “He won’t be able to come.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s going away for Christmas.”

  Gabe was off the internet and playing one of his games, jerking the game stick left and right as he battled aliens. “Why?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I will.” Apparently he’d won the battle because he let go of the stick and faced her. “You’re going to see him again, right? You want to, don’t you?”

  Even an eight-year-old boy could easily see through her.

  “I hope so.”

  “Me, too,” Gabe said, then added, “Billy wants me to come over after school on Friday. I can go, can’t I?” He regarded her hopefully.

  The boys had obviously remained friends. “I’ll clear it with his dad first.” Holly had been meaning to talk to Bill before this. She’d make a point of doing it soon, although she wasn’t looking forward to contacting him.

  The good news was that she’d found the recipe in her mother’s book.

  Fried Chicken

  (from Debbie Macomber’s Cedar Cove Cookbook)

  The key to crisp fried chicken is cooking at a high temperature.

  Stick a candy or deep-frying thermometer in the chicken as you fry to make sure the oil temperature remains between 250º and 300ºF.

  1 whole chicken (about 3 1⁄2 pounds), cut into

  10 pieces

  1 quart buttermilk

  2 tablespoons Tabasco or other hot sauce

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  Salt and pepper, to taste

  2 large eggs

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  1⁄2 teaspoon baking soda

  Vegetable oil or shortening

  Rinse chicken. In a large bowl or resealable plastic bag, combine buttermilk and Tabasco. Add chicken pieces, turn to coat. Refrigerate, covered, for at least 8 hours and up to 16, turning the pieces occasionally. Remove chicken from buttermilk; shake off excess. Arrange in a single layer on large wire rack set over rimmed baking sheet. Refrigerate, uncovered, for 2 hours.

  Measure flour into large shallow dish; whisk in some salt and pepper. In a medium bowl, beat eggs, baking powder and baking soda. Working in batches of 3, drop chicken pieces in flour and shake dish to coat. Shake excess flour from each piece. Using tongs, dip chicken pieces into egg mixture, turning to coat well and allowing excess to drip off. Return chicken pieces to flour; coat again, shake off excess and set on wire rack.

  Preheat oven to 200ºF. Set oven rack to middle position. Set another wire rack over a rimmed baking sheet, and place in oven. Line a large plate with paper towels. Pour oil about 1⁄2 inch up the side of a large, heavy skillet. Place skillet over high heat; let pan warm until oil shimmers.

  Place half of chicken, skin-side down, in hot oil. Reduce heat to medium and fry 8 minutes, until deep golden brown. Turn chicken pieces; cook an additional eight minutes, turning to fry evenly on all sides. Using tongs, transfer chicken to paper towel–lined plate. After draining, transfer chicken to wire rack in oven. Fry remaining chicken, transferring pieces to paper towel–lined plate to drain, then to wire rack in oven to keep warm.

  Serves 4 to 6.

  Chapter Ten

  May you live all the days of your life.

  —Mrs. Miracle

  Emily Merkle smiled to herself. This latest assignment was going well. She enjoyed the ones that took place during the Christmas season most of all. She hadn’t expected the romance between Jake and Holly to develop quite this quickly, so that was a bonus. Those two were very good together—and good for each other.

  She attached her name badge to her sweater and hung her purse in the employee locker, then headed up to the toy department. She’d grown fond of Jake Finley. He was a kindhearted young man, a bit reserved, to be sure, but willing to take a risk he believed in. The robots were one example of that, his purs
uit of Holly another.

  Walking toward the elevator, she saw J. R. Finley, who’d just come into the hallway. He stopped, and his eyes automatically went to her badge.

  “Mrs. Miracle,” he said thoughtfully. He seemed to be mulling over where he’d heard it before.

  “Mr. Finley,” she said in the same thoughtful tone.

  “To the best of my recollection, we don’t have an employee here at Finley’s named Miracle.”

  Emily was about to identify herself, but before she could, J.R. continued.

  “I pride myself on knowing the name of every employee at the Thirty-Fourth Street Finley’s. Including seasonal staff.” He narrowed his eyes. “Just a minute. I remember my son mentioning you earlier.”

  “The name is Merkle,” Emily told him. “Emily Merkle.”

  Finley shook his head. “Can’t say I’m familiar with that name, either.”

  “If you check with HR, I’m sure—”

  “You’re working with my son in the toy department, aren’t you?” he said abruptly.

  Emily frowned. “Are you always this rude, or are you making an exception in my case?”

  He blinked twice.

  He was used to everyone kowtowing to him. Well, she wouldn’t do it.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Emily met his look boldly. “I was saying something, young man.”

  J.R.’s head reared back and he released a howl of laughter. “Young man? My dear woman, it’s been a long time since anyone referred to me as young.”

  Compared to her, he was practically in diapers. “That’s beside the point.”

  He seemed confused.

  “As I was saying,” Emily continued politely, “if you care to check with HR, you’ll find that I was hired last week as seasonal help.”

  “Only last week?” J.R. smiled at her. “That explains it, then.”

  “It does, indeed.” She started down the hallway and was surprised when J.R. kept pace with her.

  “You are working with my son, correct?”

  “Yes. The toy department is extremely busy this time of year, as you well know.” She glanced pointedly at her watch, wanting him to realize she should be on the floor that very moment.

  “My son made a huge error in judgment by ordering five hundred of those expensive robots.”

  She was puzzled by his willingness to discuss business—and family—matters with a short-term employee. But she couldn’t let his comment go unchallenged. “You think so, do you?” she asked mildly.

  He gave her a startled look, as if no one had dared question his opinion before. “I know so,” he insisted.

  Emily was curious as to why he felt Jake was wrong and he was right. “Please tell me why you’re so convinced your son’s about to fail.”

  “Good grief, woman—”

  “Call me Mrs. Miracle.”

  “Fine, Mrs. Miracle. Do you realize exactly how many of these... Intellytromps he needs to sell by Christmas? That’s less than two weeks from now. It’ll never happen.”

  “They’re Intellytrons.”

  “Tromps, trons, whatever. They won’t sell. Mark my words. It would take a miracle.” He grinned broadly, obviously thinking himself very clever.

  “You called?” she said, and laughed.

  J.R. apparently didn’t like the fact that she’d responded to his joke with one of her own. Instead of laughing, he scowled.

  “Never mind,” she said with a sigh. “I just wish you had more faith in your son.”

  He quickly took offense. “My son is my concern.”

  “He is your concern,” she agreed. “And your future. So it’s time you trusted his judgment.”

  She’d really ruffled his feathers now. He grew red in the face and puffed up like an angry rooster, his chest expanding. “Now listen here. I won’t have an employee talking to me as if I’m some messenger boy.”

  Emily stood her ground. “Someone needs to tell you the truth and it might as well be me.”

  “Is that so?”

  He sounded like a third-grader exchanging insults on the playground.

  “You need to give your son a bit of leeway to make his own mistakes instead of second-guessing all his decisions.”

  He opened and closed his mouth as if he couldn’t speak fast enough to say what was on his mind. He thrust out one hand. “Your badge.”

  So he intended to fire her. “You don’t want to do that,” she told him calmly.

  “I will not have an insubordinate employee working in my store!”

  “I’m temporary help,” she reminded him. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “I expect you gone today.”

  “Sorry, I’m afraid that would be impossible. You’ll need to reconsider.”

  Once again he couldn’t seem to speak. “Are...are you refusing to leave the premises?” he finally managed to sputter.

  “Jacob Robert, settle down. You’ve always had a problem with your temper, haven’t you? Now, take a deep breath and listen to me. You do not want to fire me this close to Christmas.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he growled. “And how do you know my middle name?”

  “Not in the least,” she said, answering his first question and ignoring his second.

  “I’m calling Security and having you escorted from the building. Your check will be mailed to you.”

  “Security?” The image of two beefy security guards lifting her by the arms and marching her outside was so comical it made Emily laugh.

  That seemed to infuriate him even more. “Do you find this humorous?”

  “Frankly, yes.” She wouldn’t lie; the man was insufferable. Oh, heavens, she did have her work cut out for her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your son needs my help.”

  His jaw sagged as she scurried past him and walked quickly to the elevator.

  As she suspected, the toy department was in chaos. Poor Jake was run ragged—thanks, in part, to his father, who’d taken too much pleasure in making her late for her shift. That man was about to meet his match. Emily Merkle was not going to let one overstuffed, pigheaded man stand in the way of her mission.

  She’d been on the floor for thirty minutes or so when J.R. unexpectedly showed up. When he saw how busy the department was, he did a double take.

  “Don’t stand there gawking,” Emily said as she marched past him, leading a customer to the cash register. Brenda and Karen, also on duty, were bustling around, answering questions, ringing up sales, demonstrating toys.

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Help,” she told him. “We could use an extra pair of hands, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Ah...” He froze, as if he didn’t know where to start.

  “That couple over there,” Emily said, pointing in the direction of the board games. “They have a three-year-old and a six-year-old and they’re looking for suggestions. Give them a few.”

  “Ah...”

  “Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open,” she ordered. “Get to work!”

  To his credit, J.R. rolled up his sleeves and dug in. J. R. Finley might know the name of every employee in his store—with minor exceptions, of course—but he was in way over his head when it came to recommending board games. To her credit, Emily kept her mouth shut.

  At four o’clock there was a slight lull. “Dad,” Jake greeted his father. “What brings you down here?”

  J.R. squinted at Emily but didn’t answer.

  “Whatever it was, I’m grateful.” He turned to Emily. “How many Intellytrons did we sell this afternoon?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Fabulous!” Jake couldn’t conceal his excitement.

  His father, however, looked as though he needed to sit down, put up his feet and have a cup of hot tea. In Emi
ly’s view, it would do the man good to work the floor once in a while. He might actually learn something that way.

  “I came to talk to you about this woman.” J.R. stabbed a menacing finger at Emily.

  “Ah, you mean Mrs. Miracle,” Jake said fondly. “She’s a wonder, isn’t she?”

  “She’s a nuisance,” J.R. snapped. “I want her fired.”

  Jake laughed, which was clearly the opposite reaction of what his father expected.

  “This is not a joke.”

  “Yes, it is,” Jake insisted. “Didn’t you see what a madhouse this place was? It’s like that every day now. I can’t afford to lose Mrs. Miracle.”

  Emily sauntered over to J.R.’s side and whispered saucily, “Told you so.”

  He shook his finger. “I don’t care if I have to work this department on my own,” he yelled, “I will not tolerate insubordination.”

  “Excuse me, Dad, I’ve got another customer.”

  “I do, too,” Emily said. “But you can keep standing there for a while. You make a nice fixture.”

  A kid of about five stepped in front of J.R. and stared up at him. “Is that a trick, mister?”

  J.R. lowered his arms. “What, son?”

  The boy was completely enthralled. “The way you get your cheeks to puff out like that.”

  Difficult though it was, Emily managed not to laugh. The boy was quite observant. J.R. had the puffing of cheeks down to an art form.

  Jake finished with his customer and hurried back to his father. “Dad, I am not firing Mrs. Miracle.”

  “No, you’re not. I am,” J.R. said. “It will give me great pleasure to make sure she never works in this store again.”

  “What did she do that was so terrible?” Jake demanded.

  “She insulted me and meddled in my personal affairs,” his father burst out.

  “How?” Jake asked, calm and collected. He was the perfect contrast to his father, who waved both arms wildly and spoke loudly enough to attract attention from every corner of the third floor.

  When J.R. didn’t answer, Jake shrugged and said, “Sorry, Dad, I need her.”

  Emily smiled ever so sweetly.

  “She’s out of here,” J.R. roared, making a chopping motion with his arm. She thought he resembled an umpire signaling a strikeout.