The Last Song (31 page)

She wasn’t sure, but watching him, she felt moved by what he’d done. The serious way he considered every note and the ease
with which he made changes made her realize how much he’d given up as a result of her childish demand.

As he played, he coughed once, then again, before stopping the song. He coughed some more, the sound thick and mucousy, and
when it continued unabated, she broke into a run to reach him.

“Dad?” she cried. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, and for some reason, the coughing began to subside. By the time she bent down next to him, he was only wheezing
slightly.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice weak. “There’s so much dust in here—it just gets to me after a while. It happens every time.”

She stared at him, thinking he looked a little pale. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He patted her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Jonah told me you were here.”

“I guess you caught me, huh?”

She waved it off. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s a gift, right?”

When he didn’t respond, she motioned to the keyboard, remembering all the songs they’d written together. “What was that you
were playing? Are you writing a new song?”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Trying to write one is more like it. It’s just something I’ve been working on. No big deal.”

“It was good…”

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. You might—you were always better at composing than I was—but I just can’t
seem to get it right. It’s like I’m doing everything backwards.”

“It was good,” she insisted. “And it was… more modern than what you usually play.”

He smiled. “You noticed that, huh? It didn’t start out that way. To be honest, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Maybe you’ve been listening to my iPod.”

He smiled. “No, I can assure you that I haven’t.”

She looked around her. “So when’s the church going to be finished?”

“I don’t know. I think I told you that the insurance didn’t cover all the damage—it’s stalled for the time being.”

“What about the window?”

“I’m still going to finish it.” He pointed to a plywood-covered opening in the wall behind him. “That’s where it’ll go, even
if I have to install it myself.”

“You know how to do that?” Ronnie asked in disbelief.

“Not yet.”

She smiled. “Why is there a piano here? If the church isn’t finished? Aren’t you worried it’s going to get stolen?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be delivered until the church was finished, and technically, it’s not supposed to be in here. Pastor
Harris hopes to find someone who’s willing to store it, but with no completion date in sight, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”
He turned to peek out the doorway and seemed surprised that night had fallen. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after nine.”

“Oh, geez,” he said, starting to rise. “I didn’t realize the time. I’m supposed to camp out with Jonah tonight. And I should
probably get him something to eat.”

“Already taken care of.”

He smiled, but as he gathered up his sheet music and turned out the light in the church, she was struck by how tired and frail
he looked.

S
teve

R
onnie was right, he thought. The song was definitely modern.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that it hadn’t started out that way. In the first week, he’d tried to approximate
something by Schumann; for a few days after that, he’d been inspired more by Grieg. After that, it was Saint-Saëns he heard
in his head. But in the end nothing felt right; nothing he did captured the same feeling he’d had when he’d recorded those
first simple notes on a scrap of paper.

In the past, he worked to create music that he fantasized would live for generations. This time, he didn’t. Instead, he experimented.
He tried to let the music present itself, and little by little, he realized he’d stopped trying to echo the great composers
and was content to finally trust himself. Not that he was there yet, because he wasn’t. It wasn’t right and there was a possibility
that it would never be right, but somehow this felt okay to him.

He wondered if this had been his problem all along—that he’d spent his life emulating what had worked for others. He played
music written by others hundreds of years earlier; he searched for God during his walks on the beach because it had worked
for Pastor Harris. Here and now, with his son sitting beside him on a dune outside his house and staring through a pair of
binoculars, despite the fact he most likely wouldn’t see a thing, he wondered if he’d made those choices less because he thought
others had the answers and more because he was afraid to trust his own instincts. Perhaps his teachers had become his crutch,
and in the end, he had been afraid to be himself.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, Jonah.”

“Are you going to come visit us in New York?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

“Because I think Ronnie will talk to you now.”

“I would hope so.”

“She’s changed a lot, don’t you think?”

Steve put down the binoculars. “I think we’ve all changed a lot this summer.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ve gotten taller, for one thing.”

“You definitely have. And you’ve learned how to make a stained-glass window.”

He seemed to think about that. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I want to learn to stand on my head.”

Steve hesitated, wondering where on earth that came from. “Can I ask why?”

“I like being upside down. I don’t know why. But I think I’ll need you to hold my legs. At least in the beginning.”

“I’d be glad to.”

They were silent for a long time. It was a balmy, starlit night, and as he reflected on the beauty of his surroundings, Steve
felt a sudden rush of contentment. About spending the summer with his kids, about sitting on the dune with his son and talking
about nothing important. He’d gotten used to days like these and dreaded the thought that they would soon be ending.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, Jonah?”

“It’s kind of boring out here.”

“I think it’s peaceful,” Steve responded.

“But I can barely see anything.”

“You can see the stars. And hear the waves.”

“I hear them all the time. They sound the same every day.”

“When do you want to start practicing standing on your head?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Steve put his arm around his son. “What’s wrong? You sound kind of sad.”

“Nothing.” Jonah’s voice was barely audible.

“Are you sure?”

“Can I go to school here?” he asked. “And live with you?”

Steve knew he’d have to tread carefully. “What about your mom?”

“I love Mom. And I miss her, too. But I like it here. I like spending time with you. You know, making the window, flying kites.
Just hanging out. I’ve had so much fun. I don’t want it to end.”

Steve drew him close. “I love being with you, too. The best summer of my life. But if you’re in school, it’s not as if we’d
be together like we are now.”

“Maybe you could homeschool me.”

Jonah’s voice was soft, almost scared, and to Steve, he actually sounded his age. The realization made his throat tighten.
He hated what he had to say next, even though he had no choice. “I think your mom would miss you if you stayed with me.”

“Maybe you could move back. Maybe you and Mom could get married again.”

Steve took a deep breath, hating this. “I know this is hard and doesn’t seem fair. I wish there were a way I could change
that, but I can’t. You need to be with your mom. She loves you so much, and she wouldn’t know what to do without you. But
I love you, too. I never want you to forget that.”

Jonah nodded as though he’d expected Steve’s response. “Are we still going to Fort Fisher tomorrow?”

“If you want to. And afterwards, maybe we can go to the waterslides.”

“There are waterslides there?”

“No. But there’s a place not too far from there. We just have to remember to bring our suits.”

“Okay,” Jonah said, sounding more animated.

“Maybe we’ll go to Chuck E. Cheese’s, too.”

“Really?”

“If you want to. We can make it happen.”

“Okay,” he said. “I want to.”

Jonah was quiet again before finally reaching for the cooler. When he pulled out a plastic bag of cookies, Steve knew enough
not to say anything.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the turtles will hatch tonight?”

“I don’t think they’re quite ready yet, but it shouldn’t be long.”

Jonah brought his lips together but said nothing, and Steve knew his son was thinking about leaving again. He squeezed him
a little closer, but inside he felt something break, something he knew would never quite heal.

Early the next morning, Steve stared down the beach, knowing that if he walked, he would do so simply to enjoy the morning.

God, he came to realize, wasn’t there. At least for him, anyway. But that made sense, now that he thought about it. If pinpointing
God’s presence were really that simple, then he supposed the beaches would be more crowded in the mornings. They would be
filled with people on their own quests, instead of people jogging or walking their dogs or fishing in the surf.

The search for God’s presence, he understood now, was as much of a mystery as God himself, and what was God, if not mystery?

Funny, though, that it took him so long to see it that way.

*     *     *

He spent the day with Jonah, just as they’d planned the night before. The fort was probably more interesting to him than Jonah,
since he understood some of the history of the War Between the States and knew that Wilmington was the last major functioning
port in the Confederacy. The waterslides, however, were far more exciting for Jonah than they were for Steve. Everyone was
responsible for carrying his own mat up to the top, and while Jonah was strong enough the first couple of times, Steve soon
had to take over.

He honestly felt as though he were going to die.

Chuck E. Cheese’s, a pizza parlor with dozens of video games, kept Jonah occupied for another couple of hours. They played
three games of air hockey, accumulated a few hundred game tickets, and, after cashing in the tickets, walked out with two
squirt guns, three bouncy balls, a packet of colored pencils, and two erasers. He didn’t even want to think about how much
it had cost him.

It was a good day, a day of laughter, but wearying. After spending some time with Ronnie, he went to bed. Exhausted, he fell
asleep within minutes.

R
onnie

A
fter her dad and Jonah had taken off for the day, Ronnie went to look for Blaze, hoping to catch her before she was due at
the aquarium. She figured she had nothing to lose. The worst that could happen was that Blaze would blow her off or reject
her out of hand, which would leave her in the same position she was already in. She didn’t expect Blaze to suddenly change
her mind and didn’t want to get her hopes up, but it was hard not to. Will had a point: Blaze wasn’t anything like Marcus,
who had no conscience at all, and she had to be feeling just a little guilty, right?

It didn’t take long to find her. Blaze was sitting on the dune near the pier, watching the surfers. She said nothing as Ronnie
walked up.

Ronnie wasn’t even sure where to start, so she began with the obvious.

“Hi, Blaze,” she said.

Blaze said nothing, and Ronnie collected herself before going on.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me…”

“You look like an Easter egg.”

Ronnie glanced at the outfit she was required to wear at the aquarium: turquoise shirt with the aquarium logo, white shorts,
and white shoes.

“I tried to get them to change the uniform to black, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“Too bad. Black’s your color.” Blaze flashed a quick smile. “What do you want?”

Ronnie swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to pick up Marcus that night. He came on to me, and I don’t know why he said what he did,
other than because he wanted to make you jealous. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I want to let you know I never would
have done something like that to you. I’m not that kind of person.” It had all come out in a rush, but she had said it now.