“Hey, birthday girl.” Leland smiled down at her, the depth of his green eyes looking right into hers.
Without explanation, she embraced him, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. His lanky arms wrapped around her, holding her in that clumsy way of his. The camera bag slung over his shoulder fell forward, knocking into her hip, but she ignored it. When he started to let go, she held on tighter.
“Hey, now. Are you okay?”
She shook her head against his chest. “I got a letter from my birth mom.”
“You did? What’d she say?”
Her little brothers came to the door then. “Don’t forget to leave room for Jesus,” Clay said, quoting the well-known words of their mother.
“And the Holy Spirit,” Clark added.
Leland released her to say hi to the boys. The three of them exchanged high fives and what’s ups. It was no secret that her brothers idolized Leland. If forced to choose, Claudia had no doubt both boys would go with Leland.
“Do you want to film us playing roof ball?” Clay asked, referring to one of the many games they’d invented.
“Not right now.” Leland shifted his camera bag and squatted so he was eye level with both boys. “Will you guys do me a favor?”
“What is it?” they asked.
“Will you go back in the house and let me talk to your sister for a minute?”
While her brothers clearly didn’t like the idea, they agreed. Once they’d retreated inside the house and closed the door, Leland turned back to Claudia. “So, what’d your birth mother say?”
Claudia retrieved the letter from her back pocket and handed it to him. “She wants to meet me. Her name’s Bianca Morgan, and she lives on Rose Island, Texas.”
Leland skimmed the letter. “Rose Island is about an hour away from my grandmother’s house in Houston. If you want, we could drive down to Mimi’s and meet your birth mom next weekend.”
“No.” Claudia’s one-word answer came out sharper than intended. “I’m not ready to meet her. At least, not right now.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I feel that I already have a family with more aunts, uncles, and cousins than anyone needs. Plus, I don’t want to hurt my parents. They’ve been through enough this year.”
“Do you think meeting your birth mom would upset your mom and dad? Have they said something?”
“No. I just don’t want to meet her right now.”
“Fair enough.” Leland glanced back down at the letter before returning it to Claudia. “Your birth mom seems nice.”
“She does, and I don’t want to hurt her either. I just don’t want to meet her right now.”
Leland worked his thumb underneath the strap of his camera bag. “Didn’t you tell me that your parents said they’d help you find your birth mom when you turned eighteen?”
“They did.” Claudia had been nine when her parents had said that. Clark was a newborn, and everyone kept saying how he looked just like Dad. That’d sparked Claudia’s interest in her own biological parents, but now, things were different.
“So what changed your mind?” Leland asked. “Why don’t you want to meet her?”
“I just don’t.”
“It might be kind of interesting.”
“Why? So you could film it?”
He shrugged. “Only if you wanted me to.”
“No. This is my private life. I don’t want you recording it.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
She knew he didn’t. Not really. Leland was a filmmaker, and recording everything around him was just what he did. Still, she didn’t want this part of her life on display for all the world to see.
She took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to finish getting ready for the party, okay?”
“Okay.” He blinked. “Do you still want me to film the party?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
A car pulled up to the house and started honking. “It’s my Aunt Dede and Uncle Geoff,” Claudia said, waving. “Come on. I want you to meet them.”
She led him across the yard to meet the first of her many relatives expected to come today. Before she knew it, more guests would arrive, filling the small house with friends and family. They’d all wish her happy birthday, tell funny stories, eat amazing food, and rejoice in the fact that her father had survived cancer.
When her grandmother arrived, Claudia would ask to hear her adoption story. Nona loved telling how Claudia’s parents had wanted a baby more than anything. How they’d prayed for months until God finally answered their prayer. Claudia loved the part about Nona going to the airport with all the other relatives to meet this most wanted baby for the first time.
Without a doubt, it’d be a perfect day, which Leland would capture on film and edit to make even more meaningful. Maybe tonight, after everyone left, she’d reread Bianca Morgan’s letter and stalk her birth mother online. She might even write Bianca a letter. But honestly, what was the point in meeting her?
Claudia had her own family after all. Why did she need someone else’s?
Chapter 5
Bianca
As I cleaned my living room before the high school Bible study I hosted at my apartment every Monday night, I prayed that God would ease my anxiety regarding my daughter. It’d been over twenty-four hours, and I still hadn’t heard from her.
The law office informed me that they’d delivered my letter Sunday morning. Maybe, after reading it, my daughter had looked me up online, discovered I was fat, and didn’t want to meet me.
Come on, girl. Let’s be positive, I told myself. It’s not always about the weight.
The doorbell rang, so I scooped up the laundry basket full of clutter and raced down the hall to stash it in my bedroom. On the way back, I smashed my toe against one of the slabs of granite leaning against the wall. Falling to the floor, I grabbed my toe and howled in pain.
“Bianca?” called a voice from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Come in.”
Joy Serrano, my favorite high school senior, pushed open the door. I knew Bible study leaders weren’t supposed to have favorites, but Joy was my absolute favorite.
And just to set the record straight, this had nothing to do with the fact that she was Daniel’s daughter. No, Joy was my favorite because she was easygoing and had an infectious smile that lit up her entire face. She participated in our discussions, always did her homework, and just made everything better.
She also had type one diabetes, something I’d known nothing about until meeting her. After learning about her disease, I’d come to believe she was the strongest person I knew.
“Did you stub your toe again?” Joy asked.
I shifted on the floor. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it hurts like crazy.” Pushing past the pain, I stood and hobbled to the couch where I collapsed against the cushions.
Joy sat beside me. “Did you talk to your dad about installing your countertops? Is he going to do it?”
Last week, I’d told the girls what happened with my contractor and how I was going to see if my dad could finish the project. Usually, he enjoyed projects like that, but how could I ask him now that he was so upset with me?
I rubbed my toe, grateful the pain was subsiding. “My dad’s been a little busy, so I’m probably going to have to find someone else.”
“You could hire my dad,” Joy said.
I felt a little thrill before coming to my senses. “Doesn’t your dad work as an IT manager for the island?”
“He does, but he loves working on home improvement projects. He’s run out of things to do around our house, so he’s been doing some work for our neighbors. He’d probably install your countertops for free since that’s his idea of a good time.”
An image of Daniel standing in my kitchen, a tool belt slung low around his hips, flashed through my mind. I mostly saw him at church,
looking professional in slacks and a button-down, but I was certain he could pull off the hot construction worker look.
“Bianca?”
“Yes, honey, sorry.” I picked up my prayer journal and fanned myself. “I’ll have to think about that.”
A knock on the door interrupted us. “Come in,” I called.
Three other girls for the Bible study entered, and we exchanged greetings. I told them about my injury and said there were snacks and drinks in the kitchen, compliments of Vicki.
“I love your sister and her bakery,” said Kayla, Joy’s best friend.
I smiled. “Vicki definitely has a talent for fattening people up.”
Joy smiled at my self-deprecating joke. “Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”
“No. Thanks, though.”
“Okay.” She joined the other girls in the kitchen, and I listened as they laughed and talked about their day. I loved these girls and thought of them as my surrogate daughters. Thank goodness I had them in my life while I waited to hear from my own daughter.
Kate Tate’s daughter, Phoebe, arrived, jingling the keys to her new Mustang convertible, a gift from her father. I’d watched the video she’d posted on social media showing Dr. Tate surprising her with the gift on her sixteenth birthday. The car seemed a little excessive to me; then again, Dr. Tate was loaded. So, I supposed it was none of my business what he did with his money.
Once everyone arrived and was settled around the coffee table in my living room, we began by going over last week’s homework. For the most part, I kept Bible study homework to a minimum, believing the habit of daily scripture reading for these girls was more important than length.
Next, we talked about this week’s lesson, then we discussed prayer requests. Matt’s girlfriend, Hannah, asked us to pray for her grandmother who was going parachuting this weekend.
“It’s her eighty-fifth birthday,” Hanna explained. “Even though Nana said jumping out of an airplane is perfectly safe, that seems really dangerous to me.”
“It is dangerous,” Phoebe stated. “Horrible things go wrong with those parachutes all the time. I heard about this guy who—”
“Phoebe,” I gently said, giving her a pointed look. “Let’s just remember to pray for Hannah’s Nana, okay?”
Phoebe started to speak but changed her mind and simply nodded. I’d talked to her before about being more of an encourager. While I agreed that jumping out of an airplane on your eighty-fifth or any other birthday didn’t sound safe, adding to Hannah’s fears wasn’t helpful.
“Okay,” I said, redirecting the conversation, “who else has a prayer request?”
The girls chimed in with various concerns. Joy went last, telling us that she’d renewed her permit and was learning how to drive.
“You’re eighteen and you don’t have your license yet?” Phoebe asked in a voice that was the opposite of encouraging.
Joy stiffened but didn’t respond. Before I could speak, Kayla gently patted Joy’s arm. “It’s okay. Tell them what happened.”
Joy nodded. “Okay. My mother died in a car accident when I was nine. I was in the back seat, so driving scares me. That’s why I haven’t gotten my license yet.”
All the girls, even Phoebe, murmured words of sympathy. I’d known that Joy’s mother had died in a car wreck, but I hadn’t known that Joy was in the car at the time.
“I’m so sorry,” I told her. “That must’ve been horrible.”
Joy offered a brave smile. “It happened a long time ago, but yeah, it was pretty bad. Until now, I haven’t been motivated to get my license.”
“Tell them why you want to get it now,” Kayla said.
“Okay.” Joy gathered her light brown hair at the nape of her neck and laid it across her shoulder. “My boss, Mrs. Maisel, wants to hire me full time this summer, but I have to have my license so I can help with deliveries.”
“Joy, that’s wonderful.” I imagined this opportunity meant a lot to her given how much she loved working with the interior designer.
“I’m excited,” Joy said. “The only problem is my dad.”
“What’s wrong with your dad?” I asked, trying to hide my belief that her father was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“Well, he’s the worst driving instructor in the world. Every time I drive with him, he gets so nervous that he makes me nervous too.”
The girls all smiled and shared their own stories of learning how to drive with an anxious parent. Kayla talked about backing her family’s suburban into the sheriff’s car the first time she drove. Everyone laughed at that, grateful it hadn’t been them.
“Okay, girls,” I said, pulling the conversation back to our prayer needs. “Does anyone else want to share a request?”
A few of the girls talked about upcoming tests and issues with their boyfriends, then it was my turn. “I have something I’d like to share. Something kind of big.”
“You found a boyfriend,” Hannah said, her eyes dancing.
“No. I wish. I’m still waiting for God to answer that prayer.”
The girls laughed, then they listened as I told them about having a baby my senior year of high school. I think my news shocked them. When I told them about reaching out to my daughter, they were very encouraging, saying I’d probably hear from her soon.
“I hope so,” I said. “I’m trying not to be anxious, but waiting is hard.”
Phoebe nodded in agreement. “Waiting is so hard. When I found out my dad was buying me a new car for my birthday, I had to wait three weeks before getting it. Do you know how hard that was?”
Why yes, Phoebe, I do. Waiting for a new car is exactly like waiting to meet your long-lost daughter. Forcing a smile, I reminded myself that Phoebe was young and didn’t know better. Of course, she’d equate her misery with mine.
“Well, hopefully, I won’t have to wait three weeks,” I said cheerfully. “Hopefully, the next time I check my messages, there will be something from her.”
*
After the girls left, I stood in the kitchen staring at the uneaten food. Vicki was always bringing me sweets from the bakery. In the past, I’d asked her not to tempt me like that, but she never listened.
While I appreciated my little sister’s generosity, I found the sugary leftovers impossible to resist. Once I started eating, I could never stop. On more than one occasion, I’d stood in this very spot shoveling brownie after brownie into my mouth until I felt so sick I could barely move.
Tonight, however, I found the strength to take everything downstairs to the salon’s break room. Now, the other stylists would have to deal with the temptation.
Before heading back to my apartment, I glanced out the window, surprised to see Joy standing in front of the salon. Opening the door, I called her name. “What are you still doing here?”
“My dad’s truck broke down,” she explained. “He’s trying to borrow a car from one of our neighbors, so he should be here soon.”
“I can give you a ride home,” I said.
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting.”
“And I don’t mind taking you. Call your dad and tell him I’m bringing you home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I have to go to the store anyway to get cream for my coffee, so it’s no problem. Come on in, and we’ll go out the back door where I’m parked.”
She came into the salon and waited while I ran upstairs to collect my purse and keys. A few minutes later, we were headed out to my car.”
“Here you go,” I said, handing her the keys.
“What?”
“You said you wanted to learn how to drive, so you should drive.”
She stared down at the keys as if they were a foreign object. “Are you sure? I’m a really bad driver.”
I laughed. “Of course, you’re a bad driver. You’ve had your permit for what? Five minutes?”
She grinned. “A little longer than that.”
“Okay, but my point
is I don’t care that you’re a bad driver. I’m a really good teacher.”
“All right.”
We climbed into my car with Joy in the driver’s seat. Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she sighed. “I’m nervous all of a sudden.”
“To drive with me? Don’t be. You’re going to do great.”
“Okay.” With a deep breath, she started the engine. So far so good.
“You know what?” I said. “I just thought of a fabulous idea. Why don’t you let me teach you how to drive?”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’d love to help you get your license.”
“That’d be great. I have to have it by the end of the month. Otherwise, Mrs. Maisel said she’d have to start looking for someone else.”
“Then we better get started.”
Smiling, she put the car in gear, and that’s when everything went wrong. Instead of putting the car in drive, she’d put it in reverse, causing it to bolt backward and nearly take out the row of mailboxes behind us.
“I’m sorry,” she said, after slamming on the brakes just in the nick of time.
“It’s okay.” I laughed, relieved she hadn’t actually hit anything. “You’re okay, and so am I. Just put the car in drive and head toward the road.”
She did as I said, slowly making her way across the parking lot. Every few feet, she’d hit the brakes, causing me and the car to lurch forward.
Wow, she wasn’t kidding about being a horrible driver. No wonder her father was nervous about driving with her. If she was this bad in the parking lot, how would she be once we reached the road?
“I’m sorry, Bianca.”
“It’s okay, honey.” I tugged at my seatbelt, which had locked up, pinning me in place. “Maybe just try to be a little more gentle with the brake.”
“Okay.”
By some miracle, we managed to make our way through town to the road that led to the other side of the island where Joy and her father lived.
“I’m really bad. I know,” she said.
I shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re ready to take your test today, but you’ll get better.”
Bianca's Joy: Rose Island Book 3 Page 3