Fortune's Christmas Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Grandma Melton, much loved by all of them, and still a force in her eighties, would be at the party later, and spend the night to be there with them for Christmas morning, too. As would his mother’s parents.

  Yeah, they knew all of this. And that his dad had changed his name to Fortune so he’d sound more important and spent the first few years after college working his butt off at a financial services company and learning to blend in with his more affluent colleagues. It was through them that he’d met Sarah Barrington.

  “As you also know, when your grandparents asked about my family, I told them I was distantly related to the Fortunes of Texas.”

  But he’d told Sarah the truth, about his mother, about his name change, and his parents had told them all, individually, when they’d been called in to their father’s den for “the talk.” In the Fortune family that talk didn’t have to do with sex. It was the talk that let them know who and what they were, as a family, and as a member in the family. They’d heard the story. Alone, with just their parents, so they could be free to ask any questions, or express any feelings whatever they might be.

  They’d heard about how his father had made his first million by the time Austin was born, and how hard work and honest business dealings had built the Fortune empire they now all carried.

  Nolan had been ten when he’d had “the talk.” Austin had been eight.

  “My father never fought for me,” Miles said slowly. “When he found out Grandma Melton was pregnant he suggested that she terminate the pregnancy. Obviously she didn’t. She couldn’t even think about doing that. After I was born, he said he’d never acknowledge me as his son. And he told her she’d never get a dime out of him for support. Which she did not.”

  “I...”

  “What the...?”

  “I can’t...”

  “That’s horrible.” Nolan made out Savannah’s whole sentence. She was sitting right next to him.

  “I’m sorry.” Nolan waited until the room grew silent to speak. “I had no idea.”

  The rest of his siblings sat quietly now, pretty much dumbfounded, Nolan figured. Just like he was.

  He gave Savannah’s hand a squeeze.

  “There’s more,” Miles said, and Nolan’s gaze swung immediately back to him.

  “Your mother is the only one who knows this, other than Grandma Melton, but...it’s time,” he said, repeating the words that had started the bizarre turn this conversation had taken.

  Miles looked at Sarah, who, holding his hand now, nodded again.

  “I didn’t know the identity of my biological father until I graduated from college,” he said.

  Nolan’s jaw dropped. His dad knew who his dad was?

  Part of the whole talk was about him not knowing...about the hard times they’d had with Grandma Melton being a single mom in times when that was frowned upon and...

  He glanced around the table, needing his siblings for a second. They were all watching Miles.

  “It was probably clear to her at that point that I felt like I was going to have to work harder for less, that I was facing a life with fewer chances, because of being a nobody. She wanted me to be proud of the man I was.” He shook his head, looking older than Nolan had ever noticed. “I was a kid, didn’t get yet that the man you are is defined by your choices, about what you do, not about who sired you.”

  “Who’s your father, Dad?” Austin asked.

  Miles looked first at him, and then around the table at all of them. “I changed my name to Fortune because my father is a Fortune,” he said, pausing when every one of them gasped.

  What? Nolan wanted to blurt the word. He didn’t. He respected his father too much to give him an outburst when the man was clearly struggling and needed support.

  “His name was Julius Fortune. He was a wealthy stockbroker who lived in New York.”

  “Wait a minute...” Austin said, eyes wide. “The father of Jerome Fortune, from the Fortunes of Texas? He’s your father?”

  Everyone stared. Except Sarah. She nodded.

  Nolan was having a hard time taking it in. Questions shot off in his head, one after the other.

  “We’re really related to those Fortunes?” Belle asked, echoing one of his queries. “So...like...what—the Fortunes of Texas are our cousins or something?”

  “Yes, but they don’t know that,” Miles said in a rush. “Grandmother and Grandfather Barrington don’t even know. We’re nothing like those other Fortunes...”

  Nolan’s mind spun. The Fortunes had been in the news two years before as a reporter followed them around. Jerome Fortune, another one of Julius’s sons, had been living under an assumed name—as Gerald Robinson; he’d built a tech empire in Austin, Texas. And, like his father, he had fathered a lot of children—both legitimate and illegitimate. They’d been finding each other over the past couple of years.

  And one of them—an architect from England—upon finding out he was a Fortune, had moved to Texas to help his newfound brother find the rest of their siblings. That architect was Keaton Whitfield...

  “Lizzie has a roommate who is a fifth year architect student interning with one of Jerome’s illegitimate sons—Keaton Fortune Whitfield.”

  Every head swung his way. It struck him then that their guests would be arriving soon to find the host family sitting at the table with their mouths open staring at each other. Nolan couldn’t shake the mental picture.

  He’d like to find a way to edit himself out of it. But he was in too deep. Permanently in. This was his family.

  And he’d just brought the attention back to the fact that he, like his grandfather before him apparently, had sired an illegitimate child.

  “Nolan, you get yourself back to Austin and let that family you’ve started know that they are a loved and accepted part of this family. Find a way to get them home to us.”

  His father was demanding the impossible. This wasn’t the dark ages where he could go grab Lizzie and haul her off to his cave. But he’d just been granted the one thing he’d wished for for Christmas—a ticket back to Austin to be a part of Stella’s first Christmas. With his family’s blessing.

  “Can I take the private plane?” he asked his father.

  “Just make sure you have her on it with you when you come home,” Miles said.

  “And please don’t say anything about your father, about the Fortunes, until we’ve had a chance to let your grandparents know,” Sarah said, which was the official “this talk is over” signal.

  His six siblings started talking at once. All with questions directed at Nolan.

  But he stood up. He had a flight to arrange.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lizzie had a text from Nolan on Christmas Eve telling her that he’d arrived safely. She wished him a happy holiday.

  With Christmas music on, she and Carmela wrapped presents most of the evening, even wrapping up the things Nolan had bought for the baby that she hadn’t yet worn or used, so there’d be loads of packages under the tree for pictures. She wanted her little girl to know, when she looked at the photos of her first Christmas, that she was greatly loved and showered with gifts.

  She only had a couple of pictures of her own first Christmas but the tree had been overflowing, in spite of her parents’ modest lifestyle, and she’d known her entire life how much they’d celebrated her, loved her, wanted her. Those little gifts, sometimes just the socks and underwear she needed, had meant more to her than any of the fancy, expensive toys the Mahoneys had bought for her.

  Carmela got a call sometime after ten, and when Lizzie got up to turn down the music so she could hear, she shook her head and went back to her room. Stella, who’d fallen asleep in her swing, woke up soon after and Lizzie sat in front of the lighted tree, bows and tinsel glistening, as she fed her daughter.

  She missed Nolan. Horribly. And yet...she was so
lucky, she reminded herself. Had so much more than so many. She could do this. She could be a single mom. Raise Stella with or without Nolan coming for visits. In his house, in a home he’d provide. She just hadn’t figured out how to stop loving a man who was so unsuited to her.

  Hadn’t figured out how to have him around and not fall further in love. Or need him more.

  Wiping away the stupid tears that had been slipping out on and off throughout the day, she burped Stella, changed her and put her down in her Pack ’n Play.

  “Go to sleep, little one, and Santa will come to bless you with miracles,” she whispered, words that came to her from the distant past. She’d forgotten that her mom used to say those words to her on Christmas Eve.

  So much of the years with her parents were pushed deeply inside her, not allowed out, for fear that they’d crush her with sorrow. As a kid, pushing away the memories was the only way she’d been able to cope with the loss of her family and somehow the practice had become habit until she didn’t even know she was doing it anymore.

  But having Stella, being a mom, was bringing it all out. Maybe more quickly than she was ready for.

  Back out in the living area, she made her and Carmela cups of tea, and then, in red flannel pants and a black long-sleeved T-shirt, she sat barefoot on the couch with all of the lights off but for the Christmas tree that put out a colorful glow. She’d turned the music down some, but left on the Christmas tunes and waited for her friend to join her.

  “Is Stella down for the night?” Carmela asked, coming out in her pj’s a few minutes later.

  “Yeah.” For several hours at least. She hoped. The baby had been doing much better the past week, giving Lizzie six-hour stretches during the night.

  “So what time are we getting up to do this shindig?” Carmela, still standing in the middle of the room, waved toward the tree.

  “Early,” Lizzie said, grinning. “My parents used to wake me up at the crack of dawn and pretend that it was me who couldn’t wait to open presents.”

  “You kidding?” Carmela grinned. “I was up in the middle of the night trying to get mine up!”

  “I made you some tea.”

  “Yeah... I, um, think I’m going to head on into bed,” she said, picking up the tea. “But thanks. Wake me for presents!” Carrying the tea down the hall with her, she was gone. Before eleven.

  And Lizzie was alone.

  So alone.

  The year before had been the first she hadn’t made it back to Chicago, to Aunt Betty’s, for Christmas. But Nolan had been there with her and she’d figured it for just about the best Christmas ever.

  And next year, Stella would be walking, playing with toys. She might still not be aware enough to know who Santa was, but she’d be engaged. Lizzie just had to get through this one year and—

  She jumped at the sound of knocking at the door. She glanced toward it, then down the hall. Carmela wouldn’t have gone to bed if she was expecting anyone.

  The knock came a second time and she got up, moved toward the door, looked through the peephole and then started to cry again.

  It couldn’t be.

  What was he doing there?

  Wiping her eyes, she pulled open the door and Nolan stood there, in wrinkled clothes, the knot of his tie loosened down to his chest, a duffel over his shoulder, a big bag of what looked like wrapped packages as well as his sax case in one hand and an envelope in the other.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “First off, delivering this,” he said, handing her the envelope. He didn’t come in. Just stood there on the doorstep, holding his gear.

  “You want to come in?”

  “Open it.” His brown eyes were serious as he nodded toward the envelope and then looked back at her.

  The business-size envelope held one piece of paper.

  I, Nolan Fortune, tender my parental rights of my child, Stella Sullivan, to her mother, Elizabeth Sullivan.

  His signature followed.

  Her heart sank.

  “I don’t understand.” Was he just giving up? Walking away from them?

  Again?

  “May I come in now? Carmela knows I was on my way.”

  She had no reason to deny him. Except that her heart was breaking.

  Sitting on the couch, Lizzie watched as he dropped his satchel and sax by the door and then brought the bag of gifts over. He sat, too. Not too close, but not far away, either.

  Her heart was beating so hard she could feel the rhythm in her chest. She swallowed some tea and almost choked.

  “Are you going home?” she asked him. He’d said he’d be back the day after Christmas. Did that mean he hadn’t left yet? That he’d been shopping for Stella and was on his way to the airport? But he’d texted earlier...

  “I’ve already been.”

  And he was back so soon? Everything about the night was confusing her. The way she felt. What she wanted. What he wanted.

  He pulled a smallish box off the top of the pile in the bag and handed it to her. “This is from my sister Belle. She’s the youngest. She’s twenty-three.”

  She didn’t take the box. “Don’t you want to put that under the tree? Stella’s gifts are all under there.”

  “It’s for you.” He laid it on her lap.

  She stared at him, his face shadowed in the soft glow from the Christmas tree. She’d have turned on more lights, but didn’t want him seeing her so well in case she started to cry again.

  “Your family knows about me?”

  “That was my reason for going back. To tell them all about you and Stella. To let them know that while I am and will always be a Fortune, you and Stella come first.”

  Had he lost his mind? Or was she losing hers?

  “Open it,” he said, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees as he waited.

  Mostly because she had no idea what to do, had nothing coherent to say, Lizzie opened the pretty red-and-gold holiday paper to reveal a white generic gift box.

  Pulling the lid off slowly, afraid to look inside, she saw only a photo inside. An old one. Taken from a camera and developed rather than printed. It was of a little boy—four, maybe—dressed in gray pants, a white shirt, a gray jacket, red tie and shiny black shoes. He was holding a little plastic Flutophone.

  “He’s absolutely adorable,” she said. “But who is he?”

  She glanced over at Nolan.

  “That’s me. I’d just won my first talent show playing ‘Jingle Bells’ on a toy my brother Beau got for Christmas. I was three.”

  Emotion welled in her again. All day long it had been happening. She’d think she was pregnant, except she’d slept with no one since Nolan last year. “I love it,” she said, though she had no idea why Nolan’s little sister would want her to have it. “Tell her thank you.”

  He handed her a second box. “That’s from Savannah. She’s a year younger than I am and probably the sibling I’m closest to. She’s small, but as strong and determined as they come.”

  Slowly opening the paper—white with Santas all over it, this time—trying to untape rather than rip, she found another generic white box, this one flat and a little bigger.

  Inside was a small model plane with a broken wing. The painted detail on the thing was impressive, but...a broken toy? She glanced up at him.

  “I made that when I was ten. Took me over a week after school and on weekends. Savannah broke it ten minutes after I finished. I’d forgotten all about it, but she kept it all these years. Says it’s a reminder to her that it’s better to control your anger than unleash it and lash out. Which was what she’d been doing when she broke it.” He coughed. “She, uh, told me to tell you that the reason she learned that was because while I, um, cried when it happened, I just calmly picked up the pieces and walked away. She’d been wanting a fight and I didn’t
give it to her.”

  “Why was she so mad at you?”

  “I’d read her diary and told one of our brothers that she had a crush on one of his friends.”

  Oh, my. Hands trembling, she put the plane carefully back in the box. “Please tell her I said thank you.” She decided to give the plane back to her. Lizzie wasn’t taking anyone’s prized possessions.

  “This one’s from Georgia. She’s older than me by two years. And beautiful, but kind of bossy if you ask me.”

  Inside that box was a drawing he’d made when he was three. The only thing legible was an X and what looked like an O. She’d told him that was how you spelled I love you, Nolan explained.

  There were boxes from his brothers, too. Beau, who was thirty, Draper, thirty-one, and Austin, who Lizzie had already heard about and was the oldest at thirty-three. One held a can of peas, along with the message that Nolan hated peas so much he’d once left the dinner table and spit them out in his dresser drawer, where they stayed until long after they’d dried up. Another was a rolled-up scroll that turned out to be the first song Nolan had ever written. And the last, which maybe was the oddest of all. A pair of old cotton pants. It was from Austin.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “The pants I wear around the house the most at home. Mom has nagged me to get rid of them, but I don’t. They’re comfortable and I like them.”

  Overwhelmed, she looked at the open boxes on the couch and table around her. It was so sweet, but what was she supposed to do with all of this stuff?

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Nolan asked, taking her hand.

  Looking at him, starting to cry again, she shook her head.

  “I had you open the envelope first because I want you to know—always, first and foremost—that I will never, ever try to keep you out of Stella’s life. She’s your daughter. You’re her mother. That’s sacred.”

  Her chin was trembling now. She couldn’t talk.

  So she listened as he told her what he’d found out that night about his father. His family. Carmela’s boss was his cousin? That went right over her head. Nolan was a famous Fortune? It was too much. Way too much.