Bianca’s Joy
Rose Island Book 3
By Kristin Noel Fischer
Copyright 2018 by Kristin Noel Fischer
All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the written consent of the copyright holder.
All characters in this book are fictitious and figments of the author’s imagination.
www.KristinNoel.com
Cover by Lyndsey Lewellen
Formatting by Paul Salvette
ISBN-13: 978-0-9997856-8-3
ISBN-10: 0-9997856-8-0
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Vicki’s Gift
Chapter 1
Bianca Morgan
18 Years Ago
South Carolina
Tears filled my eyes as I entered the hospital nursery to say good-bye to my newborn daughter. Last night, I’d given birth to a beautiful baby girl. Today, I would be signing away my parental rights. Was I doing the right thing? I hoped so.
“She’s wide awake,” the nurse said, wrapping my baby in a blanket before lifting her out of the bassinet. “Have a seat in the rocking chair and I’ll bring her to you.”
Wincing, I lowered myself to the chair, careful not to sit directly on my stitches. Giving birth had been more painful than I’d imagined, but it was the soreness afterward that surprised me. For some reason, I thought there wouldn’t be any pain once the baby was out. How naive I’d been.
Smiling, the nurse placed the baby in my arms. As I gazed down at my daughter, a rush of love and wonder filled me. How in the world had someone like me produced such a beautiful baby? Everything about her was amazing from her tiny fingers to her long eyelashes.
“She’s beautiful,” the nurse said. “What are you going to name her?”
The question hit me hard. Maybe insisting on holding my daughter one last time had been a mistake. “I’m not keeping her, so I didn’t name her.”
“You’re giving her up for adoption?”
I nodded. “I’m too young to raise a baby on my own.”
“What a brave thing for you to do.” The nurse’s tone was accepting and nonjudgmental, something I sincerely appreciated and needed at that moment.
I gently stroked my daughter’s cheek. I’d never considered my decision as being brave. If I was truly brave, wouldn’t I be keeping her like I wanted to?
Then again, my dad was probably right. I couldn’t exactly give her a very good life.
I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Well, not a real mother anyway. No, I was just one of those girls who’d gotten knocked up by a worthless boy at a drunken high school party on the beach last summer.
Stop being negative, I told myself. My time for motherhood would come. Right now, I was simply making the best of a difficult situation by giving my baby to a couple unable to have children of their own. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
“Do you know anything about the family adopting your baby?” the nurse asked, surprising me by sinking into the chair opposite me.
I shook my head “no” and explained that I’d agreed to a closed adoption. “I just hope they’ll love her as much as I do. And I hope when she’s old enough I’ll be allowed to see her again.”
The nurse absently stroked her thumb over the ragged scar that ran from the corner of her eye down to her mouth. What in the world happened to cause such a visible scar?
“I just met my birth mother,” she said.
“You did? How was it?”
She hesitated a moment before smiling. “It was wonderful. She looks just like me.”
“Wow.” I gazed down at my baby. Did she look like me? I couldn’t see any resemblance now, but maybe she’d eventually have my auburn hair and brown eyes.
“How was your delivery?” the nurse asked.
I cringed. “It was awful.”
“What happened?”
Because she seemed genuinely interested, and I was incredibly lonely, I told her everything. Not just about the birth, but about keeping the pregnancy a secret, being sent from my home on Rose Island, and now feeling my heart pulled out of my chest at the thought of leaving my daughter and never seeing her again.
“I just want her to be happy and have a good life. I want . . .” I choked back tears. “I’m sorry. Thank you for listening to me. My aunt has been kind, and my mother has been supportive, but—”
The nurse reached out and squeezed my hand. “I understand. Sometimes you just need another mother to talk to.”
“You’re a mother?”
She nodded. “I have a newborn daughter, so I understand. You just want what’s best for her even if that means sacrificing your own happiness.”
Wiping my eyes, I smiled and glanced at the nurse’s name tag. Tiffany Jackson. “Thank you for saying that, Tiffany. I do want what’s best for her.”
Behind me, the door opened. Tiffany looked up and glared at the person who’d entered. “Yes? What is it?”
“I wanted to hold my baby,” said a young woman with an accent I couldn’t quite place.
“She’s sleeping.” Tiffany spoke in a harsh voice, and her facial scar seemed to turn red with anger. This other mother had obviously done something wrong.
“Can I not hold my baby when she’s sleeping?” the other mother asked.
As though responding to the tension in the nursery, the other baby began to cry. Nurse Tiffany rubbed the scar along her face a little harder. When she saw me watching, she gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s my mark to remind me that the gods despise me.”
I frowned, not understanding why she’d say something like that. Then, she rose and left me.
Looking down at my daughter, I blinked back tears. It was time for me to go. Time for me to say my last good-bye and walk away.
Please take care of my baby, Lord. Give her good parents who love her and understand what a gift she is. I know she wasn’t conceived under the greatest of circumstances, but I also know that every child is loved by you. Bless her life, always let her know I love her,
and when she’s older, bring us back together again.
A flash of light interrupted my silent prayer. Glancing up, I saw Tiffany holding one of those instant cameras I hadn’t seen in a long time. The picture slid out, and she handed it to me. “This is for you, so you’ll have a way to remember your daughter.”
I took the photo, incredibly grateful. I hadn’t thought to bring a camera or ask for a picture of my baby. A camera had been on the list of things to bring to the hospital, but I hadn’t thought it’d applied to me. Plus, neither my aunt nor my mother had encouraged any photos.
I stared at the dark picture, watching it slowly come to life. “Thank you, Tiffany. Thank you so much.”
She gave a curt nod. “Well, are you ready?” She held out her arms for my baby as though knowing the sooner I left, the sooner I could start to heal.
Gathering all my strength, I nodded and surrendered my child. Then, without looking back, I left the nursery, clutching the picture and praying I’d done the right thing.
Chapter 2
Bianca
Rose Island, Texas
Present day
Riding my bike across Rose Island before work was one of my most favorite things to do. I loved the peacefulness of this early March morning. Loved cruising through our quiet town to the paved bike trail that ran along the water. Giddy with happiness for today, I pedaled past the Pelican Pub, past The Blue Crab, and out to the country club.
From there, I raced down Blackberry Lane, where my sister Jillian lived with her husband and their three kids. Because Jillian wasn’t sitting on the front porch drinking coffee, I figured she must’ve had a rough night with the baby. My newborn niece had her nights and days mixed up, and nothing Jillian did seemed to help.
Had my own daughter kept her parents up like that when she was a baby? Maybe I’d find out today. Or maybe I’d have to wait a little longer.
Regardless, today was my daughter’s eighteenth birthday. She was now a legal adult who could decide for herself whether or not she wanted to see me.
Ever since signing away my parental rights, I’d hoped one day to be reunited with her. In a heartfelt letter I’d sent through the adoption agency, I’d introduced myself and told her about my family and life on Rose Island. I’d also expressed my deep desire to meet her. Or rather, to meet her again.
Hopefully, she’d receive my letter and be just as eager to meet me. Maybe she’d been wondering about me like I’d been wondering about her all these years.
In order not to get my hopes up, I’d convinced myself she wouldn’t call until tomorrow or later in the week. I imagined she’d be too busy celebrating this momentous birthday with friends and family. Still, I planned on keeping my phone with me all day just in case she did call.
Cutting down Fourth Street, I passed the church and headed home. Today was also the day I’d finally tell Anna and my sisters about having a baby when I’d been in high school.
Throughout the years, there’d been so many times I’d wanted to reveal my secret. I worried, however, that admitting I’d given away my daughter would make living without her impossible.
So, I’d remained silent, something I usually wasn’t very good at. Today, my silence would end, and everyone would know that eighteen years ago I’d given birth to a beautiful baby girl.
Turning left onto Main Street, I pedaled past the courthouse until I saw the sign for my hair salon, The Last Tangle. Owning the salon and living in the apartment above was a dream come true for me. I was proud of all I’d accomplished, and for the most part, I loved my life on the island.
Of course, I wished I wasn’t several pounds overweight, but time in counseling with an eating disorder therapist was helping me learn to honor my body instead of mistreat it. Yadira, my therapist, had been the one to suggest my early morning bike ride, not as a way to lose weight but as a way to enjoy the body God had given me.
At first, I’d resisted. Now, exercising in the morning had become a habit. While I would never have the figure of a supermodel, I was strong and blessed with a beautiful life. Best not to squander it away feeling sorry for myself just because I loved my sweets.
Inhaling the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread from my sister’s bakery, I circled around to the back of the building, parked my bike, and stepped inside our hodgepodge foyer. From there, I had three choices—the salon, the bakery, or the stairs leading up to the apartments.
I chose the stairs. In my apartment, I walked around the uninstalled granite countertops that’d been leaning against the living room wall for the past month. The contractor I’d hired to update my kitchen had disappeared after I’d given him an advance so he could pay off his hardware bill before beginning my job.
I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done that, but I did.
I needed to own up to my mistake and find someone else to finish the job. A girl could only live so long with uninstalled granite countertops in her living room.
After showering, I got ready for church, carefully applying my makeup and styling my hair. Then, I finished dressing and pulled on my new designer boots. The boots had been expensive, but they felt amazing, and I’d instantly fallen in love with them at the store.
Looking in the mirror now, I cringed at my appearance. My makeup looked okay, but . . . was I too fat to wear these boots?
I turned to the side and studied my profile. Yep, too fat. I’d have to change my whole outfit.
Before I could, there was a pounding at my door. Without bothering to wait for an invitation, my bossy little sister barged into my apartment. “Bianca? Are you ready?”
“Almost,” I shouted from the bedroom.
“We’re going to be late.”
I glanced at the clock on my phone. Vicki was right. If we didn’t leave this instant, we’d be late again.
“Bianca.”
“I’m coming,” I said, accepting the fact that I had no choice but to wear the boots.
Quickly, I opened my nightstand drawer and removed the photo the nurse had taken of my daughter and me. I’d had it framed years ago, and it was by far my most valued possession.
Smiling, I thought about that precious moment I’d held my baby in the nursery. Happy birthday, sweetheart. May God bless you today. Call me soon, please. Don’t make me wait.
“Bianca, seriously.” Vicki stomped down the hall. “Stop looking in the mirror and let’s go. Your lipstick is fine.”
“Okay, okay.” I stuck the framed photo into my handbag and headed out the door, determined not to be disappointed if the day didn’t unfold exactly as I wanted.
After all, I had my health, my family, and a successful business. God willing, I’d soon have a relationship with my daughter.
*
Despite the cold temperature, the sun was shining as Vicki and I walked to church. When we entered the sanctuary, I spotted Daniel Serrano kneeling in prayer. His head was bowed, and my heart did its usual jumpy thing it always did at the sight of him.
As though reading my mind, Daniel looked up, brushed back his dark hair, and smiled right at me with those chocolate-brown eyes of his. Then, he gave a little wave, causing my knees to knock. I waved back and kept walking forward, reminding myself he was just being nice. A smile and a wave didn’t mean anything.
Daniel Serrano was gorgeous after all. I’d been secretly in love with him ever since he came to the island with his daughter four years ago. He really was the perfect man for me. There was just one problem. Guys like Daniel never went for girls like me. The sooner I accepted that, the better.
“You’re drooling,” Vicki said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.” She looped her arm through mine as I wiped my mouth, which was perfectly dry.
“When are you going to do something about that?” she asked.
“Something about what?”
“Something about that massive torch you’re carrying for Daniel. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Ha
, you’re one to talk. Last time I checked, you were closer to forty than thirty.”
“Hush.” She pinched my arm before pulling away.
As the youngest Morgan sister, Vicki had always been the cute one. In my opinion, she was still cute with her short blond hair, petite figure, and understated elegance. In my opinion, the only reason she couldn’t find Mr. Right was because of her unreasonably high expectations.
Me, on the other hand . . . well, I was interested in lots of guys. The guys I liked just never seemed to be interested in me the same way.
For the most part, that was okay. There was a lot of me to love after all. Not every guy could handle loving a larger woman like me.
Sometimes, however, Daniel Serrano looked at me with all that smoldering Latin appeal, and I’d think . . . maybe. Maybe he’d like to try to love me. Keeping his eyes on me, he’d run a hand over his short cropped hair or stroke his scruffy beard, and then . . .
Then, the moment would pass, and he’d look away or make an excuse about needing to check on his daughter or return a phone call for work. Was he just being shy or did he honestly feel nothing for me?
As Vicki and I joined our parents and the rest of our family in the front pew, I told myself not to look back at Daniel. No need to appear obvious, especially not in church where I was supposed to be concentrating on more important matters.
Then, because self-control had never been my strength, I did glance back. At first, I didn’t see him. Had he left? Had seeing me this morning made Daniel finally realize that I was the woman for him and he needed to run out right this minute to buy me an engagement ring?
No, he was still there. I hadn’t seen him because my view was blocked by single mom and PTA president, Kate Tate. Ever the opportunist, Kate had slid into the pew in front of Daniel and was flirting with him. In church. In front of her kids no less.
Seriously, Kate? Do you think church is an appropriate place to flirt with my future husband? Hands off, lady.
Pushing away thoughts of Kate and Daniel and future husbands, I knelt beside my mother and prayed for my daughter as I often did. I also prayed that things would go well when I made my big announcement at family brunch in a few hours.
Bianca's Joy: Rose Island Book 3 Page 1
