A Miracle at Macy’s: There’s only one dog who can save Christmas. Lynn Hulsman Marie

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СКАЧАТЬ Because I don’t have time for this. My dog is missing.” I stab at various keys on my computer, hoping that a technological miracle occurs so I can skip the whole Geek Squad appointment, and take action.

      “Erm, no. The nature of my phone call is to offer my services, not to apologize.” Then, with a slightly prickly tone, he says, “I wasn’t aware that I had anything to apologize for.”

      “You wouldn’t, would you?” My patience is wire-thin. “Listen, I have another call on hold, so goodbye…”

      “Wait! Ms. Bell, please,” he says.

      “It’s MISS Bell.” I’m aware that my mouth is a tight line. If I didn’t like this man before, I really didn’t like him now. “I have a call on the other line.”

      “Your Aunt, that is, Miranda asked me to ring you to see how I might help you find your dog. To start, I think we should report the animal missing.”

      “We? Since when are we ‘we?’ I’ve already reported him missing. Thanks for the inventive suggestion.” Great, this was her “machine”? Her right arm? Her mini-me? I’d do better hiring a tween with a smartphone and a bookshelf full of Nancy Drew Mysteries. “I’ve even filed police reports, if you can imagine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of an important phone call!”

      I click over to the Geek Squad.

      The girl is gone, and they’re playing a wordless jazz version of Close to You. I didn’t think it was possible for that song to get any sappier or more maudlin, but they made it happen. I drum my fingers on the desk. Geez, how long are they going to leave me hanging? I try to hang up so I can call back, but the other line is still engaged. I wind up clicking back to Henry, and he’s in midsentence. He is just like Miranda! She never listens when I speak on the phone either.

      “…given your fragility due to your parents early deaths, may I express my condolences, she felt that you might be a danger to yourself if your dog were to be found, pardon me, deceased and you were left alone.”

      Oh, no. No, no, no. I’d had enough pity back when I was twelve years old. Nonstop pity from everyone, starting with the police lady who gave me the news, to the social worker who was assigned to get me through the school term, to the air hostesses who watched me on the flight to America, to the head mistress of the boarding school where Aunt Miranda dropped me off that fall. It’s exhausting to be pitied. People want you to make it OK so they don’t have to feel worried for you, so they don’t have to consider that life is fragile and that terrible things could happen to them, too. It’s hard work being the object of pity. I had to nip this right in the bud.

      “Don’t worry about me,” I told him breezily. “I’m fine. Tell Aunt Miranda that she’s absolved. I am noting that she did something to help. She sent an assistant. Box checked. I’m officially releasing you from duty. She’s off the hook, and so are you. Have a nice day!” I hang up the phone, for real this time. If I didn’t need Aunt Miranda, I certainly didn’t need some random lackey who was being paid to be my fake friend.

      I switch back over to the hold music. They’re now playing a peppy Latin-inspired version of Toni Braxton’s Unbreak My Heart.

      “Geek Squad. Thank you for holding,” a voice says, breaking through the knock-off pop song. “We’ve considered your case, and we think the best course of action is to deploy remote crisis intervention.”

      “Wow.” I realize I’m no Steve Jobs, but that sounds intense. “Yes! I want that. Does that mean you’re coming here?”

      “Yes ma’am. We can launch a vehicle within the hour.”

      Launch? That’s taking their branding a bit too seriously, if you ask me. Unless they really are going to launch something.

      “Fine!” I concede. “Launch away.” I don’t even ask what this personalized service is going to cost me. It simply doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Hudson back. I give the Geek Squad rep all my details, and hang up.

      I can’t shake the itching feeling of needing to do something other than wait. I consider calling Craig to check on the police department’s progress, but I don’t want to slow him and Scrivello down. I know they’ll get in touch if they have news. Calling the shelters this early in the morning could backfire. If I interrupt while they’re getting to their desks and setting up for the day, they’re more likely to blow me off. I’ll call after the lunch hour, when people are in a good mood and more willing to go the extra mile. I can’t make flyers until my printer is fixed. I can’t go search on foot since I have to wait for tech support. There’s nothing to do but distract myself.

      I head to the kitchen and pull out the homemade pie-crust dough that’s been chilling since my Christmas Mince Pie operation got thwarted.

      Out of habit, I turn my vintage chrome-and-laquered radio’s dial to “on” to listen WNYC to listen to National Public Radio. Maybe it’ll take my mind off things.

      “…And if you’re just joining us today here on ‘Last Chance Foods,’ we’re talking with frequent guest food writer, blogger, and chef Melissa Clark. Today on the show, we’re discussing one-dish meals and holiday tables. Welcome, Melissa.”

      “Glad to be here, Amy.”

      Even though she’s decades her junior, Melissa Clark reminds me of Bridget, my parents’ cook. They both delight in all aspects of food: The sensual feel of it in the hands during preparation, the libertine delight of allowing something delicious to melt in the mouth, and the warmth and pride of sharing good food made well with delighted guests. When I was in cooking school, my favorite teacher said that I must have cooking in my blood. I remember nodding, unable to answer because of the knot in my throat. Bridget may not have been blood, but she was more family than my own kin in many ways.

      For a while, I’m able to push away the fear of never seeing Hudson again, and get lost in the rolling and pinching of my pie dough. Melissa Clark shares her secrets for simple, crowd-pleasing holiday hors d’oeuvres while I scoop spoonsful of the now-integrated mincemeat mixture into tiny, prepared tins.

      “Don’t be afraid to offer simple crudité,” Melissa encourages. “During the holidays, people are overwhelmed with rich, complicated meals. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them, too. I’m just advising you to let yourself off the hook so you’ll have time and energy to enjoy your guests.”

      “So not every dish has to come from the Cordon Bleu cookbook, am I right, Melissa?”

      “Absolutely.”

      While I listen, I’m soothed by the familiar actions of baking. A kind of zen rolls over me. When thoughts of Hudson push their way into my brain, I feel positive. I’ll have him back soon, I’m sure of it. This Christmas, I’ll make him a special savory pie made with chopped steak. He goes nuts for steak.

      I check the clock; there’s half an hour left until The Geek Squad is due.

      Since I have pie crust at the ready (Insider tip: I make and freeze enormous batches, storing the dough in patties suitable for single-crust and double-crust pies. When it comes to pie crust, very cold butter is the secret to flakiness.), and leftover roasted vegetables from testing a Sunday Lunch recipe from the cookbook, I roll out what I need to make a Deep Dish Winter Veggie-and-Egg Pie. My stomach is starting to growl, and this delicious recipe is the closest thing to ‘slow’ fast food that I can think of, apart from an omelet.

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