Chapter 21

Christmas morning in Ohia broke over the island, and I lay in bed looking at the colored lights surrounding the bay window with its view of a green hill lined with palm trees.

Holidays in Hawaii were a unique blend of traditional holiday cheer and tropical charm. It still felt a little strange not to have snow, short days, and heavy weather outside as we did in Maine at this time of year, but as I listened to the sound of cooing doves and distant roosters outside, I decided to make the most of that difference with an early morning swim.

I stayed where I was for a moment in bed, watching as the sky gradually lightened from the deep indigo of night to a vibrant palette of pinks and oranges. The distant palm trees swayed gently in the balmy breeze, their fronds making a sound like rain on leaves.

The rich scent of Kona coffee, freshly brewed, tantalized me, mixing with the nutmeg-laced fragrance of eggnog Auntie had heated on the stove during an early morning baking spree I'd dimly heard, smelled, and slept through. She must be in bed again now, as I didn't hear anything from her room.

I tossed my comforter aside, ignoring the familiar pang of loss at Tiki's absence. I threw on my bathing suit and the rash guard Keone had given me as a warmth layer. I donned a pair of running shorts and my beloved Nikes, then tossed a beach towel around my neck and padded down the stairs.

The house was quietly alive with festive spirit. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla floated around the kitchen, a testament to Aunt Fae's baking. The makeshift Christmas tree Aunt Fae and I had fashioned from local driftwood nailed to a wooden stand stood proudly in the corner of the living room, adorned with glowing lights and handmade shell and coral ornaments plus precious heirloom glass pieces from our history in Maine. The soft strains of a ukulele rendition of ‘Mele Kalikimaka' hummed in the background on Auntie's new speaker, adding a local touch to the holiday atmosphere.

I glanced at Tiki's empty sleeping basket and full food bowl. They were a stark reminder of her loss, and my heart ached.

"Thanks, Auntie. You make everything better," I murmured to the ceiling where my hardworking surrogate mom slumbered. At the counter, I filled a mug with coffee and grabbed a piece of soft, fresh cinnamon swirl bread. Inside the house was wonderful, but as always, I was drawn to the outdoors, seeking solace in the gentle ocean breeze as I let myself outside.

I ate the bread and drank the coffee from my DO NOT SPEAK TO ME UNTIL THIS IS EMPTY mug as I walked briskly down the artfully weaving road through New Ohia Park. As always, I scanned for any sign of Tiki as I made my way past the entry signage and across the street to the deserted early morning beach at Ohia Bay.

Christmas Day meant the Hana Highway was empty for once, and so was the beach. The sun broke over the ocean, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. The scent of the salty sea air mingled with the sweet fragrance of plumeria flowers, creating a tropical bouquet that was distinctly Ohia.

I spread my towel on the sand and sat, watching the ocean for a moment, and practicing gratitude for all my many blessings. A whale blew outside the bay, making my heart lift, and a sandpiper darted in and out among the gentle waves.

Gradually a sense of peace filled me.

Peace, hope, and gratitude were the real reasons for the season, and this morning I felt all three.

I was also especially thankful that I didn't have a hangover from the Kaihales' luau.

I set my phone and mug aside and rose to my feet, shedding my shoes and getting ready to go in for a swim.

Suddenly, in the distance, a loud, demanding meow broke through the rhythmic sound of the waves. I turned in the direction the sound was coming from, my heart pounding—that was Tiki's familiar cry!

Could she be calling me, as she had so often in the past?

I looked across the street at the shack where I'd lived for my first months on Ohia.

The impatient, demanding cry came again. As if she been conjured by a genie, Tiki appeared, emerging from under the shack just behind the post office. She sat down imperiously on the beach rock top step, just as she'd done a thousand times before.

She stared over at me, and yowled impatiently as if to say, "Don't you see me? What's wrong with you? I want food now!"

"Tiki!" I yelled in delight. I ran barefoot across the street, and squatted to pet her one-eared head, lightheaded with relief. "Where have you been, you crazy cat? You put me through heck!"

Tiki rose and wound herself around my legs, purring—and that's when I felt how thin she'd become, her belly loose and flappy as an empty sack.

"You were sick. That's what was wrong. You were ill and you were hiding down here," I crooned, stroking her bony back. "Oh, my sweet girl, I'm so glad to see you!"

Tiki gave a commanding "meow!" as if to summon me, and slid out from under my hand to disappear beneath the porch.

"Oh my gosh," I muttered. "What is she up to now?"

I was familiar with the dark, musty crawlspace under the shack. Intimately familiar, in fact. I'd constructed a hideout down there made of recycled boxes that had saved my life from an assassin—a story for another day.

I peered under the porch just in time to see Tiki disappear inside the simple cardboard shelter I'd never bothered to remove.

"What on this green earth is Tiki doing?" I wasn't about to belly crawl across the dirt to see what she was up to in there—I had a much better way to check that out.

I hurried up on the porch and unlocked the front door with keys I was lucky enough to have in my shorts pocket, grabbed a flashlight from the utility drawer, and hurried to the bathroom. I pushed up the wood flap behind a built-in shelf beside the shower.

This was the entry Tiki used to get inside the living area, and it led to my hidey-hole in the crawlspace under our house. I hadn't thought to check the cardboard fort under the shack in my frantic search of our new neighborhood.

I pushed the flap open and peered down into the shadows, shining my flashlight into the crude fort.

A pair of large, familiar yellow eyes blinked up at me—and several smaller pairs stared up at me, too.

Tiki was surrounded by kittens.

"Tiki, you naughty hellcat." These kits weren't newborns; they had their eyes open and were moving around freely on their own. My sneaky pet must have come down to the shack and given birth within the first day of going missing.

"Sweet girl, you're a mama!" I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. Relief and joy washed over me as Tiki let out another commanding mew. "You want me to come down there and meet your babies?"

Tiki had been sitting upright amid the welter of kittens crawling and climbing over and around her; now she started up her motorboat purr as if to confirm her desire for me to join them. She stretched out on the beach towel I'd brought down previously for her as a bed.

The kittens immediately pounced all over her and each other in a multicolored mewing mound; they eventually sorted themselves out and began nursing.

"Oh, my goodness. I count five kittens here, Tiki. No wonder we thought you were getting fat. And no wonder you're so skinny now." I carefully slid into the fort and sat cross-legged beside my cat, stroking her head and blinking away tears. "I never did get you to the vet for a checkup, and now look what happened. You're a mother!"

This discovery was a Christmas miracle I hadn't dared to hope for. The day had started with a palpable absence, and now it was filled with the wholeness and joy of reunion with my beloved missing cat.