The chief pointed through the front windshield at the glow illuminating the horizon. “You’ll meet the locals soon enough.”
She leaned forward and squinted. “Tell me that’s not a riot.”
Porter actually laughed. “This is a Christmas festival, Miramar style.”
The agent was clearly displeased. “I didn’t see any memo about your hosting a party for the governor.”
“This sort of happened at the last minute. Not to mention how we only heard about your visit yesterday.” Porter smiled at her. “We’ll do our best to make you feel welcome.”
As they passed the shuttered Castaways and entered the first block illuminated by Christmas lights, their progress was halted by noisy, happy, jostling crowds. Porter announced, “We’ll need to hoof it from here.”
The agent looked doubtful. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“Don’t you worry.” Porter pulled into the empty fire lane. “Me and my team, we’ll have your back.”
As they rose from the vehicles, Olivia decided it was a night made for drama. Behind her, the darkened blocks of Ocean Avenue had been stripped of decorations. A few strands of tinsel still drifted from the lampposts. Otherwise nothing stirred.
The road up ahead was something else entirely. Their way was illuminated by every imaginable form of lawn ornament, strung in happy abandon from telephone poles, shop fronts, bushes, trees. The governor’s security were mildly freaked as they pressed forward. This was, after all, California. But it was also Christmas Eve. In Miramar. A block later, surrounded by good-natured throngs, the governor finally told his guard detail to hang back and keep cool. Then he began working the crowd. The journalists and television crews managed to get their lights on and cameras focused as . . .
Word spread that Governor Lowell was among them. People shouted hellos, called and yelled messages no one bothered to hear, held out babies and young children for him to greet, flashed a million selfies. All in all, it was as warm and easygoing a welcome as any politician could hope for.
Olivia saw how both the governor and his team were confused, uncertain. They had come to inspect and meet officials of a storm-damaged town in serious need of help. Instead, they were swept up, carried along, and invited to join the celebration.
The streetlights were out here as well, but their poles were festooned with baubles and lights connected to the softly thrumming generators. The road was lined with a forest of illuminated lawn ornaments—tree-size candy canes, reindeers, mangers, mock Christmas trees, Santas, elves, angels galore. Yet more lights climbed the town hall’s front, illuminating the band playing a jazzy rendition of Santa coming to town.
Then the crowd parted, and Olivia caught sight of her cottage.
The home she grew up in and fought so hard to escape was transformed. Of the house itself there appeared to be nothing left. Instead, there before her stood a Christmas cottage made up exclusively of light. And laughter. And great good cheer.
Angels and sleighs and reindeer and elves crowded for space along the roof. Her former home was now the centerpiece, the heart to this joyous moment. The storm had passed, and the town was swept into a sweet hour of celebration. Welcoming Miramar into a season of hope.
Her cottage, Olivia decided, had been made for this very moment.
Abruptly the Christmas lights, Miramar’s happy clan, the music, coalesced into a certainty that her mother was close at hand. Olivia could almost hear her humming along with the band playing carols, sharing in this miracle.
Then Dillon appeared in her cottage doorway.
He was dressed in an ill-fitting Santa suit and held a child of perhaps three or four. The girl wore Dillon’s red cap and squealed with laughter. Charlie Hurst and Gleason stood to either side of the doorway. They pretended to keep a mob of kids and their parents in an orderly line. But the two men were laughing too hard for the children to pay them any mind.
Then Dillon spotted Olivia. He slipped the hat back on his head, handed the girl to her giggling parents, then lifted his arms in the air and shouted,“HO HO HO!”
The crowd yelled back to him. Hundreds of voices, like they had spent weeks readying for this very moment. Ho ho ho.
Olivia realized the mayor and her daughter had stepped up beside her. Elena pointed to Dillon and said, “I know what I want for Christmas.”
Bailey took hold of Elena’s hand. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go make Santa’s day.” To Olivia, “Go show the governor your work. I’ll be with you directly.”
* * *
Watching Bailey and Elena march toward him, Dillon felt like all the Christmases he’d ever known were crystallizing into this grand instant. He stepped through the doorway, snagged Gleason, passed him the red hat, and said, “Tag, you’re it.”
Dillon moved away before Gleason could object, and was ready when the two ladies joined him. Bailey wrapped her arms around his neck, and Elena hugged the two of them. Dillon’s own embrace was strengthened by his Christmas wish. He breathed the heady aromas of love and spoke his wish aloud: “I want this union to be forever forged.”
“Wow,” Elena said. “Chills.”
“Good,” Bailey said. “I like having something we can agree on.”
“Something important,” Elena said. “Something vital.”
