Fly Away (Firefly Lane 2)

They walked past the baggage claim area, where women in muumuus handed out purple and white leis to people who’d come here on package deals.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Bougainvilleas in full pink bloom crawled over the parking area fence. Johnny led the way across the street to the rental car area. Within ten minutes they were in a silver convertible Mustang and headed north along the only highway on the island. They stopped at a Safeway store, loaded up on groceries, and then piled back into the car.

To their right, the coastline was an endless golden sandy beach lashed by crashing blue waves and rimmed in black lava rock outcroppings. As they drove north, the landscape became lusher, greener.

“Uh, it’s pretty here,” he said to Marah, who was beside him in the front passenger seat, hunched down, staring at her phone. Texting.

“Yeah,” Marah said without looking up.

“Marah,” he said in a warning tone. As in: You’re skating on thin ice.

She looked over at him. “I am getting homework from Ashley. I told you I couldn’t leave school. ”

“Marah—”

She glanced to her right. “Waves. Sand. Fat white people in Hawaiian shirts. Men who wear socks with their sandals. Great vacation, Dad. I totally forgot that Mom just died. Thanks. ” Then she went back to texting on her Motorola Razr.

He gave up. Ahead, the road snaked along the shoreline and spilled down into the verdant patchwork of the Hanalei Valley.

The town of Hanalei was a funky collection of wooden buildings and brightly colored signs and shave-ice stands. He turned onto the road indicated by MapQuest and immediately had to slow down to avoid the bikers and surfers crowded along either side of the street.

The house they’d rented was an old-fashioned Hawaiian cottage on Weke—pronounced Veke, apparently—Road. He pulled into the crushed-coral driveway and parked.

The boys were out of the car in an instant, too excited to be contained a second longer. Johnny carried two suitcases up the front steps and opened the door. The wooden-floored cottage was decorated in 1950s bamboo-framed furniture with thick floral cushions. A koa-wood kitchen and eating nook was on the left side of the main room, with a comfortable living room on the right side. A good-sized TV delighted the boys, who immediately ran through the house yelling, “Dibs!”

He went to the set of glass sliding doors that faced the bay. Beyond the grassy yard lay Hanalei Bay. He remembered the last time he and Kate had been here. Take me to bed, Johnny Ryan. I’ll make it worth your while …

Wills bumped into him hard. “We’re hungry, Dad. ” Lucas skidded up beside them. “Starving. ”

Of course. It was almost nine P. M. at home. How had he forgotten that his kids needed dinner? “Right. We’ll go to a bar that your mom and I love. ”

Lucas giggled. “We can’t go in a bar, Dad. ”

He ruffled Lucas’s hair. “Not in Washington, maybe, but here it’s A-okay. ”

“That’s so cool,” Wills said.

Johnny heard Marah in the kitchen behind him, putting groceries away. That seemed like a good sign. He hadn’t had to beg or threaten her.

It took them less than thirty minutes to put their things away, claim their rooms, and change into shorts and T-shirts; then they walked along the quiet street to a ramshackle old wooden building near the center of town. The Tahiti Nui.

Kate had loved the retro Polynesian kitsch of the place, which was more than just a décor here. Rumor was that the interior had looked the same for more than forty years.

Inside the bar, which was filled with tourists and locals—easily separated by their dress—they found a small bamboo table near the “stage”—a three-foot-by-four-foot flat area with two stools and a pair of stand-up microphones.

“This is great!” Lucas said, bouncing on his seat so hard Johnny worried that he might fall through and hit the floor. Normally Johnny would have said something, tried to tame the boys, but their enthusiasm was exactly why they’d come here, so he nursed his Corona and said nothing. The tired-looking waitress had just delivered their pizza when the band—two Hawaiians with guitars—showed up. Their first song was Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s iconic ukulele version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow. ”

Johnny felt Kate materialize on the bench seat beside him, singing quietly in her off-key voice, leaning against him, but when he turned, all he saw was Marah, frowning at him.

“What? I wasn’t texting. ”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Whatever,” Marah said, but she looked disappointed.

Another song started. When you see Hanalei by moonlight …

A beautiful woman with sun-bleached blond hair and a bright smile went to the minuscule stage and danced a hula to the song. When the music stopped, she came over to their table. “I remember you,” she said to Johnny. “Your wife wanted hula lessons the last time she was here. ”