asked him to help decorate the tree and Jake refused. The mere suggestion had distressed him. She hadn’t realized that the trauma of those family deaths was as intense and painful as if the accident had just happened. If it was this traumatic for Jake, Holly could only imagine what it was like for his father.
“Did you know Jake and his father leave New York every Christmas Eve?” Mrs. Miracle whispered.
It was as if the older woman had been reading her mind. “I beg your pardon?”
“Jake and his father leave New York every Christmas Eve,” she repeated.
Holly hadn’t known this and wasn’t sure what to say.
“Isn’t that a shame?”
Holly shrugged. “Everyone deals with grief differently,” she murmured. Her brother handled the loss of his wife with composure and resolve. That was his personality. Practical. Responsible. As he’d said himself, he couldn’t fall apart; he had a boy to raise.
Sally had been sick for a long while, giving Mickey time to prepare for the inevitable—at least to the extent anyone can. He’d loved Sally and missed her terribly, especially in the beginning. Yet he’d gone on with his life, determined to be a good father.
Perhaps the difference was that for the Finleys, the deaths had come suddenly, without warning. The family had awakened the morning of Christmas Eve, excited about the holiday. There’d been no indication that by the end of the day tragedy would befall them. The shock, the grief, the complete unexpectedness of the accident, had remained an unhealed wound all these years.
“He needs you,” Mrs. Miracle said.
“Me?” Holly responded with a short laugh. “We barely know each other.”
“Really?”
“We met last week, remember?”
“Last week,” she echoed, with that same twinkle in her eye. “But you like him, don’t you?”
“Yes, I guess I do,” Holly admitted.
“You should invite him for a home-cooked dinner.”
Funny, Holly had been thinking exactly that. She’d wait, not wanting to appear too eager—although heaven knew that was how she felt. And of course there was the problem of her finances….
“I’d like to have Jake over,” she began. “He—”
“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Jake said from behind her.
“Jake!” She turned to face him as his assistant moved away to help a young couple who’d approached the department. From the corner of her eye, Holly saw that the husband and wife Mrs. Miracle had greeted were pointing at the SuperRobot. Mrs. Miracle picked up a box and walked over to the cash register to ring up the sale.
“Holly?” Jake asked.
“I need to put Intellytron on layaway but Mrs. Miracle told me you don’t do that,” she said in a rush.
“Sorry, no. I thought you were going to use your Christmas bonus to purchase the robot this week.”
“I’m not getting one,” she blurted out. She was close to tears, which embarrassed her.
“Listen, I’ll buy the robot for Gabe and—”
“No,” she broke in. “We already talked about that, remember? I won’t let you.”
“Why not?”
“Because … I just won’t. Let’s leave it at that.”
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?”