As the last ashes poured from the vase, Quinn cried from the depths of her being, tears streaming down her face like a river, nearly blinding her with their ferocity. Along with the ashes went the small bit of anger that she held toward her mother. Forgiveness flooded through her.

When the vase was empty, the container no longer felt symbolic. Quinn set it down and picked up the white flowered wreath, then dropped it over the side and gave it a nudge. She’d tied a note to it:

Thank you for sending me to Maui, Mama. This journey has taught me that I need to be true to me first. And I forgive you.

Your daughter, Quinn

She liked to think her mother had wanted her to find her birth parents and embrace them, even if it meant Quinn’s love for her would be marred.

While the wreath floated away, Quinn watched it, praying that her mother was there in spirit, and then knowing she was.

The Makenas gently tossed out the leis and the other flowers that draped the canoe. Once that was complete, the surfers maneuvered their boards to point up toward the sky in salute, then turned and headed back to shore.

Quinn wasn’t ready to leave yet. As the last beams of the setting sun bounced off the sparkling water, she watched the petals bobbing up and down.

To the Makenas, her mother was a wayward daughter they’d pushed away with their own selfish actions. To Quinn, she represented the only family in her childhood and young adult life. Her mother had showed her unquestionable loyalty and love. And Quinn wouldn’t remember her as anything but the best human she’d ever known.

The reflections of the petals on the surface of the soft waves were beautiful. The song flowing over it was even more so.

When she was ready, the paddlers turned the canoe around, and as their strokes hit the water in a gentle rhythm, she watched the shore approach. She marveled that for the first time ever, the Crowes and the Rochas were together in one place and at peace, their grudge over for good.

Carmen stood in the middle of them, her face stoic. She’d made her deepest and heartfelt apologies to the Monroes, but she still hadn’t forgiven herself. Quinn had encouraged her to let it go, but she could see that it would take a long time for her to release the guilt.

Helen Rocha—it was still hard for Quinn to think of her as her grandmother—stood beside Carmen, their unusual friendship solid. Helen was feeling better these days now that her poisonous secret was laid bare and no longer flowing through her veins. Quinn could swear she stood taller than she had before.