Noelle tried to pull her hand from his as soon as she spotted the makeshift North Pole and the beautifully decorated structure that represented Santa and Mrs. Claus’ house. It was red with mounds of fake snow at the base and on the roof. Multi-colored lights outlined the frame, and dozens of decorated fake pine trees created a festive look.

  “Hang on, sweetheart. We’ll get there.” He tightened his grip on her hand and glanced at Carson, who remained perched on his hip. His young son pivoted his little head in all directions, taking in the scene with a wide-eyed look of fascination on his face.

  Funny, he thought. Carson was likely too young to remember this day. Shane would never forget it.

  He found a spot on the beach close to the water’s edge, lifted his son from his hip, and set him down. “Stay close,” he warned.

  It was only minutes before the small crowd lifted their excited voices and pointed out at the water.

  Shane shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand and saw what the commotion was about.

  Santa Claus, along with Mrs. Claus and their elves, were riding a Wa’a Kaukahi, a single-hulled outrigger canoe, and were headed in their direction, ready to spread holiday cheer to the waiting crowd.

  Noelle spotted the sight as well. “Look—it’s him. It’s Santa!” Her voice was filled with excited joy.

  A shirtless man wearing a headwrap of leaves, known as the Ama, stood at the helm shouting directions as the elves pierced the water with precision using paddles painted in bright colors. Music played from a speaker mounted inside the boat, emitting the popular holiday tune “Mele Kalikimaka.”

  Shane couldn’t help but hum along.

  As soon as the canoe landed on shore, Shane lifted Carson and took Noelle’s hand. “Okay, let’s go see him.”

  Santa waved in their direction as he climbed from the boat and helped Mrs. Claus do the same. He had on a red and white tropical print shirt, surfer shorts, and flip-flops. Mrs. Claus wore a red robe trimmed in white fur. Gold wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

  She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her forehead. No doubt, the costume was unbearably hot. It seemed nothing was too much for her to bear when it came to thrilling the children quickly assembling around the famous couple.

  Shane wove his way forward until he stood next to Santa. He leaned and whispered, “So, does Mrs. Claus know you have a girlfriend?”

  His Uncle Jack let out a familiar chortle and stroked his white beard. He reached his hand secretly behind the woman and patted her butt. “No, and don’t tell her.”

  Maggie Williams, his uncle’s new sweetheart, slapped his hand away. “This isn’t the time or place to get frisky,” she warned in a low voice. Her fingers went to her white wig as she smiled down at Noelle and Carson. “And who do we have here?”

  “I’m Noelle,” Shane’s niece announced. “And I’ve been so good this year.” Her face grew pensive. “Well, except for me locking me-self in the bathroom that one time.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Claus exchanged amused glances with Shane, all of them recalling the incident with the locked Porta-Potty.

  Santa bent down. “You get a pass for that one.” His massive hand ruffled her hair. “Now, tell Santa what you want him to bring you for Christmas.”

  Her list was long. Twice, she informed them she was finished, only to recall another item she wanted to add. In the end, she grew somber. “Most of all, Santa. Would you bring toys to all those children who lost their stuff in the fire?”

  The remark caught them all a little off guard, but none more than Santa. His eyes grew moist. “You can count on me. The elves and I have been hard at work up at the North Pole. Once we learned about things, we set out to make this the best Christmas ever.”

  Noelle flung her little arms around his neck. “Thank you, Santa. I knew you would make things better for all those kids.”

  Uncle Jack stood, seeming to not know how to respond to that.

  Shane put his hand on Noelle’s back. “Speaking of all those kids.” He pointed to the waiting line. “It’s their turn.”

  Her face brightened. “Okay, well—we’ll see you on Christmas Eve, Santa. I’ll leave some cookies for you.”

  On the way back to the car, Shane’s phone buzzed. It was his fifteen-year-old niece. “What’s up, Willa?” he said, drawing the phone to his ear.

  “I need your help.”

  “You do? Like what kind of help?”

  There was a brief pause before Willa launched into her request. “Kina and I gathered a bunch of kids from our school. We’re going to make parols for the Hibiscus Christmas festival. Parols are illuminated five-point stars. Each lantern will have the name of someone affected by the fire.”

  “Oh, honey. That’s an amazing idea—and thoughtful. But there are hundreds of victims.”

  “I know,” she said with a hint of impatience. “That’s why we need your help.”

  11

  A gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of plumeria drifted through the open window of Ava’s bedroom. The weight of the phone in her hand seemed to grow as she gazed at the plush carpeted floor beneath her feet, trying to muster enough determination to go through with her plan.

  Finally, she gave in and pressed the number of her mother-in-law.

  The complex relationship she shared with Frances Strobe was a difficult one, to be sure.

  Few people had climbed up Ava’s wrong side. Despite dependency on a cane, Frances Strobe had found a way to scale those boundaries just fine when she insinuated that Ava was an obstacle to her son’s destiny as head of the family’s Exeter Endowment Foundation, one of the largest philanthropic organizations in the nation.

  The sting of that first meeting was still fresh.

  The weight of the Strobe family’s legacy was monumental, having sculpted the economic and political contours of the nation.

  The Strobes were more than a family. They were an American institution.

  Historically, they served on the boards of universities and businesses across the country, held prominent political positions, and owned property across the country, held in real estate investment trusts. Tom’s ancestral grandfather helped form the Securities and Exchange Commission and directed many of the economic policies this nation had now come to rely on.

  In a nutshell, the Strobe family was extraordinarily wealthy.

  Ava drew a deep breath, listening to the ringing on the other end of the phone and thinking that no amount of influence and money excused ill manners.

  Tom had been her rock and had fiercely defended her, demanding respect from his mother for the woman he loved. He made it clear that Ava was an important part of his life, and he would not be returning to Boston on any condition.

  Frances seemed quick to capitulate once she understood her son’s steadfast resolve to remain in Maui and that he intended to make Ava his wife. Not only did she offer the demanded apology, but she also extended an olive branch and traveled to the island to attend their wedding.

  Still, Ava couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother-in-law mirrored Haleakalā. While the ancient volcano remained dormant, the smoldering molten lava deep beneath its surface could possibly blow.

  The poised voice of Porges, the house manager, cut through her thoughts. “Good afternoon. You’ve reached the Strobe residence.”

  “Hello, Porges. It’s Ava Strobe. May I speak with Frances?”

  A pause stretched. “Yes, hold, please.”

  Ava moved to her armchair and sat. She glanced at the nearby table and the book she’d been reading last evening—the first in a new series by one of her favorite authors. The novel was set in the Teton Mountains where she and Tom had honeymooned—a majestic place she hoped to visit again soon, perhaps with her family.

  Frances’ crisp voice broke into her reverie. “Hello, Ava. What can I help you with?”

  Choosing her words carefully, Ava got straight to the point. “Hello, Frances. Tom and I wish to extend an invitation to you to spend Christmas with us here in Maui. We have some special family events planned, and we’d like you to be part of them.”

  The silence that followed was palpable.

  “Frances?”

  “Yes, I heard you.” The older woman’s voice was cool, measured.

  She could almost picture Tom’s mother, dressed impeccably in a dress with pearls at her neck. Her white hair would be carefully coifed, and her lips painted with her signature red lipstick.

  Ava waited, determined not to prompt the woman’s acceptance a second time.

  “I accept,” Frances finally said, her voice softening ever so slightly.

  Ava exhaled, feeling as if she’d been holding her breath for an eternity. Over the next moments, she detailed their holiday plans—especially the fundraiser aimed at helping the victims of the recent tragic fires. Their Christmas Day gathering at Pali Maui promised to be memorable, with food and festivities to enjoy.

  “Tom and I will have plane tickets delivered to your house,” Ava offered.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Frances told her. “I’ll use the Exeter Foundation jet.”

  “Why yes, of course.” Ava was not surprised. The Strobe family dripped with wealth. “Alert us of your arrival time, and Tom and I will have a town car pick you up at the Kahului Airport and bring you to Pali Maui.”

  “Ava?”

  She held her breath, steeling herself against what might be coming. “Yes?”

  “Thank you again. It was kind of you to include me.”

  Frances hung up leaving Ava stunned at her mother-in-law’s unexpected gratitude.

  She shrugged, shut off her phone, and placed it on the table next to her book before turning her attention out the open window at the blooming white jasmine bush.

  Maybe, just maybe, Frances Strobe was beginning to thaw.

  12

  Willa Ackerman pushed open the doors of the Ka Hale A Ke Ola Resource Center, the ocean breeze carrying with it the sweet sounds from a group of carolers practicing just outside.

  She’d barely taken two steps into the building before she turned to her best friend, Kina. “Wow, look at all this.”

  Long tables, draped in white plastic cloth, stretched out in all directions in the common area.

  Kina pushed her long black hair back from her beaming face. “Wow is right. Ori did this up right.” She followed Willa into the room.

  Ori appeared holding a plate of gingerbread cookies. “Did I hear my name?”

  Willa took a warm cookie. “Hey, Ori. This all looks great.”

  A young boy with boundless energy darted from down the hallway. “Today is going to be so fun!” Several other children followed with wide smiles on their faces. Ori passed the plate, and the kids grabbed cookies.

  Ka Hale A Ke Ola, located just outside Pa’ia on the Road to Hana, was Ori’s brainchild and life passion. Right out of college, he helped start the outreach that served hundreds of meals to elderly and needy individuals each week. After the fire, he housed many displaced families in tents on the grounds.

  When Willa came up with the idea of creating holiday lanterns for the festival as decoration, she immediately approached their family friend. “The center is a great place to make these. Everyone can help. We could even sell the holiday parols after and raise more money.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Ori had told her. “You can have full use of the center. I’m sure all the kids would love to help.”

  Willa’s Aunt Vanessa stood at the entry, her arms laden with art supplies. “Hey, I could use some help here.”

  Ori rushed to her side. “That’s quite the load.” He lifted packages from her arms and brought them to the nearest table.

  Willa and Kina helped unpack the supplies. Soon the tables were filled with neat piles of bamboo sticks, multi-colored cellophane, strings of battery-run fairy lights, and spools of thin wire—all awaiting their transformation into parol lanterns—a symbol of hope and a beacon of light.

  “Can I make some, too?” one of the younger kids asked, his nose pressed against the edge of the table.

  Ori lifted the little tyke onto a folding chair. “You sure can. Let me help you.”

  Before long, all the places at the tables were filled, some with children, some with teenagers, and others with adults who wanted in on the activities.

  Aunt Vanessa couldn’t help but grin. “Well, as much as this looks like fun, I desperately need some coffee.”

  Ori pointed her in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s always a pot on. We also have some hot apple cider brewing on the stove if you prefer.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I need coffee. Black. And lots of it.” She patted his shoulder and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

  A little girl slid into a neighboring chair, causing her long black pigtails to swing before settling into place onto the front of her Barbie T-shirt. “Where do we start?”

  Grinning, Willa leaned in. “First, we construct a star from the bamboo sticks. Five points.” Demonstrating, she bound them together at the intersections with the thin wire, her fingers deftly working.

  “Like this?” The little girl attempted, her tongue poking out in concentration.

  “Perfect!” Willa praised, helping her adjust a slightly skewed angle. “Next, we cover each section with cellophane. Choose your color!”

  “That’s too hard for me,” the little boy next to them complained.

  Kina quickly moved next to him. “No worries. I’ll help you. What’s your name?”

  “Nohea,” he told her. The boy’s eyes lit up as he reached his pudgy hands toward a crinkly piece of blue cellophane. Traces of dried mud clung to his nails, remnants from playing outside.

  “Looks like you’ve been climbing some trees,” Kina noted. “Maybe we should go wash your hands.”

  “Catching bugs,” he corrected.

  Kina exchanged a glance with Willa. “Well, let’s wash before we start our project, shall we?”

  Around them, voices chattered and laughter rang out, punctuating the hum of conversation as the adults and children worked at the tables.

  Aunt Vanessa rejoined them with a steaming mug of coffee in hand. “Don’t forget the lights.” She pointed to the box of tiny LED lights. “That’s what will make the lanterns glow at night.”

  Willa nodded, looping a string of lights around the frame of her parol. As she switched them on, the cellophane caught the light and shimmered, casting a soft, ethereal glow around the table.

  A couple of hours later, the community center was aglow with dozens of parols, each unique, reflecting the personality of the creator. Some were elegant. Some whimsical. Some included penned drawings of dinosaurs and dogs.

  “Magical,” Kina murmured, her fingers brushing over a gold piece of cellophane. “These will be such a hit at the festival.”

  Ori picked up one of the parols and swung it with admiration. He held it high and declared, “Each one of these is a piece of our heart, a light for those affected by the fire.”

  Moved, Aunt Vanessa wrapped an arm around him. “And together, our hearts shine brighter.”

  Willa smiled. “This is what Christmas in Maui feels like,” she whispered. “The spirit of Aloha.”

  13

  Kahului Airport was a whirlwind of activity as tourists streamed through its doors, their faces alight with anticipation as the visitors left colder climates behind for warmer tropical holidays.

  Amidst the bustle, airport staff navigated the chaos, their aloha shirts adorned with festive reindeer and surfboards. The aroma of fresh lei flowers competed with the pine scent from Christmas trees dotting the terminal. Overhead, speakers alternated between classic holiday jingles and island ukulele tunes.

  Outside, car rental lines snaked into the distance while tour operators pitched holiday specials, promising a Maui Christmas experience unlike any other. The usual tranquility of the island seemed a world away, replaced for now by the contagious excitement of the holiday season.

  Tom and Ava wound their way to the private terminal, taking in the sights and sounds, an atmosphere that was uniquely Maui at Christmastime.

  “These folks sure know how to bring the festive spirit,” Tom remarked, his hand at his wife’s back.

  Ava’s phone rang. She picked up, using her hand as a shield against the competing noise. “Hey, Christel. What’s up, honey?”

  “Hey, Mom. I know you’re picking up Tom’s mother, but I have a quick question.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have any of that Hana Tonic left in your medicine cabinet?”

  Ava’s brow furrowed in thought. “I believe I might have some.” Memories surfaced of the homegrown island remedy she always kept on hand. Back when Shane was young, he battled car sickness. She remembered an unfortunate incident in Lincoln’s new car when Shane couldn’t hold back. The Hana Tonic had been her saving grace, soothing her son’s queasy stomach and Lincoln’s upset nerves. “Head to the house and take a look. I recall getting some for Willa last year.”

  There was a fleeting silence. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Is everything all right, dear?”

  After a momentary hesitation, her daughter answered. “Yes, I just had a bit too much coffee on an empty stomach, I think.”

  Ava’s heart sank with worry, praying Christel wasn’t falling ill right on the cusp of the holidays, especially not with something as contagious as the stomach flu.

  Before she could further voice her concerns, Tom placed his hand on her arm. “There she is.”

  The unmistakable hum of a private jet engine nearly drowned out her reply. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve got to go. I’ll call and check on you later. In the meantime, call your sister to come get the twins. You should get some rest, regardless.”

  She hung up and glanced out the window where a sleek, white jet taxied in, emblazoned with the initials “E.E.F.” – Exeter Endowment Foundation.

  As the engine died down, the plane’s door slid open, revealing a petite but imposing woman with white hair. Frances Strobe, dressed in a sharp navy pantsuit and oversized sunglasses, crossed the tarmac, followed by a frazzled-looking attendant pushing a cart laden with Louis Vuitton luggage.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9