An Unexpected Christmas Baby

He reminded himself that he had to be someone.

Brother? Father? Neither fit. He’d never had either.

A breeze blew across the San Diego cemetery. The cemetery close to where he’d grown up, where he’d once seen his mother score dope. And now he was putting her here permanently. Nothing about this day was right.

“Prison records show that your mother had already chosen a name for her. But as I told you, since she died giving birth, no official name has been given. You’re free to name her whatever you’d like...”

Prison records and legal documents showed that his forty-five-year-old mother had appointed him, her thirty-year-old son, as guardian of her unborn child. A child Alana had conceived while serving year eight of her ten-year sentence for cooking and dealing methamphetamine in the trailer Flint had purchased for her.

The child’s father was listed as “unknown.”

He and the inherited baby had that in common. And the fact that their mother had stayed clean the entire time she’d carried them. Birthing them without addiction.

“What did she call her?” he asked, unable to lift his gaze from the pink bundle or to peer further, to seek out the little human inside it.

He’d been bequeathed a little human.

After thirty years of having his mother as his only family, he had a sister.

“Diamond Rose,” the caseworker said.

Flint didn’t hear any derogatory tone in the voice.

Alana had been gold. A softer metal. He was Flint, a hard rock. And this new member of the family was diamond. Strong enough to cut glass. Valuable and cherished. And Rose... Expensive, beautiful, sweet.

He got Alana’s message, even if the world wouldn’t. “Then Diamond Rose it is,” he said, turning more fully to face the caseworker.

The woman was on the job, had other duties to tend to. She’d already done a preliminary background check but, as family, he had a right to the child even if the woman didn’t want to give her to him. Unless the caseworker had found some reason that suggested the baby might be unsafe with him.

Like the fact that he knew nothing whatsoever about infants? Had never changed a diaper in his life? At least not on a real baby. He’d put about thirty of them on a doll he’d purchased the day before—immediately after watching a load of new parenting videos.

He reached for the bundle. Diamond Rose. She’d weighed six pounds, one ounce at birth, he’d been told. He’d put a pound of butter on a five-pound bag of flour the night before, wrapped it in one of the new blankets he’d purchased and walked around the house with it while going about his routine. Figured he could do pretty much anything he might want or need to do while holding it.

Or wearing it. The body-pack sling thing had been a real find. Not that different from the backpacks he’d used all through school, although this one was meant to be worn in front. Put the baby in that, he’d be hands free.

The caseworker, Ms. Bailey, rather than handing him Diamond Rose, took a step back. “Do you have the car seat?”

“I have two,” he told her. “In case she has a babysitter and there’s an emergency and she needs to be transported when I’m not there.” He also had a crib set up in a room that used to be designated as a spare bedroom. Stella, his ex-fiancée, had eyed the unfurnished room as her temporary office until they purchased a home more in line with her wants and needs.

In an even more upscale neighborhood, in other words.

Ms. Bailey held the bundle against her. Flint didn’t take offense. Didn’t really blame the woman at all. If he were her, he wouldn’t want to hand a two-day-old baby over to him, either. But during her two days in the hospital the baby had been fully tested, examined and then released that morning. Released to him. Her family. Via Ms. Bailey. At his request, because he had a funeral to attend. And had wanted Alana’s daughter there, too.

“As I said earlier, I strongly recommend a Pack ’n Play. They’re less expensive than cribs, double as playpens with a changing table attachment and are easily portable.”

Already had that, too. Although he hadn’t set it up in his bedroom as the videos he’d watched had recommended. No way was he having a baby sleep with him. Didn’t seem... He didn’t know what.

He had the monitors. If she woke, he’d have to get up anyway. Walking across the hall only took a few more steps.

“And the bottles and formula?”

“Three scoops of the powder per six ounces of water, slightly warm.” He’d done a dozen run-throughs on that. And was opting for boiling all nipples in water just to be safe in his method of cleansing.

He noticed the preacher hovering in the distance. The man of God probably needed to get on to other matters, as well. Flint nodded his thanks and received the older man’s nod in return. As he watched him walk away, he couldn’t help wondering if Alana Gold would be more than a momentary blip in his memory.

She would be far more than that to her daughter.

Ms. Bailey interrupted his thoughts. “What about child care? Have you made arrangements for when you go back to work?”

Go back to work? As in, an hour from now? Taking Monday morning off had been difficult enough. With the market closed over the weekend, Mondays were always busy.

And he had some serious backtracking to do at the firm.

In the financial world, things had to be done discreetly and he’d been taking action—confidentially until he knew for sure it was a go—to move out on his own. Somehow his plans had become known and rumors had begun to spread with a bad spin. In the past week there’d been talk that he’d contacted his clients, trying to steal their business away from the firm. A person he trusted had heard something and confided that to him. And then he’d had an oddly formal exchange about the weather with Howard Owens, CEO and, prior to the past week, a man who’d seemed proud to have him around. A man who’d never wasted weather words on Flint. They talked business. All the time. Until the past week.

There was no way he could afford to take time off work now.

“I’m taking her with me.” He faced Ms. Bailey, feet apart and firmly grounded. He had to work. Period. “I have a Pack ’n Play already set up in the office.”

The woman frowned. “They’ll let you have a baby with you at work?”

“My office is private. I’ll keep the door closed if it’s a problem.” The plan was short-term. Eventually he’d have to make other arrangements. He’d only had a weekend to prepare. Had gotten himself trained and the house set up. He figured he’d done a damned impressive job.

Besides, that time Campbell’s dog had had surgery, the guy had brought it to the office every day for a week. Kept it in his office. As long as you were a money-maker and didn’t get in the way of others making money, you were pretty much untouched at Owens Investments. They were like independent businesses under one roof.

Or so he’d been telling himself repeatedly in the couple of days since he’d realized he couldn’t open his own business as planned. Not and have sole responsibility for a newborn. Running a business took a lot more than simply making smart investments. Especially when it was just getting off the ground.

He’d already shut down the entire process. Withdrawn his applications for the licenses required to be an investment adviser to more than five clients and regulated by the SEC in the State of California. Lost his deposit for a proposed suite in a new office building.

If she thought she was going to keep his sister from him now...

Another breeze blew across his face, riffling the edge of the blanket long enough that he caught a flash of skin. A tiny cheek? A forehead?

Panic flared. And then dissipated. That bundle was his sister. His family. Only he could give her that. Only he could tell her about her mother. The good stuff.

Like the times she’d look in on him late at night, thinking he was asleep. Whisper her apologies. And tell him how very, very much she loved him. How much he mattered. How he was the one thing she’d done right. How he was going to make his mark on the world for both of them.

The way she’d throw herself a thousand percent into his school projects, encouraging him, making suggestions, applauding him. How talented she was at crafty things. How she loved to watch sappy movies and made the best popcorn. How she’d want to watch scary movies with him and he’d catch her looking away during the best parts. How she’d never made a big deal out of his mistakes. From spills to a broken window, she’d let him know it was okay. How she’d played cards with him, taught him to cook. How she’d laugh until tears ran down her face. How pretty she used to be when she smiled.

The images flying swiftly through his mind halted abruptly as Ms. Bailey began to close in on him, her arms outstretched.

Hoping to God she didn’t notice his sudden trembling, he moved instinctively, settled the weight at the tip of the blanket in the crook of his elbow and took the rest of it on his arm, just as he’d practiced with the flour-and-butter wrap the night before. She was warm. And she squirmed. Shock rippled through him. Ms. Bailey adjusted the blanket, fully exposing the tiniest face he’d ever seen up close. Doll-like nose and chin. Eyelids tightly closed. Puckered little lips. A hint of a frown on a forehead that was smaller than the palm of his hand.

“From what I’ve seen in pictures, she has your mother’s eyes,” Ms. Bailey said, a catch in her voice. Because she could hear the tears threatening in his? A grown man who hadn’t cried since the first time they’d carted his mother off to prison. He’d been six then.

She has your mother’s eyes.

He had his mother’s eyes. Deep, dark brown. It was fitting that this baby did, too. “We’ll be getting on with it, then,” he said, holding his inheritance securely against him as he moved toward his SUV, all but dismissing Ms. Bailey from their lives.