The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle Read Free

Summer’s fuzzy hair. She stroked it again as she dropped to a crouch. ‘How are you doing, sweetheart? Are you hungry?’
    The small girl shook her head.
    ‘Could you eat something? Some eggy soldiers, maybe?’
    Another head shake but Summer was smiling her gorgeous smile. Enjoying the attention. Saving her limited breath for something worth saying.
    ‘Soup? If I help you?’
    The smile widened and Summer nodded.
    ‘Chicken or tomato?’
    ‘Chicken.’ The word was a whisper. It was an effort to speak. An effort just to stay alive, really.
    ‘Good girl.’ Amy’s fingers sought a pulse in the matchstick wrist as she kissed Summer’s forehead. It was thready and too fast. As it always was. A quick glance at the regulator on the oxygen cylinder was a relief. The tank was still more than half-full and there was a new one in the bedroom upstairs. One less task to find time for. She gave her another kiss, this time concentrating on how the child’s skin felt under her lips. Was it a little too warm? She took off one of the blankets.
    ‘Zietta Amy!’ Angelo called. ‘Nonna wants to talk to you.’
    Amy took the phone, greeted her mother and then listened to a garbled version of how her grandmother was doing, how tiresome the journey had been with so many people traveling to be home for Christmas and how worried she was about all ‘her’ children.
    ‘We’re fine,’ Amy said when she could get a word in edgeways.
    ‘What are you feeding my bambinos ?’
    ‘Tonight it’s spaghetti and meatballs.’
    ‘And vegetables?’
    ‘Yes.’ Tomatoes counted as vegetables, didn’t they?
    ‘How’s Summer?’ There was a new note in her mother’s voice that went beyond the expected anxiety. Summer was their special one. Every day had to be treasured.
    Amy cast a glance back at the couch. Summer lay quietly, just watching. As she had been all day.
    ‘She’s happy. She wants chicken soup for dinner.’
    ‘Give her an egg. There’s more goodness in an egg. It’s her favourite. Mash up the egg and cut the crusts off the bread and—’
    ‘Chicken soup is good, too, Mamma. That’s what she wants tonight.’ Amy walked towards the pantry as she spoke, to get the can of soup while she thought of it. The pantry was vast. A relic from the days when this old house had had kitchen staff with scullery maids who would have used the old tubs in here to scour pans. Many of the shelves had nothing more than dust on them. Amy needed to find time to get to a supermarket. She had to get to work so she could pay for the groceries.
    ‘She’s too tired to eat? Is that it?’
    Amy’s hesitation said too much. Marcella Phillips clicked her tongue in distress. ‘ Dio , but I hate being away from her.’
    ‘I know, Mamma.’
    ‘She’s my little angel. How long is she being lent to us? This Christmas has to be the best. She’s in my prayers every day but—’
    ‘She’s on the list for a heart transplant. That would be the best Christmas present.’
    Amy put the can of soup on the bench and opened a drawer to search for a can opener. The bolognese sauce was bubbling enthusiastically. Bright spots of sauce were landing some considerable distance from the pot. The large pan of water beside it was finally coming to the boil. Amy dribbled some olive oil into the water, taking an anxious glance at her watch as she added a handful of salt.
    ‘I need to go, Mamma. It’s dinner time and I have to get ready for—’ Amy bit her lip but it was too late.
    ‘Ready for what, Amy Elisabetta? You’re not going to work tonight?’
    ‘I have to, Mamma.’ There was no point alarming her mother by telling her how empty their household account was. She would discuss it endlessly with Rosa and that would only make things worse. Rosa’s husband had left her penniless and this was the only home she had for now. The boys needed their mother at home for a little longer, not out working because she felt compelled to help support the