Page 43 of Christmas Treasures

Next came the toppings—thin slices of Italian sausage, colorful bell peppers, mushrooms, translucent rings of onion, and plump black olives. Bianca placed each with deliberate care, her small fingers arranging the ingredients into a colorful mosaic.

“My papa would be pleased,” Charlie said.

Bianca looked up, her eyes curious. “Dov’è il tuo papà?”Where is your papa?

“My papa’s in heaven.” Charlie pointed upward.

Bianca nodded solemnly, understanding in her young eyes. “Mamma and Nonna. Angeli.”

Charlie squeezed Bianca’s shoulder gently. “That’s right. And now it’s time to put this in the oven.”

Charlie slid the pizza into the glowing oven. The three of them stood together, watching as the edges began to rise and bubble, the cheese starting its lazy melt.

Her father used to say that the way to bond as a family was to cook together.What about found family, Papa? Do we bond that way too?

His answer seemed to come from the pizza itself, sizzling to perfection and filling the air with the heady scents of sausage, sauce, and yeasty dough. The smells of her childhood. Of her father.

11

MAX

His apartment was warm when they returned, pizza box in hand. The tree they’d dropped off earlier stood in the corner, looking somewhat pathetic. Perhaps this was a lesson in fatherhood. Giving his child the choice of trees, even though he would have left this one on thelot.

Charlie carried the pizza box to the coffee table, suggesting they eat before decorating the tree.

“Where’s Camilla?” Charlie asked.

He smiled, shaking his head. “My mother insisted on taking her into town to show her around.” In fact, he felt certain his mother had offered so that he could be alone with Charlie and Bianca. She was anything but subtle.

His thoughts drifted to Lucia. What would she think if she knew he had a new woman in his life? One who could possibly be Bianca’s new mother figure? Would she be angry?

He flashed back to one of Lucia’s last days before death had snatched her away from him. She’d grown so weak and thin by then that she could barely lift her head. The cancer had carved her down to bone and willpower. She looked like a shadow of herself, except for her eyes. Those were still sharp.

Max sat beside her as quietly as he could,not wanting to wake her.

Her eyes fluttered open. “You’re still here.” Her voice rasped like brittle paper.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “My Max. Always loyal.”

The room was dim, curtains drawn to keep the heat from escaping and just a bedside lamp turned on. The light hurt her eyes, she’d said to him last week.

Lucia reached for his hand with cold fingers. “There’s something I need from you.”

“Anything.”

“Bianca. She’s been my whole world since the moment she was born. I don’t want to leave her. But I know it’s coming.” Tears slid from her eyes. “It’s only days now. I can feel everything shutting down.”

Max leaned forward to dab gently with a tissue. “Don’t say it.”

“Rosella wants to take her home with her. To her village. But I’m worried. She’s old and without money to take care of a child. If something should happen to her, Bianca will be all alone. Who knows what will happen to her.”

Her hand tightened on his, surprisingly strong. “I’ll send her money, my love. Every month.”

“You’re going home, then?” Lucia asked. “After I’m gone?”

“Without you, this is no longer my home.” He’d not yet told her of his thoughts of home. Of how much he missed his family. If he lost her, which was inevitable, there would be no reason to stay in Florence. In fact, he didn’t know if he could live here without her. Lucia was Florence. Every corner, every street, had a memory.

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