The Last Song (9 page)

“Is that true?” the counselor asked.

“My parents were good people,” he answered.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The counselor sighed. “Okay, how about this? We all know what happened and why you’re here. I think what Kim wants is for you to tell her how it made you feel.”

Steve considered the question. He wanted to say that all this talk of feelings was irrelevant. That emotions come and go and can’t be controlled, so there’s no reason to worry about them. That in the end, people should be judged by their actions, since in the end, it was actions that defined everyone.

But he didn’t say this. Instead, he threaded his fingers together. “You want to know how it made me feel.”

“Yes. But don’t tell me.” She gestured to his wife. “Tell Kim.”

He faced his wife, sensing her anticipation.

“I felt…”

He was in an office with his wife and a stranger, engaged in the type of conversation he could never have imagined growing up. It was a few minutes past ten o’clock in the morning, and he’d been back in New York for only a few days. His tour had taken him to twenty-some different cities, while Kim worked as a paralegal at a Wall Street law firm.

“I felt…,” he said again.

When the clock struck one a.m., Steve went outside to stand on the back porch. The blackness of the night had given way to the purple light of the moon, making it possible to see up and down the beach. He hadn’t seen her in sixteen hours and was concerned, if not quite worried. He trusted she was smart and careful enough to take care of herself.

Okay, maybe he was a little worried.

And despite himself, he wondered if she was going to vanish tomorrow, the same way she had today. And whether it would be the same story day after day, all summer.

Spending time with Jonah had been like finding special treasure, and he wanted to spend time with her as well. He turned from the porch and went back inside.

As he took his seat at the piano, he felt it again, the same thing he’d told the marriage counselor as he’d sat on the couch.

He felt empty.

10

R
onnie

F
or a while, a larger group had gathered at Bower’s Point, but one by one, they’d taken off until only the five regulars remained. Some of the others had been okay, a couple were even kind of interesting, but then the liquor and beer started taking effect, and everyone but Ronnie thought they were a lot funnier than they really were. After a while, it got kind of boring and familiar.

She was standing alone at the water’s edge. Behind her, near the bonfire, Teddy and Lance were smoking, drinking, and occasionally throwing fireballs at each other, Blaze was slurring her words and hanging all over Marcus. It was getting late, too. Not by New York standards—back home, she didn’t show up at the clubs until midnight—but considering what time she’d gotten up, it had been a long day. She was tired.

Tomorrow, she was going to sleep in. When she got home, she was going to hang towels or a blanket over the curtain rod; hell, she’d nail them to the wall if she had to. She had no intention of spending the whole summer rising with the farmers, even if she was going to spend the day at the beach with Blaze. Blaze had surprised her with the suggestion, and it actually sounded kind of appealing. Besides, there wasn’t much to do otherwise. Earlier, after they’d left the diner, they’d walked through most of the nearby shops—including the music store, which was very cool—and afterward, they’d gone to Blaze’s house to watch
The Breakfast Club
while her mom was at work. Sure, it was an eighties movie, but Ronnie still loved it and had seen it at least a dozen times. Even though it was dated, it felt surprisingly real to her. More real than what was going on here tonight—especially since the more Blaze drank, the more she ignored Ronnie and clung to Marcus.

Ronnie already neither liked nor trusted Marcus. She had pretty good radar when it came to guys, and she sensed there was something “off” about him. It was like there was something
missing
in Marcus’s eyes when he talked to her. He said the right things—no more crazy suggestions about heading to Florida, at least, and by the way, how weird was that?—but the more time she spent with him, the more he creeped her out. She didn’t like Teddy or Lance, either, but Marcus… she got the vibe that acting normal was simply a game he played so he could manipulate people.

And Blaze…

It was strange being in her house earlier, because it seemed so normal. It stood in a quiet cul-de-sac and had bright blue shutters and an American flag that fluttered from the porch. Inside, the walls were painted cheery colors, and a vase of fresh flowers stood on the dining room table. The place was clean, but not neurotically so. In the kitchen, there was some money on the table, along with a note addressed to Blaze. When Ronnie caught Blaze sliding a few bills into her pocket and reading the note, Blaze mentioned that her mom always left money for her. It was how she knew Blaze was okay when she didn’t come home.

Odd.

What she really wanted was to talk to Blaze about Marcus, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. Lord knows she’d learned that from Kayla—Kayla lived in denial—but even so, it didn’t make sense. Marcus was bad news, and Blaze was clearly better off without him. She wondered why Blaze couldn’t see that. Maybe tomorrow they’d talk about it at the beach.

“Are we boring you?”

Turning, she saw Marcus standing behind her. He was holding a fireball, letting it roll across the back of his hand.

“I just wanted to come down to the water.”

“Do you want me to bring you a beer?”

By the way he asked, she could tell he already knew what she was going to say.

“I don’t drink.”

“Why?”

Because it makes people act stupid,
she could have said. But she didn’t. She knew that any explanation she offered would only prolong the conversation. “I just don’t. That’s all.”

“Just say no?” he taunted.

“If you say so.”

In the darkness, he wore the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained shadowy pits. “Do you think you’re better than us?”

“No.”

“Then c’mon.” He gestured to the bonfire. “Sit with us.”

“I’m fine.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Ronnie could see Blaze digging through the cooler for another beer, which was the last thing she needed. She was already unsteady on her feet.

Without warning, he took a step toward her, reaching for her waist. He squeezed, pulling her closer to him. “Let’s walk the beach.”

“No,” she hissed. “I’m not in the mood. And take your hand off me.”

It stayed in place. She could tell Marcus was enjoying this. “You worried about what Blaze would think?”

“I just don’t want to, okay?”

“Blaze won’t care.”

She took a step back, increasing the distance between them.

“I do,” she said. “And I’ve got to go.”

He continued to stare at her. “Yeah, you do that.” Then, after a pause, he spoke up so the others could hear: “No, I’ll just stay here. But thanks for asking.”

She was too shocked to say anything in response. Instead, she started down the beach, knowing that Blaze was watching, and suddenly thinking she couldn’t get away fast enough.

At home, her father was playing the piano, and as soon as she walked in, he peeked at the clock. After what just happened, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with him, so she started for the hallway without a word. He must have seen something in her face, however, because he called out to her.

“Are you okay?”

She hesitated. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He studied her before answering. “Okay.”

“Is there anything else?”

“It’s almost two a.m.,” he pointed out.

“And?”

He bent over the keyboard. “There’s some pasta in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

She had to admit he’d surprised her with that one. No lecture, no orders, no laying down the law. Pretty much the opposite of how Mom would have handled it. She shook her head and walked to the bedroom, wondering if anyone or anything was normal down here.

She forgot to hang blankets over the windows, and the sun lasered into the room, waking her after she’d slept for less than six hours.

Groaning, she rolled over and pulled the pillow on top of her head when she remembered what had happened at the beach the night before. Then she sat up, knowing sleep was out of the question.

Marcus definitely creeped her out.

Her first thought was that she should have said something last night, when he had called out. Something like
What the hell are you talking about?
or
If you think I’d go anywhere alone with you, you’re out of your mind!
But she hadn’t, and she suspected that simply walking away was the worst thing she could have done.

She really,
really
had to talk to Blaze.

With a sigh, she swung herself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Quickly, she showered and threw on a bathing suit beneath her clothes, and then filled a tote bag with towels and lotion. By the time she was ready, she could hear her father playing the piano. Again. Even back in the apartment he’d never played this much. Focusing on the music, she realized he was playing one of the pieces she’d performed at Carnegie Hall, the same one on the CD that her mom had been playing in the car.

As if she didn’t have enough to deal with right now.

She needed to find Blaze so she could explain what happened. Of course, how to do that without making Marcus out to be a liar might be a problem. Blaze would want to believe Marcus, and who knew what the guy had said after she left. But she’d cross that bridge when she came to it; hopefully, lying in the sun would keep things mellow and she could bring it up naturally.

Ronnie left her bedroom and walked down the hall just as the music from the living room ended, only to be followed by the second piece she’d played at Carnegie Hall.

She paused, adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder. Of course he’d do that. No doubt because he’d heard the shower and knew she was awake. No doubt because he wanted them to find common ground.

Well, not today, Dad. Sorry, but she had things to do. She really wasn’t in the mood for this.

She was about to make a dash to the front door when Jonah emerged from the kitchen.

“Didn’t I say you were supposed to get something good for you?” she heard her dad ask.

“I did. It’s a Pop-Tart.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of cereal.”

“This has sugar.” Jonah wore an earnest expression. “I need my energy, Dad.”

She started to walk quickly through the living room, hoping to make it to the door before he tried to talk to her.

Jonah smiled. “Oh, hey, Ronnie!” he said.

“Hi, Jonah. Bye, Jonah.” She reached for the door handle.

“Sweetheart?” she heard her dad say. He stopped playing. “Can we talk about last night?”

“I really don’t have time to talk right now,” she said, adjusting her tote bag.

“I just want to know where you were all day.”

“Nowhere. It’s not important.”

“It is important.”

“No, Dad,” she said, her voice firm. “It isn’t. And I’ve got things to do, okay?”

Jonah motioned to the door with his Pop-Tart. “What things? Where are you going now?”

This was exactly the conversation she’d hoped to avoid. “It’s none of your business.”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you be back for lunch or dinner?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed. “I’m leaving.”

Her dad started to play the piano again. Her
third
piece from Carnegie Hall. He might as well have been playing Mom’s CD.

“We’re going to fly kites later. Me and Dad, I mean.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she swiveled toward her dad. “Would you just stop with that?” she snapped.

He stopped playing abruptly. “What?”

“The music you’re playing! You don’t think I recognize those pieces? I know what you’re doing, and I already told you I’m not going to play.”

“I believe you,” he said.

“Then why do you keep trying to get me to change my mind? Why is it that every time I see you, you’re sitting there pounding away?”

He seemed genuinely confused. “It has nothing to do with you,” he offered. “It just… makes me feel better.”

“Well, it makes me feel sick. Don’t you get that? I hate the piano. I hate that I had to play every single day! And I hate that I even have to see the damn thing anymore!”

Before her dad could say another word, she turned, snatched Jonah’s Pop-Tart out of his hand, and stormed out the door.

It took a couple of hours before she found Blaze in the same music store they’d visited yesterday, a couple of blocks from the pier. Ronnie hadn’t known what to expect when they’d first visited the store—it seemed kind of antiquated these days in the age of iPods and downloads—but Blaze had assured her it would be worth it, and it had been.

In addition to CDs, there were actual vinyl record albums—thousands of them, some of them most likely collector’s items, including an unopened copy of
Abbey Road
and a slew of old 45s simply hanging on the wall with signatures of people like Elvis Presley, Bob Marley, and Ritchie Valens. Ronnie was amazed that they weren’t under lock and key. They had to be valuable, but the guy who managed the place looked like a throwback to the sixties and seemed to know everyone. He had long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail that reached his waist, and his glasses were the same kind John Lennon had favored. He wore sandals and a Hawaiian shirt, and though he was old enough to be Ronnie’s grandfather, he knew more about music than anyone she’d ever met, including a lot of recent underground stuff she’d never even heard in New York. Along the back wall were headphones where customers could either listen to albums and CDs or download music onto their iPods. Peeking through the window this morning, she saw Blaze standing with one hand cupping a headphone to an ear, the other tapping the table in rhythm to whatever she was listening to.

In no way was she prepared for a day at the beach.

Ronnie took a deep breath and headed inside. As bad as it sounded—she didn’t think Blaze should be getting drunk in the first place—she kind of hoped that Blaze had been so out of it that she’d forgotten what happened. Or even better, that she had been sober enough to know that Ronnie had no interest in Marcus.

As soon as she started down the aisle full of CDs, Ronnie sensed that Blaze had been expecting her. She turned down the volume on the headphones, though she didn’t remove them from her ears, and turned around. Ronnie could still hear the music, something loud and angry she didn’t recognize. Blaze gathered up the CDs.

“I thought we were friends,” she started.

“We are,” Ronnie insisted. “And I’ve been looking all over for you because I didn’t want you to have the wrong idea about what went on last night.”

Blaze’s expression was icy. “You mean about asking Marcus to go for a walk with you?”