Somehow, the love of the islands,

like the love of a woman,

just happens.

One cannot determine in advance to love a particular woman

nor can one determine to love Hawaii.

JACK LONDON

Chapter One

Sierra Jensen stepped off the city bus and slipped her leather messenger bag across the front of her in a diagonal fashion. With quick steps, she turned uphill at the corner. A faint, sweet fragrance lingered in the warm November air.

When Sierra had first moved to Brazil from California, she thought the scent came from the vivid pink flowers blooming on the trees in this part of town. Her Brazilian friend Mariana set her straight and told her that the fragrance came from ethanol emissions—the sugar cane–based fuel that powered both cars and trucks. Mariana was also the one who urged Sierra to take the volunteer position at the after-school program where she was now headed.

The early afternoon sun came at Sierra from behind as she hiked up the hill past gated homes and security-locked fences. Here, below the equator, spring was giving a farewell curtsey as summer was about to make her grand entrance. Sierra knew that a bevy of long, sultry afternoons would be riding in on summer’s regal train.

Scooting up to the school entrance, Sierra waved at the security guard, who reached over to press the buzzer to open the gate. As she waited, she held her wild, curly blond hair up off her neck. Once again, she considered the option of cutting her locks short. A shorter style might make her weekly visits to the favelas, or shanty towns, a less steamy experience this summer.

Last December some of the women she assisted in the poverty-affected area of town teased her when she broke out in a pouring sweat as they worked together making beaded bracelets. They called her a princesa and sent their children to find pieces of cardboard with which to playfully fan their fair-skinned friend.

The gate buzzed, and Sierra reached to push it open. She glanced at the beaded bracelets on her wrist and smiled at the comforting clinking sound they made as they tapped against the row of silver bangles she loved to wear. This was familiar—bracelets, gauze blouses, and her unruly mass of curls. This had been her style for almost a decade, since the middle of high school. If she changed any of it now, she might not know who she was when she looked in the mirror.

Striding down the hallway, Sierra decided that the past year had been full of too many adjustments. Her life and her work with the mission organization had been in constant flux. Her hair and everything else about her needed to stay just as it was.

The principal’s assistant at the front desk looked up as Sierra entered the office and greeted her in Portuguese. “Boa tarde.”

“Boa tarde,” Sierra replied. Her attempt to communicate further in Portuguese stopped there. The assistant nodded toward the principal’s door and gave a hand motion indicating that Sierra should go in.

Sierra’s dark-eyed, fashion-conscious friend Mariana was seated in one of the two chairs positioned at an angle in front of the principal’s vacant desk. Mariana was shorter than Sierra but always sat with elegant posture. Her skin was a rich mahogany shade of brown, and her well-formed legs were one of her nicest features. She wasn’t beautiful by model standards, but she was striking. Whenever Mariana entered a room, people took a second look.

“Hey, how’s your day been?” Sierra asked.

“Not bad. How about yours?”

“Good. Busy.” Sierra unstrapped her messenger bag and sat down.

“You do too many things, Sierra.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Yes, but I get paid for teaching here. You volunteer all over the place. You need a vacation. Both of us do. What do you think?” Mariana asked. “We should go somewhere in January.”

“In January I hope to be leading a summer program here for the high school girls. That’s why I asked for this meeting with Senhora Almeida. I’d like to do a cooking class one day, a sports day every Friday, and maybe a drama program.”

“Sierra, you do too much.” Mariana leaned forward and put out her hand. “Come on, let’s see your plan for this program.”

“I haven’t exactly written out a plan yet. I have all the ideas in my head.”

“Of course you do.” Mariana leaned back and gave Sierra a friendly smirk.

“What?”

“You have so many ideas. This is a good one, though, so I won’t give you a hard time about it. For these girls, it would be wonderful.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Nothing else is like it that I know of in this area.”

“I suppose you’ll need an interpreter. And someone to write up the lesson plan and the proposal for you in Portuguese.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m in the market for that sort of assistance.” Sierra gave Mariana an appreciative smile. “You don’t happen to know where I might find someone who would be able and willing to do that for me, would you?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll do it. I won’t even make you beg this time. And I’ll help you with the drama class. You know I’m good in that area.” Mariana lifted the back of her hand to her forehead and struck a dramatic pose.

Sierra gave Mariana’s elbow a squeeze. “You’re so funny. Thank you, though. Again. I don’t think I thank you enough for all you do for me.”

“No, you don’t thank me enough.” Mariana grinned mischievously. “But do you see me complaining?”

Ever since Sierra and Mariana met at a fund-raising event almost three years ago, their friendship had remained steady. Mariana spoke perfect English and volunteered to serve as Sierra’s translator whenever she needed one. The result was that Sierra could help others despite her seemingly futile struggle to learn Portuguese.

It also meant that the two of them spent lots of time together. The unique twist, from Sierra’s point of view, was that Mariana accompanied her on many of the projects she did for the mission organization she worked for. Yet Mariana, in her own words, was “not among the faithful.” Her goal in life was to be happy. And hanging out with Sierra, Mariana said, made her happy.

The side door to the office opened and Senhora Almeida entered with a serious expression on her face. She adjusted her dark-rimmed glasses and spoke in Portuguese before she even reached her desk.

Mariana translated. The words went in her ears in Portuguese and came out her mouth in English. This skill always amazed Sierra.

“Before you state your reasons for this meeting, Senhora Almeida wants you to know she has some difficult news to tell you. The decision has been made to cancel the after-school program for next year. She wanted you to know this right up front.”

Sierra turned to Mariana, thinking her witty friend was playing a joke on her.

Mariana kept her eyes on the principal. Her chin was lowered in a somber expression. “She says she’s very sorry. But the decision has been made. It has to do with the budget for the utilities and the extra hours for the security staff.”

Sierra leaned back as if the metal chair were swallowing her.

Mariana gave Sierra a sympathetic look. “Everyone here has appreciated your work with these girls. She regrets that she is the one to tell you that your position has been terminated.”

Terminated. The word pierced Sierra like an arrow.

“Senhora Almeida would like you to know she is very sorry. And what is it that you wanted to say to her in this meeting?”

Sierra rallied her emotions. “I wanted to see if we could do a summer program.”

The principal looked surprised. Sierra didn’t wait for her to reply. She went ahead and took a crazy chance, pitching her idea just in case something could be done.

The principal folded her hands on the desk and spoke in a decisive tone that told Sierra what she already knew before Mariana translated.

Sierra nodded that she understood. The budget. The many restrictions. Yes, she understood. Following Mariana’s cue, Sierra rose from her chair since they apparently were being dismissed.

Offering her hand to the principal, Sierra said, “Thank you for letting me help out for as long as I did. I loved every minute of my time here. Obrigada.” Sierra added her thank-you in Portuguese and waited for the principal to shake her hand.

Instead of reaching across the desk, Senhora Almeida came around to where Sierra and Mariana stood. She opened her arms to Sierra in a motherly fashion, and when Sierra received the hug, Senhora Almeida kissed her lightly on the cheek. This was the kind of warmth and openhearted greeting Sierra had received when she first arrived at the school. It made her stomach do a flip-flop to now receive an equally tender yet bittersweet send-off.

Just as the buzzer sounded indicating the end of the school day, Mariana translated the principal’s final words. “Please do not say anything to the girls about this decision. She will tell them before the end of the term.”

Sierra agreed and walked with Mariana to the cafeteria where Sierra knew she had to appear upbeat during the next two hours with the seventeen girls who came each afternoon to practice their English.

“Not what you had hoped to hear,” Mariana stated in a low voice, leaning close in the noisy hallway.

“No, not what I had hoped to hear.”

“Let’s go to dinner tonight. I’ll meet you here when you’re done, okay?”

Sierra agreed, even though she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment. She did like the idea of not going home to the tiny apartment she shared with a young married couple from Arkansas who worked for the same mission organization as Sierra and were going through language school.

They were a quiet and very busy couple. On the rare occasions they were home, they gravitated to their room and closed the door while normally gregarious Sierra was relegated to the lumpy foldout sofa that doubled as her bedroom. The arrangement was awkward but was the only one the mission organization could come up with three months ago when they started to restructure the ministry. Sierra and the young couple had fallen in the crevice between the way things had always been done and the way they would be done once the new administration passed its policies.

Mariana had invited Sierra to live with her in the apartment she shared with three other young women. Sierra would still have the couch as her bedroom, but as Mariana pointed out, at least she would have a social life. Sierra knew enough about her friend’s social life to know that, in spite of Mariana’s generosity, living with four Brazilian party girls was a bad idea.

Trying to breathe in a courageous attitude, Sierra opened the cafeteria door. The moment she saw the girls perched on the tables’ edges, chattering like a bunch of colorful birds, she felt her throat tighten. Pulling up a small smile, Sierra blinked back the tears that rushed to her eyes. She knew that the next few weeks were going to be agonizing.

Chapter Two

Jordan Bryce positioned his bare feet firmly in the cool sand at Goleta Beach and flipped his baseball cap on backward. He checked to make sure his camera was set on the lowest aperture and lifted the view-finder to his left eye. The big waves had arrived in Santa Barbara because of a mid-November storm, and today was the start of the promised surf-worthy swells.

First light had come, and dozens of surfers were already in the water. Jordan was one of only three photographers lining the far side of the beach. And he was ready.

Carefully adjusting the lens, Jordan focused on a lone surfer who had paddled out on an old-school long board. Jordan held his breath for just a moment and lightly pressed the button. He heard the magic click-click-click sound he so dearly loved, and a steady smile rested on his lips.

This could be it. Come on, Derek, come on. You got it. That’s it! Yes!

Derek had pulled away from the other contenders. His dark wet suit blended with his Jamaican skin tone as he rode the charging wave like a jousting knight intent on toppling his opponent. Jordan shot every set of waves his old roommate managed to catch. The lighting was ideal—overcast skies and early morning sunlight illuminating his subject.

This could really be it!

The session lasted almost an hour before Derek paddled in and headed straight for Jordan, dripping and smiling broadly.

“Not bad, huh?” Derek shoved the end of his classic surfboard into the wet sand and slapped Jordan a watery high five.

“Ideal conditions.” Jordan flipped his baseball cap back around on his recently cut mop of dark brown hair. “I got some epic shots.”

“Let’s see some of ’em.” Derek stood beside Jordan as they peered at the digital screen on Jordan’s camera. “Oh, nice. Look at that one. Killer. Did you capture the…yes! Excellent! Right there. That could be the one! Man, Jordo, you killed this session.”

“Look who’s talking. You were the one out there doing all the shredding.”

“When can you have ’em ready?”

“Give me an hour. I’m heading back to my place now.”

“This could be our day, Jordo.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing.”

“Give me a call when you’re ready to send them.”

“I will.”

“And listen, if I don’t pick up my phone, call Mindy and let her know you’re sending them.”

“Okay. Got it.” Jordan headed for his truck in the parking lot and realized for the first time how cold his bare feet had become while standing for an hour in the wet sand.

A few months ago, he had adopted a strategy from a fellow photographer who specialized in winning surfing shots. The idea was to turn his solid five-foot-ten-inch frame into a fixed stand. In lieu of a tripod, he became the bipod that kept the camera steady. The trick, he was told, was to create the bipod barefooted so that each toe could act as a stabilizer in the sand. Then, once he had the distant surfer in view, he could line up the shot without a wobble. The stance resulted in clearer, steadier shots.

As well as cold feet. An inconvenience he considered well worth the payoff.

Jordan cranked up the heater in his truck on the drive home. His feet warmed up in no time. Fifteen minutes later, he turned into a long driveway that led to a five-thousand-square-foot estate. Jordan gave a wave to the gardener and slowly edged around the side of the six-car garage.

His five-hundred-square-foot bungalow, as well as his assigned parking spot, were in the back of the mansion by the tangerine trees. When he first moved into the detached guesthouse more than a year ago, he was convinced it was all he needed. He had enough room for a bed, a refrigerator, a shower, and a corner to set up his computer and camera equipment. But lately Jordan was discovering that coming home to an empty space could be pretty lonely. He made sure he wasn’t home very often.

Turning on his computer monitor now, Jordan pulled out the cable needed to load his photos to the computer. While the shots uploaded, he made coffee and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Then, sitting in his torn office chair, Jordan clicked through that day’s catch, looking for the moneymaker.

There it was.

DS00547.

That was the one. Derek was in perfect position on his board. Across the crown of the silver wave, a glistening rooster tail sprayed. The inside curve bent just right in the belly of the curl to capture the crazy emerald and teal shades that came through when a wave was thin enough to let light in from both sides.

Jordan felt his heart pounding as he copied the file twice and sent a watermarked copy to Derek’s e-mail. He called Derek while he clicked through the remaining shots.

“We got it,” Jordan said the moment Derek answered. “I’m serious. We got it this time. I just sent it. Are you on your computer?”

“No. I can get on in five minutes. I’ll call you back. You sound pretty sure of this one.”

“Wait till you see it. I’m stoked, Derek. Seriously.” Jordan paused and looked closer at the picture that appeared on his screen just then. “Whoa. We might have more than one. I haven’t gone through all of them yet. This one is really nice too. Call me when you look at the one, I sent.”

“I will. Send me the other keepers too.”

Jordan took his time going through the photos one by one. He saved to a separate file those that stood out. He had fourteen stellar shots. Fourteen. This was the best “catch” ever for him.

His cell phone buzzed. When he answered, Derek shouted, “Jordo, you did it, man. You did it!”

“I know, right?”

“Dude. Seriously. This is it. This is the one.”

Jordan felt his smile tightening the dried sea spray still on his face. “You want to send them to Bill, or should I?”

“I just called him before I phoned you. He’s waiting for the file. You send ’em. All of ’em.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Derek asked.

“We’re going to be able to eat next month.”

“This isn’t just grocery money, Jordan. You know how much Surf Days Magazine pays for a cover shot? And if they go for a spread, we’re golden.”

Jordan leaned back and let the early taste of success awaken his salivary glands. “What do you think? Billabong? Red Bull? Local Motion? Which one are you going to sign with?”

“Highest bidder, of course. Mindy’s looking at the shots you just sent, and she says North Shore is a for sure now.”

Jordan sat up straight, and his unstable chair wobbled precariously. “When?”

“Soonest I think we could pull it all together would be late December, early January. Once we get paid for these shots, all three of us can buy first-class airline tickets for Oahu.”

“How about if we fly coach and use the rest of our funds to rent a place on the beach and to buy groceries while we’re there?”

Derek laughed. “You’re always thinking about your stomach, man. Oh, hey, Mindy says she’ll work out the tickets and book the place for us. She has some connections. Happy New Year’s to us, bro. Man, how many years have we been trying for this? At least six. We’re finally going to do it. Have you sent the file to Bill yet?”

“No, I’ll do it right now.”

“I’m calling him,” Derek said. “I want to be on the phone with him when he goes through these. I’ll call you right back.”

Jordan pressed SEND on his computer. The fourteen exceptional shots flung their way through cyberspace, headed for the desk computer of Derek and Jordan’s mutual friend Bill Kempler, who had recently taken over as the editor of Surf Days Magazine. Bill’s advice to the two of them during the surfing competition at Lower Trestles had been, “You get one exceptional photo, and I’ll print it. After that, if you’re willing to become your own publicists, I guarantee you’ll see sponsorship offers coming your way. You bring me the best—you bring me ‘the one’—and it’ll all unfold from there.”

Jordan had taken those words as a personal challenge. He wanted to capture the elusive photo for his friend. Since high school, Jordan’s photography hobby had grown into a small side business. By the time he was twenty-one, he had shot three large weddings and had put up a photography website. His goal was to build his business in Santa Barbara and garner enough paying events to support him in his final year of college. To his parents’ surprise and his, he met his goal.

In the four years since graduation, Jordan had lived out all the stereotypes associated with being a starving artist. He stocked shelves at the grocery store during the wee hours of the morning to pay for electricity and rent. He volunteered at his church with a mentoring program for young boys who didn’t have fathers. And every chance he got, Jordan took pictures. Surfing shots were becoming his specialty, thanks to Derek’s persistence.

The wind outside had picked up some muscle and was rattling the slatted shades in the bathroom. Jordan went to close the window and saw that it was raining. The drops were coming in at an angle, and the inside windowsill was dripping with the gathering intruders.

Jordan mopped up the moisture with a towel. He paused and thought about what Derek had said. Sunset Beach in January. Waimea, Pipeline. If Bill bought Derek’s photo and liked the others, Bill might send Jordan to the North Shore on assignment for the magazine. It was too cool of a dream to dare to believe. And yet, Jordan knew he had captured “the one” for Bill today.

Jordan’s cell phone rang. He rushed to grab it, feeling in his gut that his life was about to change.

Chapter Three

Mariana’s choice for dinner was for the two of them to drive across town to her favorite churrascaria. As she and Sierra left the school, Mariana said, “And I’m paying, so don’t give me any complaints.”

“No complaints,” Sierra promised, even though she still didn’t have much of an appetite. She knew she couldn’t turn down the chance to eat at one of the nicer Brazilian steakhouses. Mariana grew up enjoying a lot of the finer things in life, and she knew all the best places to eat.

As soon as they had gone through the salad buffet line and sat at their table, Mariana said, “We need a vacation.”

“You said that earlier today. In Senhora’s office.”

“I know. And you said you had plans for January. Only now, you—we—don’t have any plans. So I think we should make some plans. We need to go somewhere exotic.”

“Where do you want to go?”

By the way her friend narrowed her dark eyes and leaned forward, Sierra knew Mariana had already thought of some place, and Sierra had just stepped into Mariana’s carefully laid net.

“Sunset Beach,” Mariana answered confidently.

Sierra tried to remember where Sunset Beach was located. She had been to Copacabana and Ipanema, two popular Brazilian beaches near Rio de Janiero. She had never been to Sunset Beach. “Where is it? Near Rio?”

“No. Sunset Beach is in your country, not mine. It’s in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yes. Rodrigo went there last year, remember?”

Sierra vaguely remembered hearing about Mariana’s cousin who had been in a surfing competition on the North Shore of Hawaii. “Is he surfing again this year?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to go?”

Mariana put down her fork. “I, or rather we, want to go to the surfing competition in Hawaii so we can see how beautiful it is there, and we can relax and learn about the wildlife.”

Sierra speared a piece of cucumber with her fork. “I know what kind of wildlife you like to research on your trips.” She bit into the cucumber with a crunch.

Mariana responded with an equally snappy crunch on a carrot stick. “What would be so terrible about meeting a good-looking surfer, falling in love, and spending the rest of our lives living on the beach?”

“In a little grass shack?”

“No, in a big mansion. See, this is your problem, Sierra. You don’t dream. You have to dream, and when you dream, you have to dream big.”

Sierra stayed focused on her salad, chewing slowly and not responding.

“What? What is it? I made you sad, didn’t I?”

Sierra was thinking about the big dream that had brought her to Brazil. So much had changed since she had arrived as an energetic college student ready to change the world. Over the past four years, among other roles, she had been a soup kitchen cook, daycare assistant, construction worker, office administrator, medical clinic assistant, after-school program director, and craft instructor with the impoverished women who made and sold beaded bracelets. Even that work was winding down since all the distribution avenues were now in place, and the women were creating the bracelets without further help from Sierra.

“My dream was to come here and to make a difference.”

“Well, you did, and you have. So now you need a new dream.”

Just then a server appeared next to their table. He held a long skewer of sizzling hot beef from the fire pit where dozens of skewers of meat rotated over the flame. Pushing the half-finished salad aside, Sierra nodded, and the server used his carving knife to thinly slice the delicacy onto her waiting dinner plate.

“Here’s what I think,” Mariana said as the waiter served her next. “I think you need time away from here to think about what you’re supposed to do next. Just a week. That’s all I ask. We’ll go to Hawaii, have some fun, break some hearts, and come home with ukuleles.”

“Ukuleles?”

“You know, those tiny little guitars. Or we could bring home pineapples. Or hula skirts. I don’t care. The point is, what good is it for me to have a father who works for an airline if I can’t share his free airfare passes with my friends and go to interesting places every year?”

Sierra remembered how last year she had turned down Mariana’s invitation to join her and two of her other friends for a six-day trip to Paris. The year before that the same trio had gone to New York.

“Why don’t you go to Hawaii with your usual travel companions?” Sierra asked.

“Because I know I would have more fun with you.”

Her answer surprised Sierra. It also touched her.

“And here is the important part. If I don’t book a trip by December, the passes will expire. Don’t you think that would be a terrible waste? We have free airfare waiting for us and probably a free place to stay, since my dad gets lots of discounts and he loves to spoil me.”

Sierra slowly chewed her tender piece of flavorful beef. Another waiter came by with another long skewer and sliced roasted lamb onto their plates.

“You’re not protesting,” Mariana observed.

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s good.” Mariana raised her eyebrows. “Wait. You wouldn’t be thinking unless you were thinking of saying yes. You’re going to say yes, aren’t you? You’re going to go to Hawaii with me. Say it.”

Sierra nodded once and then kept nodding. “Yes. I’d love to go with you.”

“I don’t believe it! Okay, I’ll start making all the plans as soon as I get home. This is going to be so fun. Sierra. You wait. You’ll see.”

After Sierra was back at her apartment and preparing for bed, she wondered if she had made a wise decision. She needed to let Mark and Sara know. They were the couple at the mission organization Sierra checked in with each month. With things being in such upheaval due to the reorganization process, she couldn’t imagine that her leaving for a week in January would be a problem.

She pulled out her aged but trusty laptop and typed an e-mail to Mark and Sara. Part of her update was about the program at the school being terminated. She also let them know that the women in the favela were self-sustaining and that she was ready to be put to work in a new area wherever she was needed. At the end she added a note about going on vacation in January with Mariana.

Sierra sent the e-mail and then saw that she had an email from her brother Wes.

“Happy Thanksgiving! Remember the year you almost burned down Granna Mae’s house when you forgot about the marshmallows on top of the yams in the oven? We miss you. Hope you can find someplace that will serve you some turkey and pumpkin pie for dinner.”

Sierra leaned back. She had forgotten that today was Thanksgiving. In Brazil, it was just Thursday. At home, it was her favorite holiday, and she hadn’t thought about it once until now.

Sierra put in her earpiece and dialed her parents’ phone through her laptop. Calculating the time difference, she guessed they would just about be sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner.

Her dad answered, and Sierra visited with him as if she had remembered all along that it was Thanksgiving and had planned to call them. She stayed upbeat and bright and didn’t tell anyone about the unhappy news she had received from the school that afternoon. She could update the family later in an e-mail so her dad wouldn’t offer her advice over the phone. She loved her dad, but sometimes she felt as if he had too much advice to share.

Three of her four brothers took their turns saying hello. Her oldest brother and her sister were both married, but they and their families weren’t with the rest of the crew this year. Only three of the six Jensen children would be sliding their feet under the family table. Sierra wished she could make it four children. She would love to see them all again. Especially Wes.

Her mom was the last one to come on the phone. Sierra wasn’t sure why, but she choked up as she talked to her mom. Her voice was so comforting Sierra wanted to tell her everything she was processing. That, she knew, would be better to save for a more private conversation later.

“How are you doing, honey?” her mom asked.

Sierra put on the same brave demeanor she had worn for the girls that afternoon in the cafeteria and focused on the positive. “I’m good. I have some great news. Mariana invited me to go with her to Hawaii in January on her father’s airline passes, and I told her I would go.”

“That is big news. When are you going to be there? Will it be over New Year’s?”

“I don’t know the dates yet. It could be.”

“Did you know that Tawni and Jeremy will be there over New Year’s?”

“They are?”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful if you could see each other? Baby Ben is a year old already. He is the cutest little guy.”

Sierra loved the thought of seeing her nephew for the first time. She and her sister had never been super close, but at this moment, she felt a deep longing to be with Tawni. “Where are they going to be? Which island?”

“I don’t know. I can ask her. They’re going for the wedding.”

“Whose wedding?” Sierra asked.

“Paul’s.”

For the second time that day Sierra felt as if the chair she was sitting in was about to swallow her.

“Sierra, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. I heard you. Paul’s getting married.” Sierra swallowed. “That’s great.”

“I’ll tell Tawni to e-mail you with the details of where the wedding will be. I hope you can see each other.”

“I do too.” Sierra didn’t think she wanted to see Tawni under those circumstances, but she didn’t know what else to say. No one, not even her mother, knew that she still carried this single lit candle in her heart for Paul.

“We’re about to sit down to dinner so I’ll say good-bye for everyone. Happy Thanksgiving, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Sierra ended the call and let out a big sigh. Staring across the room she tried to accept the news her mom had so blithely told her.

Paul Mackenzie was getting married.

Chapter Four

The uniformed security personnel at the Los Angeles airport singled Jordan out of the stream of post-Christmas travelers and motioned for him to step to the side.

“Is this your bag, sir?”

“Yes, that’s mine.” Jordan watched as the heavy case was moved to a separate table.

“Okay if we open it for further inspection?” The rote question was delivered as more of a statement than something about which Jordan might have a choice.

“Sure. It’s camera equipment.”

The man put on thin ivory gloves and undid the clasps. He lifted from the customized, cushioned case each lens, filter, and light meter. “Are you a professional photographer?”

“Yes. I’m on assignment for Surf Days Magazine.” Jordan realized he didn’t need to add that bit of information, but it felt pretty good to say it aloud. Ever since he had picked up the call from Bill six weeks ago, Jordan’s life had jumped onto the fast track. The photo he had captured of Derek was scheduled for the February cover of Surf Days, and Bill had hired Jordan to go to the North Shore on assignment the first week of January. Derek and Mindy were flying over to Oahu to join him in three days, and as Derek kept saying, “We’re finally livin’ the dream!”

The guard closed up the case and motioned that Jordan could go to his gate. Jordan took his time, reopening the case, carefully checking and adjusting each valuable piece of equipment to make sure it was nestled in its proper place. Once he was satisfied, he closed the case, strapped it over his shoulder, and trekked through the airport.

Just as Jordan arrived at his gate, Derek called him.

“Hey, good timing. I’m about to board my flight.” Jordan moved to the nearly vacant waiting area across from his gate so he could put down his heavy case and talk to Derek more easily.

“Mindy told me to call and say thanks again for being willing to go over early and shoot the wedding for her friend.”

“Sure. No problem. I’m glad to do it. The extra job means a little extra money. You won’t hear me complaining about that.”

“She just told me this morning, though, that the wedding isn’t on Oahu.”

“Right. It’s on Maui.”

“I didn’t realize that. So, when you arrive on Oahu this afternoon, you’re going to take an inter-island flight to Maui, is that how it works?”

“Yes, then I’ll fly back to Oahu the same day you guys arrive. Your organized wife set it all up for me. I’ll meet you at the place Mindy rented for us at Sunset Beach. I’ll probably arrive before you and Mindy since I’m booked on the first flight out of Maui that morning. I told her I’d make a run to the grocery store so we have some food when you guys get there.”

“At least you have your priorities in order.”

“Right. Food first.”

“If I was the first to arrive, I’m afraid I’d be in the water before I’d be at the grocery store. But, you know, I have to say, this isn’t such a bad deal, is it? Your first trip to Hawaii, and you get to visit two islands, all expenses paid. In exchange, all you have to do is make good use of that new camera of yours and remember to grab yourself a piece of wedding cake.”

“I know. It’s not bad at all. And I do love free cake.”

They talked a few more minutes about the latest surf report for the North Shore and Derek’s new travel bag for his surfboard. Everything was looking good for a great week ahead.

“I’ll see you in a few days then,” Jordan said.

“You know it. Pipeline, Waimea, Sunset. It’s all going to happen for us, Jordo. And, hey, if Mindy asks, be sure to tell her that I called and said thanks for doing the wedding photos.”

“You got it.” Jordan hung up just as two young women slid past him with their luggage and sat in the empty seats across from him. He glanced at the shorter, dark-haired woman directly across from him and then paused as he looked at the woman beside her. She had the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head and was wearing large, round sunglasses, which seemed odd since they were sitting indoors.

What caught his attention was the name of the university on her sweatshirt. Rancho Corona was a rival of the college he had graduated from. If Derek were here, he would have started up a friendly debate about which school was best.

Jordan wasn’t the type to visit with strangers, though. He stood and headed across the way since boarding for first-class passengers had begun. Sliding past some of the waiting passengers who were using their coach boarding passes as fans, Jordan boarded as the announcement came for the business class group. The bump up to business was just one of the perks Bill had given Jordan on this trip.

“You know what the Good Book says, don’t you?” Bill asked when he handed Jordan the ticket a few weeks ago. “It says that to the person who has been given much, much is required. The pressure’s on. We’re expecting a lot out of you, even though this is your first assignment for us. You make good on this one, and we’ll keep you busy for a long time.”

As Jordan located his seat on the plane, he thought about how much he would like for Bill to make good on that offer to keep him gainfully employed as a photographer. It was what he had wanted for a long time. All the hours of working as a late-night grocery stocking clerk were worth it if it meant he had broken through that invisible barrier all people in the arts seem to come up against. If he could be taken seriously as a photographer, he felt his future was finally opening up.

Stowing his camera case in the overhead compartment, Jordan took his seat. The extra leg room and wider seat were impressive. A flight attendant came by and offered him a cup of water or orange juice from a tray in her hand. Jordan reached for the orange juice and sat back, trying to appear as if this was the way he always traveled even though his last flight, more than two years ago, had been completely different.

On that trip, he and seven other singles from his church had flown to Costa Rica to help build a school in a remote village. Their flight out of LAX was delayed, which meant they missed their connecting flight in Guatemala City and were rescheduled the next day on a small, outdated plane with a carrier that went out of business soon after the bumpy ride into San Jose, Costa Rica.

The best part of that trip was being with Paige. He closed his eyes and remembered the great times they had had during the seven months they dated. Aside from a high school summer camp romance, brown-eyed Paige, with her little girl giggle, was his first serious relationship.

The only problem was that she was more serious than he was at the time.

Jordan shifted in his seat, remembering how their relationship had ended poorly. He still felt bad about that. Not that there was anything he could do about it now. Paige had moved back home to North Carolina after she graduated, and Jordan had heard from friends that she was now engaged to a guy who had two little girls. He could see that being a good fit for Paige. She would make a great mom. That was what she had wanted all along—the security of a husband, a home, and children.

Jordan felt as if he had more life to experience before locking into a thirty-year mortgage and making payments on a minivan. He told Paige he wanted to be “unencumbered” so that he could be available to help other people.

That’s when their relationship came to an awkward halt.

Since then Jordan had become more cautious about using the word unencumbered. Today, though, Jordan felt he was benefiting from the rewards of being unencumbered. He was living his dream.

During the flight, Jordan paid attention to how the other passengers pulled out their collapsible tray tables from the arms of their wide seats. He watched to see which button they pushed to recline their seats and how they started the entertainment selection that played on the individual screens built into the backs of the seats in front of them. This was nothing like his experiences flying in coach.

What he also noticed, as he observed those around him in business class, was that they were mostly couples. The older couple across from him kept smiling at each other. The wife slipped her arm through her husband’s as he napped. Directly in front of Jordan, a young couple gave every indication they were on their honeymoon with their steady flow of touches, kisses, and cuddles. Everyone was happy to be headed toward Hawaii.

Jordan was too, but he had to ask himself the question that seemed determined to chase him all the way to the islands: what good is it to see your career dreams fulfilled when you have no one with whom to share your joy?

Gazing out the window at the endless stretch of thick white clouds, Jordan tried to ignore the fear that crept in every time he thought about getting married one day. A whisper came to him like a metallic-sounding wind chime, “It’s too late, you know. All the good ones are taken.”

Jordan wanted to believe, needed to believe, someone was out there, somewhere in this world, for him. He silently prayed and realized he sounded like Bill.

Lord, if You will bring me “the one,” I’m willing to be my own publicist. Just capture the right woman for me and bring her to me, and I know everything will open up from there.

He wasn’t sure if that was as honoring a prayer as it should be, but for right now, in this season of new beginnings for him, it was a start.

Chapter Five

Mariana’s roommate drove them to the airport and spent the first ten minutes of the crawl through the heavy traffic giving Mariana a hard time for not inviting her along on the extravagant adventure to Hawaii.

“You went to Paris with me last year,” Mariana said with her usual playful flippancy. “You have nothing to complain about.”

“I know. I just wish I were going with you again.” Aleen looked in the rearview mirror at Sierra. “I heard you’re going to another island first so you can baby-sit.”

Sierra shook her head at Mariana, who didn’t turn around to accept her chiding. “No. Mariana is exaggerating again. I’m going to a wedding on Maui. My sister’s brother-in-law is getting married, and she invited me to stay with her at the hotel. It’s only for two nights. And I’ll get to see my nephew for the first time.”

“How old is he?”

“Fourteen months.”

Mariana chimed in from the front seat. “We’ll see if I exaggerated. I still think the only reason your sister asked you to come was so she can have a free baby-sitter while she’s enjoying the wedding.”

Sierra knew she should defend her older sister and say that Tawni wasn’t like that. Tawni wouldn’t have such an ulterior motive. But Sierra couldn’t make that statement with confidence.

Instead, she defended her place among the invited guests, adding that she had received an invitation and that she and the groom had been friends for a long time. Sierra stopped the explanation there and hoped Mariana wouldn’t press for more details.

But of course, she did.

“You said that to me before, about being friends with the groom for a long time. What kind of friends? You didn’t explain that part.”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Sierra guarded her words carefully. “We were friends when I was in high school. His brother married my sister. That’s about it.”

“If you say so.” Mariana turned and scrutinized Sierra, looking for clues as to what had really happened.