Call Me Mrs. Miracle

by Debbie Macomber

  “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 Emily’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 in subordination.”

  “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. “I
s 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.

  Jake shook his head. “She’s our best sales associate by a mile, so if she goes, we might as well close down the entire department. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Dad?”

  J.R. hesitated.

  “And if we close the department, you won’t have a chance to prove how wrong I was by ordering five hundred Intellytrons,” he said, as if that should be sufficient inducement to keep her on staff.

  Emily suspected J.R. wanted Jake to fall flat on his face over this robot. He’d pay a high price for being right—and, as a matter of fact, he was dead wrong. She’d seen for herself how popular the toy was. She’d hoped it would be and had done her best to sell it. However, after the past twenty-four hours, she didn’t need to try very hard; the toy sold itself. Apparently, its sudden popularity had begun like so many trends, on the West Coast. Now, the moment someone heard that Finley’s still had robots in stock, they dashed over. Then they couldn’t whip out their credit cards fast enough.

  “I’d better stay,” Emily murmured to Jake. “As much as I’d like to walk away right now, I wouldn’t give your father the satisfaction.”

  J.R. stomped his foot.

  “Are you having a temper tantrum?” she asked sweetly.

  Jake only laughed. “Dad, I think it might be best if you went back to your office now. Or you could go home.”

  “This is my store and I’ll stay anywhere I darn well please.”

  Jake leaned closer to his father and whispered, “You’re scaring off my customers.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “We want customers, don’t we, Dad? Isn’t that the whole idea?”

  “Don’t get smart with me,” J.R. muttered.

  “Yes, Dad.” Jake winked at Emily, who winked back.

  J.R. must have caught sight of what they were doing. “What’s that about?”

  “What?” Emily asked, again the picture of politeness.

  “What?” Jake echoed.

  Seeing that he’d forfeited even the pretense of control, J.R. sighed. “Forget it.”

  “I can stay on, then?” Emily asked the store owner.

  “Why ask me? I seem to have lost complete control of this company to a man I no longer recognize—my son.” With that he marched toward the elevator that would deliver him to his private office on the fourteenth floor.

  Eleven

  People are funny. They want the front of the bus, the middle of the road and the back of the church.

  —Mrs. Miracle

  Holly knew she couldn’t postpone calling Bill Carter, since the boys wanted to get together two days from now. It would be petty to allow her awkward relationship with Bill to stand in the way of her nephew being friends with his son.

  The problem was how to approach him. She waited until Gabe was in bed on Wednesday night. Then she drew in a deep breath and looked up Bill’s home number, which she’d made a point of erasing from her mind—and her phone. She hated feeling nervous about this. It was a courtesy call and nothing more.

  Bill picked up on the fourth ring, when she was about to hang up, almost relieved he hadn’t answered. Then all of a sudden, she heard, “Hello.”

  “Bill, it’s Holly.”

  “Do you realize what time it is?”

  “Uh, yes… It’s nine-thirty. Am I calling too late?”

  He didn’t respond immediately. “I know why you’re calling and I—”

  “You do?” So all this angst had been for nothing. She should’ve noticed earlier how silly she was being, how badly she’d overreacted.

  “It’s about Tiffany, isn’t it?”

  “No…who’s Tiffany?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  Obviously she didn’t. “Sorry, I think we’re talking at cross-purposes here. I don’t know any Tiffany—well, other than the one I met through work. I’m calling about Billy.”

  “My son?”

  He sounded both relieved and worried, which confused Holly. “Listen, can we start over?” she asked.

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Just how obtuse was the man? “I don’t mean our relationship, Bill. I was referring to our conversation.”

  “Just tell me why you called,” he said, with more than a hint of impatience.

  “I’m trying to, but you keep interrupting me. This isn’t an easy phone call for me and your attitude’s not helping.” If Bill was a decent human being, he should understand this was difficult and appreciate the courage it had taken her to contact him. The fact that he didn’t angered her. “No wonder the two of us aren’t dating anymore,” she muttered.

  “Okay, fine. But what’s that got to do with my son?”

  She sighed loudly. “Since you haven’t worked it out for yourself, I’ll tell you. Billy and Gabe have become friends.”

  “Yeah? So what?”

  “Well, I—” Before she could answer his rudely phrased question, he broke in.

  “Wait a minute,” he said suspiciously. “How do you know my son’s friends with this kid?”

  The way he said it practically implied that Holly had been stalking his son. “That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard! I know because Gabe’s my nephew.”

  “So?”

  “So Billy wants Gabe to come home with him after school on Friday.”

  “Fine. And this concerns you how?”

  “I thought I should tell you we’re related.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re calling. Shouldn’t Gabe’s parents clear this with me? Not you.”

  Holly gritted her teeth at his offensive tone. What she’d ever seen in this man was completely lost on her now. At the moment, she was grateful he’d broken it off.

  “I have custody of Gabe,” she said calmly. She didn’t feel like describing how that had come about; it was none of his business—and besides, she wanted to keep the conversation as short as possible.

  “You have custody?”

  The question grated on her nerves. “Yes, me, and it’s working out very nicely, I might add.”

  “Ah…” Bill apparently hadn’t figured out yet how to react.

  Holly had no intention of allowing him to make any more derogatory comments about her mothering skills. She launched right into her question, not giving him a chance to say much of anything. “Is it still okay if Gabe comes to your house after school?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Do you have the same housekeeper looking after Billy as before?”

  The suspicious voice was back. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I don’t want Gabe visiting Billy if there isn’t any adult supervision.” The after-school program only went until five-thirty, and Bill was often home much later than that, which meant the part-time housekeeper picked the boy up and then stayed at the apartment to supervise him.


  “Oh, yeah, Mrs. Henry still looks after Billy from five-thirty to seven, except for the nights I have social engagements. Then she stays until I get home.”

  He seemed to delight in letting her know—in what he probably thought was a subtle fashion—that he’d started dating again. Well, she had social engagements, too, even if they mostly involved going out with friends, but was mature enough not to mention it. Let him think what he liked.

  Holly waited a moment, hoping he’d realize how juvenile his reaction had been. “Talking civilly isn’t so hard, is it?” she asked.

  “No,” he agreed.

  “Great. Now that’s settled, what time would you like me to pick Gabe up?”

  “You’ll pick him up?”

  “Would you rather bring him back to my apartment?” That certainly made it easier for her. Maybe he didn’t want Holly showing up at his house, but if so, she didn’t care enough to be offended.

  “I can do that,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he echoed.

  “What time should I expect you?”

  “Seven-thirty, I guess.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She was about to disconnect when Bill’s soft chuckle caught her off guard. “So Gabe’s your nephew, huh?”

  “I already told you that.”

  “You did. His last name’s Larson?”

  “Yes, Gabe Larson.” She didn’t see the humor in this. “I apologize for calling so late, but I thought it would be best if you and I talked when Gabe was in bed.”

  “Did you think I’d refuse to let the two boys be friends?”

  “I wasn’t sure. Our last conversation wasn’t very pleasant and, well, it seemed better to ask.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  She was glad to hear that because he sure hadn’t acted like it.

  Holly met Jake for lunch on Thursday. He’d called her at the office that morning and suggested a nearby restaurant; thankfully he’d insisted on buying. She might’ve sounded a bit too eager to accept, because she was sick of making do with leftovers. By cutting back, packing lunches and not spending a penny more than necessary Holly had managed to save seventy-five dollars toward the robot. According to her calculations, she’d have the funds to make the purchase but it would be close. Every cent counted.