A Miracle at Macy's

by Lynn Marie Hulsman

  Without stopping to tell Aunt Miranda or Henry that I’m going to set, I fashion my face into a smile, focus my mind on my story, and prepare to take care of everything.

  *****

  “In 5… 4… 3… 2… and –” the stage manager points, and Matt Lauer’s face springs to life.

  “In this next half-hour of the show, we have what we hope will turn into the feel-good story of the holiday season. If you don’t already know her from Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or other social media hangouts, please meet Charlotte Bell. Charlotte’s dog Hudson has become something of a sensation here in New York City this Christmas time, and we’re here to give you the straight talk. Welcome, Charlotte.”

  “Thank you, Matt.” I remember to sit up straight, not to touch my clothes, and to keep talking to Matt as though no one else were around. The stage lights above me feel like a tanning bed, and I have to squint to see the faces of the audience with the dimmed house lights. They flash the picture of Hudson and Ruby up on a giant screen behind us as Matt tells the story of my dog gatecrashing the photo shoot. When the picture appears, the audience dissolves into a chorus of “awws.”

  “Now, Charlotte, is it true that lots of folks think this whole ‘lost dog thing’ is a scam? A ploy to separate people from the money in their wallets?” I don’t like where this is going. Vijay told me to stay in control.

  “I’ve heard that, Matt,” I say, shocked at the confident tone of my own voice. “And I’m here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “We have a surprise guest on the line to illuminate this story. Ruby,” he says to the ether. “Are you with us?”

  “I’m here, Matt. G’day Charlotte. I just want to share that I believe one hundred percent that the little doggie who appeared in the photos with me was a stray. I’d have taken him home to Australia and kept him forever had my knucklehead of a little brother not turned his back and let the little fella wander off.”

  “Those were beautiful photos, Ruby. Just gorgeous, and reminiscent of the season.”

  “I just wish you all the luck in the world, Charlotte. And here’s an offer I’d like to make in front of God and everyone: When that doggie gets turned back in, I’ll do a shoot with him and donate all the proceeds to the animal rescue charity of your choice. Good luck, M’dear!”

  “That was supermodel Ruby, weighing in on the side of Charlotte here. That number you see on your screen there at the bottom is for your local animal shelter, and we’re going to put up some national numbers later in the program. Watch for those. Back to you, Charlotte. Before now, has Hudson ever escaped or run off? Have you ever lost him in a huge crowd?” A photo of Hudson when he was a puppy, and first came home to me flashes up on the huge screen. Again, the audience makes appreciative noises, louder and higher this time.

  “I’m a food blogger and a recipe tester. To be honest, I don’t leave my house all that much.” The audience roars with laughter. I turn to them in surprise. “I’m not trying to be funny, I’m just happiest at home with my hands in a bowl of dough.”

  Matt smiles at me, charmed. “Great, Charlotte, just great.”

  “We have one more guest, and this time, he’s here in person. Please welcome Officer Craig Curtis of the New York City Police Department.”

  Craig walks onto the stage, takes a seat next to me on the couch, and squeezes my hand.

  “Welcome, Officer Curtis. Can you tell me how you fit into what has become a very public story about a very small dog?”

  “Certainly Matt. I’ll start at the beginning. When I first laid eyes on Charlotte, I was suspicious. We see all kinds of things as cops, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person crying as hard as she was.” I get to relax and let my mind wander as he tells about the search and rescue efforts. Somewhere in the middle, they flash up a photo of big, burly Craig and his pack of tiny Yorkies that almost renders the audience apoplectic. I see Henry standing behind the cameras, biting his nails. He’s starting right at me, and I look away. When Craig reaches the end of the story, the video of him and the other police officers plays on the big screen, and the audience claps along. He gives me a big hug before he’s called off the stage, and whispers, “I’m rootin’ for you, babe,” into my ear.

  “Now, your parents must be very worried about you, given all the angry words and accusations, and gosh, even threats aimed at you on the internet.” He gives me a concerned look, and puts his fist under his chin.

  I swallow hard. “I never knew my dad, you see. And my mother, well, she died in a car crash when I was only 12.” The audience leans forward in their seats. I can hear murmurings of sympathy.

  “Would you say you’re pretty close with your dog, then?”

  I do what Vijay said I should do. I tell my story. “He’s my family, Matt.”

  I feel like I’m watching myself talk from above my own head, but I launch into the story of finding Hudson on the day that I found out Bridget died. I start to cry, but will myself to keep talking, flicking away the few errant tears that manage to escape.

  One of the largest cameras zooms forward for a close-up, and I hear it whirr as the lens extends. Off to the corner, I catch a glimpse of a stagehand wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. By the time I get to the end, I feel as though I’ve been talking forever. Matt is staring at me intently, brows furrowed. “So I’m asking, please. Bring Hudson back to me.”

  When I look up, I see Vijay punch the air and mouth “yes.” Aunt Miranda stands next to Penelope, wearing a rare look of approval. Henry stands off to the side, gazing at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the expression he’s wearing is one of pure love. But now I know. He’s a better actor than Vijay could have ever coached me to be.

  “That was beautiful, Charlotte. I think any doubters out there have been set straight.” Matt turns back to me. “So, can you tell the viewers what you want Santa to bring you this year?” The screen melts and suddenly the huge picture of me on Santa’s lap at Macy’s appears.

  “I just want my dog back, Matt.” I stare straight at Henry. “Nothing more.” His face dissolves into a stung expression.

  “I believe that might just happen, Charlotte! I’ll bet a lot of our viewers would like to lend a hand. I understand there’s a reward being offered for Hudson’s safe return?”

  “Yes, a cash reward.”

  “And I believe we have that amount and the number to call up on your screen right now.”

  “But Matt?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s more. If anyone brings Hudson back to me today, I’ll cook them a real feast. Homemade. It’ll be the best celebration dinner they ever had.”

  “Did you hear that, folks? Sounds very personal and special, from a girl who just wants her dog back home. Now, how will people find out the details?”

  “I’ve nothing left to hide.” I smile, and he smiles back. I feel buoyant when I take in a deep breath. “My life is now pretty much an open book. I’ll post details on the internet.” I laugh. “People sure know to find me there by now.”

  He laughs along with me. “Charlotte, this has been a delight. Once again, Charlotte Bell, the girl at the center of the controversy surrounding a lost dog at Christmastime. We’re all waiting to see what happens. Next up, how to spruce up your holiday bathrooms and leave them smelling like Christmas came early.”

  “And…we’re out,” says the stage manager.

  Aunt Miranda barrels forward and kisses me on both cheeks. “Brava, darling! And Penelope says you can keep the clothes. We’re tweeting a gif of you in the outfit, sponsored by Macy’s. It’s a win-win. Must dash. Glad we could do this. I’m so proud.” She’s halfway across the studio with Penelope scooting along behind her carrying all the garment bags before she turns around, and makes a telephone shape out of her hand, and presses it to her ear. “Call you!” she mouths, and she’s gone.

  There’s a tapping on my shoulder, and I turn around to let Henry have it.

 
“I didn’t do it!” Vijay hollers, stunned, holding up both hands. “Sorry, automatic response. I have three brothers, and that’s the look my mum would get on her face when something was broken.”

  “Sorry, Vijay. I thought…I thought you were someone else.”

  “Never mind. I just wanted to say congratulations before I have to go pick up my cab. You did everything to perfection. Those tears looked real.”

  “They were real,” I tell him, taken aback.

  “It was brilliant. You couldn’t have paid for better publicity. The call from Ruby, the real New York cop. I’d wager you’ll have your dog back before sundown.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Vijay. I cannot believe you showed up at this hour to support me.”

  “I’m a comic and a taxi driver. Day is night, and night is day. Besides, you don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you! This is one of the best days of my life. I have invitations to send my tape to CBS and to Miranda Nichols of Nichols Bespoke. That’s like, five years’ worth of dues taken care of in one morning. You are a star.” He leans in and hugs me. I’m proud that I don’t even flinch. I’m getting more and more used to this kind of thing.

  A young man comes up and starts untaping the microphone from the back of my neck, and gently fishing the wire out from the back of my shirt. While I’m standing there, arms out, like a gingerbread woman, Henry approaches. “You were brilliant,” he begins.

  Once I’m released from the mic cords, I begin walking.

  “Charlotte.” Henry says, trying to catch up with me. I walk faster. “Charlotte!”

  I turn on my heel. “You can go back to work now. Your job here is done.”

  I hold my head high as I stride to the Green Room to gather my coat and bag. I concentrate on performing one task at a time, like Vijay coached me. Walk to room, pick up coat, exit to street, hold arm up to hail cab, climb in and shut out the world.

  The first tear doesn’t come until we’ve pulled out into traffic.

  *****

  “Stand aside boys,” the round man from 2R says to the milling and seething Corgi pair. “The park will still be there when we arrive. No need to knock our neighbors over. Can’t you see the lady wants to get up the steps? By the way,” he says to me, “I should introduce myself since I already know you’re Charlotte.”

  I set down my bags, careful not to crush either of the low-to-the-ground dogs.

  “I saw you on The Today Show this morning. I wondered where you had been. I haven’t seen your lights on in days.”

  It had never occurred to me that my neighbors noticed my comings and goings. I’d always been fairly certain I was invisible. He continued, oblivious to my surprise. “I’m Skip. Skip Fleming. I’m really sorry to hear about Hudson. Is there anything I can do?”

  Normally, I’d just say, “no, thank you” and move on as fast as possible. But there was something he could do. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, it would be great if you could post about Hudson being missing on Facebook or Twitter. That is, if you’re on social media.”

  “Oh, I’m on all right. I belong to a whole slew of online Corgi-lover groups. I’ll be happy to spread the word.”

  “Also, could I slide a flyer under your door? Maybe you and the boys could show it around the dog park?”

  “I can do that. I’ll also bring it to my Swingin’ Seniors Group tonight.” I must have a horrified look on my face, because he quickly says, “Not that kind of swinging. We dance. I love the music from the ‘40s and it’s great exercise.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” I get an idea that makes me nervous, but I say it out loud anyway. “If you want, I could bake you something in exchange. Or, if you don’t eat sweets, I could cook you something. I’m a pretty good cook.”

  “That’s what I hear from Irv and Frieda. They told me they’ve wanted to invite you out to dinner for ages, but they didn’t want to put you on the spot. Dylan! Quit that. There’s plenty of room for everyone if you two would just settle down.” He shakes his head fondly. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” As soon as he says it, his eyes fly open wide. “I’m so very sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me, Charlotte.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” I assure him. With great effort, I pick up all of my shopping bags, looping them over shoulders and wrists. Skip scrambles to open the heavy door for me. “And thanks again for offering to help.”

  “Knock if you need anything,” he says, trotting to keep up with his eager Corgi boys.

  I slide my key in the door, and turn the knob. I’m damp and breathless from dragging up what served as my luggage. I didn’t even have suitcases; the front desk had to supply me with an outrageous number of carrier bags to supplement the ones I got from Macy’s. I only hope I packed everything. I wanted to be in and out before Henry could even consider coming by.

  I laugh bitterly. I didn’t have to worry about that eventuality, it seems. Apparently Henry was more than happy to get back to work and put this whole chapter behind him.

  As I settle in, and unpack my bags, I’m struck to find that my apartment has a smell. I try to recall whether I’ve ever been away long enough to notice it. When you’re in your own home every day, your nose just gets used to it. I sniff, closing my eyes. I smell cinnamon, and yeast, and a touch of wet dog. I remember how I used to fuss at Hudson for coming in from the rain, and shaking off next to the furniture. I’d give anything to have him rub his muddy paws all over the rug right about now.

  Walking into the kitchen, I inhale again, trying to imprint the smell of my home onto my brain. Through some sort of trick of my mind, I recall Henry’s scent instead. Mossy, grassy, with a touch of earth. Close up, he smells like the air after a storm. Oh well, I tell myself, grabbing the milk from the fridge, I won’t be smelling that smell again. I might as well forget I ever did.

  I unscrew the cap, and sniff the milk to see if it’s still good. Surprisingly, it is, and the smell pops me back to the present. I make myself a cup of coffee, and take a few deep drinks as I walk around the apartment, heading nowhere in particular. I go to the window seat where Hudson naps in the early morning while I write. A few white dog hairs glint in a sunbeam. I sit down, and stare at my rug. I’m beginning to feel the fatigue from waking early, and all the emotion. What if I really don’t get Hudson back? For the first time since all this started, I feel like I could go on. It’s the way this all happened that’s so terrible. To just have someone go missing means you can never rest. To lose Hudson this way would mean there would be no closure. Losing loved ones is a part of life, but having it happen this way is particularly cruel.

  Before I realize it, I’m dialing Aunt Miranda’s number. To my surprise, she picks up. “Hello, darling. Any word on Hudson?” I’m touched that that’s the first thing she asks me.

  “No, nothing yet. But I just got home. I haven’t even switched on the computer.”

  “Anyone with information will call the phone line we had set up, so you don’t need to be right on top of it. Give your nerves a rest. Henry will let me know if there’s news. Hold on a minute. No, you cannot substitute polyester napkins for cotton ones. Were you born in a barn? Sorry about that, Charlotte.”

  “I should let you get back to work.”

  “It’s fine. These monkeys need to learn to figure things out on their own sometime. Now, you called for a reason. What did you need?”

  “I forget. We can talk later.”

  “We can, and we will. But we’re on the phone now, so we may as well talk. Listen Charlotte,” she says, clearing her throat. “I meant to phone you myself but the day got away from me. I wanted to tell you that I thought you did a very good job on the show this morning.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Miranda.”

  “That story you told.” She clears her throat again. “I suppose I knew some of it, but I didn’t know it that way. Your way, I mean.” There’s a long silence.

  “I wasn’t sure if I could tell it.”

&
nbsp; More silence.

  “I wish you had told me. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Everything, really.” I hear her breathing. “I wish I’d done a better job. I wish I’d thought to fly you back to visit Bridget. I didn’t realize how important she was to you.”

  “I never told you.”

  “You were a child, Charlotte. I just didn’t know enough about raising a child. Hold on, darling. Do you not see that I am on the phone? Go ask Henry. I’m not to be disturbed. Go tell the others. Please. Excuse me. As I was saying, I wish I had done better. Just…just that. I wish I had done better.”

  My heart swells. Poor Aunt Miranda. “You did the best you knew how. And that’s good enough. Hey, look at me. I’m pretty great, wouldn’t you say?” I grin.

  “I would say. Listen, about that reward you offered. I’ll find you a venue.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I worry about you. I won’t forbid you to have a party in your own home. I see where that got Henry. But I will suggest you let me help you do this in a more public place.” She pauses. “Let me help.”

  There was a time when I would have just said no straight away. As if it would have cost me something. “All right,” I tell her, heart open. “That sounds nice. Aunt Miranda, you know I didn’t reveal all those things to hurt your feelings, don’t you?”

  “Of course, darling. I doubt that what you did was easy. As I said, I’m proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of myself.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me rethink Christmas dinner. Surely I can juggle this and that, and put a few people in charge. The mayor won’t miss me if I duck out for a few hours, surely. I can’t make a blood promise, my dear, but I don’t want you to be alone over the holidays.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good. Now, was there anything else before I hang up?”

  “Yes, one thing.” I swallow hard. “I love you, Aunt Miranda.”

  “Oh,” she says, “I love you too, my darling.”