The Last Song (30 page)

“Why was it so important to him?”

As Ronnie related the story her dad had told her, Will stared at the window, remembering what Scott had done. And, of course,
what
he
hadn’t done. She must have seen something in his face because when she finished, she seemed to be studying him.

“What are you thinking about?”

He ran his hand over the glass before he answered. “Do you ever wonder what it means to be a friend?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He looked over at her. “How far would you go to protect a friend?”

She hesitated. “I suppose that depends on what the friend did. And how serious it was.” She put a hand on his back. “What
aren’t you telling me?”

When he didn’t answer, she scooted closer to him. “In the end, you should always do the right thing, even if it’s hard. I
know that might not help you and that the right thing isn’t always so easy to figure out. At least on the surface, anyway.
But even when I was justifying to myself that stealing was no big deal, I knew it was wrong. It was making me feel… dark inside.”
She brought her face close to his, and he caught the scent of sand and sea on her skin. “I didn’t fight the charges because
something inside me knew that what I’d been doing was wrong. Some people can live with that, as long as they get away with
it. They see shades of gray where I see black and white. But I’m not that kind of person… and I don’t think you are, either.”

Will’s gaze slid away from hers. He wanted to tell her, longed to tell her everything since he knew she was right, but he
couldn’t seem to find the words. She understood him in ways that no one else ever had. He could learn from her, he thought.
He would be a better person with her by his side. In many ways, he needed her. When he forced himself to nod, she rested her
head against his shoulder.

When they finally left the shed, he reached out to stop her before she headed back to her house. He pulled her close and began
to kiss her. First her lips, then her cheek, and then her neck. Her skin was like fire, as if she’d been lying in the sun
for hours, and when he kissed her lips again, he felt her fold her body into his. He buried his hands in her hair, continuing
to kiss her as he slowly backed her against the wall of the workshop. He loved her, he wanted her, and as they continued to
kiss, he could feel her arms moving over his back and shoulders. Her touch was electric against his skin, her breath hot against
his, and he felt himself slipping away to a place governed only by his senses.

His hands were roving over her back and stomach when he finally felt Ronnie place her hands on his chest and push him away.

“Please,” she breathed, “we’ve got to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want my dad to catch us. He might be watching us from the window right now.”

“We’re just kissing.”

“Yeah. And we just sort of like each other, too.” She laughed.

A languid smile spread over his face. “What? We weren’t just kissing?”

“I’m just saying that it felt like… what we were doing was leading up to something more,” she said, straightening her shirt.

“And the problem is?”

Her expression told him to stop playing games, and he knew she had a point, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. “You’re right.”
He sighed, dropping his hands into a loose circle around her waist. “I’ll try to control myself.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I have complete confidence in you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he groaned.

She winked. “I’m going to go check on my dad, okay?”

“Okay. I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow anyway.”

She smiled. “Too bad. I don’t have to be at work until ten.”

“Are they still having you feed the otters?”

“They’d starve without me. I’m pretty much indispensable now.”

He laughed. “Have I told you that I think you’re a keeper?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me. But just so you know, you’re not so bad to have around, either.”

R
onnie

R
onnie watched Will walk off before making her way back to the house, thinking about the things he’d said and wondering if
he was right about Blaze. The upcoming court date had been weighing on her all summer: She sometimes wondered whether the
anticipation of the possible punishment was worse than the punishment itself. As the weeks had rolled by, she’d been waking
up in the middle of the night and finding it impossible to go back to sleep. It wasn’t that she was terrified of going to
prison—she doubted that she’d be locked up—but she fretted that these crimes would follow her forever. Would she have to reveal
her history to a college she might attend? Did she have to tell her future employers? Would she be able to get a job teaching?
She didn’t know whether she’d attend college or even wanted to become a teacher, but the fear remained. Would this haunt her
forever?

Her lawyer didn’t think so, but she wouldn’t promise anything.

And the wedding. It was easy for Will to ask her to come, to assume it was no big deal. But she knew that Susan didn’t want
her there, and the last thing she wanted was to be some sort of distraction. This was supposed to be Megan’s day.

Reaching the back porch, she was about to step inside when she heard the rocking chair squeak. She jumped back in terror,
only to see Jonah watching her.

“That. Was. So. Gross.”

“What are you doing out here?” she demanded, her heart still racing.

“Watching you and Will. Like I said, that was really gross.” He made a point to shiver.

“You were spying on us?”

“It was kind of hard not to. You were right there by the workshop with Will. It looked like he was practically squishing you
to death.”

“He wasn’t,” Ronnie assured him.

“I’m just saying how it looked.”

She smiled. “You’ll understand when you’re a little older.”

Jonah shook his head. “I understand exactly what you were doing. I’ve seen movies. I just think it’s gross.”

“You’ve already said that,” she pointed out.

That seemed to stop him for a second. “Where’s he going?”

“Home. He’s got to work tomorrow.”

“Are you going to watch the turtle nest tonight? Because you don’t have to. Dad said that we could watch it tonight.”

“You convinced Dad to sleep outside?”

“He wants to. He thinks it’ll be fun.”

I doubt it, she thought. “It’s fine with me.”

“I’ve already got my stuff ready. Sleeping bag, lantern, juices, sandwiches, a box of Ritz crackers, marshmallows, potato
chips, cookies, and a tennis racket.”

“You’re going to play tennis?”

“In case the raccoon comes. You know. If it tries to attack us.”

“It’s not going to attack you.”

“Really?” He sounded almost disappointed.

“Well, maybe it is a good idea,” Ronnie agreed. “Just in case. You never know.”

He scratched his head. “That’s what I thought, too.”

She pointed toward the workshop. “The window looks beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Jonah said. “Dad wants to make sure every single piece is perfect. He makes me do some pieces two or three times.
But I’m getting pretty good.”

“It looks like it.”

“But it gets hot. Especially when he runs the kiln. It’s like an oven.”

It is an oven, she thought. But she didn’t correct him. “That’s too bad. How’s the whole cookie war going?”

“It’s fine. I just have to eat them when he’s napping.”

“Dad doesn’t nap.”

“He does now. Every afternoon, for a couple of hours. Sometimes I have to shake him pretty hard to wake him up.”

She stared at her brother before peering through the window into the house. “Where is Dad, by the way?”

“He’s at the church. Pastor Harris came by earlier. He’s been coming by a lot lately. Him and Dad like to talk.”

“They’re friends.”

“I know. But I think he just used that as an excuse. I think Dad went to play the piano.”

“What piano?” Ronnie asked, puzzled.

“It got delivered to the church last week. Dad’s been going over there to play.”

“He has, huh?”

“Hold on,” he said. “I’m not sure I was supposed to tell you that. Maybe you should forget I said it.”

“Why shouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because you might yell at him again.”

“I’m not going to yell at him,” Ronnie protested. “When was the last time I yelled at him?”

“When he was playing the piano. Remember?”

Oh, yeah, she thought. The kid had an amazing memory. “Well, I’m not going to yell at him.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to yell at him. We’re supposed to go to Fort Fisher tomorrow, and I want him to be in a good
mood.”

“How long has he been at the church?”

“I don’t know. It feels like hours. That’s why I was out here. I was waiting for him. And then you showed up with Will and
started making out.”

“We were just kissing!”

“No, I don’t think so. You were definitely making out,” Jonah said with conviction.

“Have you had any dinner yet?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“I was waiting for Dad.”

“Do you want me to make you a couple of hot dogs?”

“With ketchup only?” he pressed.

She sighed. “Sure.”

“I thought you didn’t even like to touch them.”

“You know, it’s funny, but I’ve been handling a lot of dead fish lately, so a hot dog doesn’t strike me as all that disgusting
anymore.”

He smiled. “Will you bring me to the aquarium one time so I can watch you feed the otters?”

“If you want, I might even be able to let you feed them.”

“Really?” Jonah’s voice rose with excitement.

“I think so. I’ll have to ask, of course, but they let some of the student groups do it, so I don’t think it would be a problem.”

His little face lit up. “Wow. Thanks.” Then, getting up from the rocking chair, he added, “Oh, by the way, you owe me ten
bucks.”

“For what?”

“Hello? For not telling Dad about what Will and you were doing. Duh.”

“Are you serious? Even though I’m going to make you dinner?”

“Come on. You work and I’m poor.”

“You obviously think I earn far more than I do. I don’t have ten dollars. Everything I’ve earned has gone to help pay for
my lawyer.”

He thought about that. “How about five, then?”

“You’d take five dollars from me even though I just told you I don’t even have ten dollars to my name?” Ronnie feigned outrage.

He thought about that. “How about two?”

“How about one?”

He smiled. “Deal.”

After making Jonah his dinner—he wanted the hot dogs boiled, not microwaved—Ronnie headed down the beach, toward the church.
It wasn’t far, but it lay in the opposite direction from the route she usually walked, and she’d barely noticed it the few
times she’d passed it.

As she approached, she saw the outlines of the spire silhouetted against the evening sky. Other than that, the church disappeared
into its surroundings, mostly because it was so much smaller than either of the homes flanking it and had none of the expensive
details. The walls were made of clapboard siding, and despite the new construction, the place already looked weathered.

She had to climb over the dune to reach the parking lot on the street side, and here there was more evidence of recent activity:
an overflowing Dumpster, a fresh stack of plywood by the door, and a large work van parked near the entrance. The front door
was propped open, illuminated by a soft cone of light, though the rest of the building looked dark.

She walked toward the entrance and stepped inside. Looking around, she could see that the place had a long way to go. The
floor was concrete, the drywall looked only half-complete, and there were no seats or pews. Dust coated every exposed two-by-four,
yet straight ahead, where Ronnie could imagine Pastor Harris preaching on Sundays, her father was sitting behind a new piano
that looked utterly out of place. An old aluminum lamp attached to an extension cord provided the only illumination.

He hadn’t heard her come in, and he continued to play, though she didn’t recognize the song. It seemed almost contemporary,
unlike the music he usually played, but even to her ears it sounded… unfinished somehow. Her dad seemed to realize the same
thing because he stopped for a moment, appeared to think of something new, and started over from the beginning.

This time, she heard the subtle variations he made. They were an improvement, but the melody still wasn’t right. She felt
a rush of pride that she still had the ability not only to interpret music, but to imagine possible variations. When she was
younger, it was this talent above all else that had amazed her father.

He started over again, making further changes, and as she watched him, she knew he was happy. Though music wasn’t part of
her life anymore, it had always been part of his, and she suddenly felt guilty for taking that away from him. Looking back,
she remembered being angry at the thought that he was trying to get her to play, but had he really been trying to do that?
Had it really been about her? Or had he played because it was an essential aspect of who he was?