The Last Song (44 page)

He supposed he wasn’t much different from most parents in his worries for them. They were still young, they both had long
lives ahead of them, and he wondered what would become of them. Nothing fancy: He would ask God whether He thought they would
be happy, or continue to live in New York, or whether they would ever get married and have children. The basics, nothing more,
but it was then, at that moment, that he finally understood what Pastor Harris had meant when he said he walked and talked
with God.

Unlike Pastor Harris, however, he’d yet to hear the answers in his heart or experience God’s presence in his life, and he
knew he didn’t have much time.

He glanced at the clock. Kim’s plane was leaving in less than three hours. She would leave from the hospital to go straight
to the airport with Jonah sitting beside her, and the realization was terrifying.

In just a little while, he would hold his son for the last time; today, he would say good-bye.

Jonah was in tears as soon as he rushed into the room, racing straight for the bed. Steve had just enough time to open his
arms before Jonah fell into them. His birdlike shoulders were shuddering, and Steve felt his own heart breaking. He concentrated
on how his son felt against him, trying to memorize the sensation.

Steve loved his children more than life itself, but more than that, he knew that Jonah needed him, and once more, he was struck
by the realization that he was failing as a father.

Jonah continued to cry inconsolably. Steve held him close, wanting never to let go. Ronnie and Kim stood in the doorway, keeping
their distance.

“They’re trying to send me home, Daddy,” Jonah whimpered. “I told them I could stay with you, but they’re not listening. I’ll
be good, Daddy. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll go to bed when you tell me to and I’ll clean my room and I won’t eat cookies
when I’m not supposed to. Tell them I can stay. I promise to be good.”

“I know you’d be good,” Steve murmured. “You’ve always been good.”

“Then tell her, Dad! Tell her you want me to stay! Please! Just tell her!”

“I do want you to stay,” he said, hurting for himself and for his son. “I want that more than anything, but your mom needs
you, too. She misses you.”

If Jonah had held out any hope, it ended then and there, and he began to cry again.

“But I’m never going to see you again… and it’s not fair! It’s just not fair!”

Steve tried to talk through the tightness in his throat. “Hey…,” he said. “I want you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that
for me?”

Jonah forced himself to look up. Though he tried not to, Steve knew he was beginning to choke on his words. It took everything
he had not to break down in front of his son.

“I want you to know that you’re the best son a dad could hope to have. I’ve always been so proud of you, and I know you’re
going to grow up and do wonderful things. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Daddy. And I’m going to miss you so much.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see Ronnie and Kim, tears running down their faces.

“I’m going to miss you, too. But I’m always going to watch over you, okay? I promise. Do you remember the window we made together?”

Jonah nodded, his little jaw quivering.

“I call it God Light, because it reminds me of heaven. Every time the light shines through the window we built or any window
at all, you’ll know I’m right there with you, okay? That’s going to be me. I’ll be the light in the window.”

Jonah nodded, not even bothering to wipe away his tears. Steve continued to hold his son, wishing with all his heart that
he could make things better.

R
onnie

R
onnie went outside with her mom and Jonah to see them off, and to speak with her mom alone before she left, asking her to
do something for her as soon as she got back to New York. Then she returned to the hospital and sat with her dad, waiting
until he fell asleep. For a long time he remained silent, staring out the window. She held his hand, and they sat together
without speaking, both of them watching the clouds drifting slowly beyond the glass.

She wanted to stretch her legs and get some fresh air; her dad’s good-bye to Jonah had left her drained and shaky. She didn’t
want to picture her brother on the plane or entering their apartment; she didn’t want to think about whether he was still
crying.

Outside, she walked along the sidewalk in front of the hospital, her mind wandering. She was almost past him when she heard
him clear his throat. He was seated on a bench; despite the heat, he wore the same kind of long-sleeved shirt he always did.

“Hi, Ronnie,” Pastor Harris said.

“Oh… hi.”

“I was hoping to visit with your father.”

“He’s sleeping,” she said. “But you can go up there if you want.”

He tapped his cane, buying time. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, Ronnie.”

She nodded, finding it hard to concentrate. Even this simple conversation seemed impossibly arduous.

Somehow, she got the sense he felt the same way.

“Would you pray with me?” His blue eyes held a plea. “I like to pray before I see your dad. It… helps me.”

Her surprise gave way to an unexpected sense of relief.

“I’d like that very much,” she answered.

She began to pray regularly after that, and she found that Pastor Harris was right.

Not that she believed her dad would be cured. She’d spoken to the doctor and seen the scans, and after their conversation,
she’d left the hospital and gone to the beach and cried for an hour while her tears dried in the wind.

She didn’t believe in miracles. She knew that some people did, but she couldn’t force herself to think that her dad was somehow
going to make it. Not after what she’d seen, not after the way the doctor had explained it. The cancer, she’d learned, had
metastasized from his stomach to his pancreas and lungs, and holding out hope seemed… dangerous. She couldn’t imagine having
to come to terms a second time with what was happening to him. It was hard enough already, especially late at night when the
house was quiet and she was alone with her thoughts.

Instead she prayed for the strength she needed to help her dad; she prayed for the ability to stay positive in his presence,
instead of crying every time she saw him. She knew he needed her laughter and he needed the daughter she’d recently become.

The first thing she did after bringing him home from the hospital was to take him to see the stained-glass window. She watched
as he slowly approached the table, his eyes taking in everything, his expression one of shocked disbelief. She knew then that
there had been moments when he’d wondered whether he would live long enough to see it through. More than anything, she wished
Jonah had been there with them, and she knew her dad was thinking the same thing. It had been their project, the way they’d
spent their summer. He missed Jonah terribly, he missed him more than anything, and though he turned away so she couldn’t
see his face, she knew there were tears in his eyes as he made his way back to the house.

He called Jonah as soon as he got back inside. From the living room, Ronnie could hear her dad’s assurances that he was feeling
better, and though Jonah would likely misinterpret that, she knew her dad had done the right thing. He wanted Jonah to remember
the happiness of the summer, not dwell on what was coming next.

That night, as he sat on the couch, he opened the Bible and began to read. Ronnie now understood his reasons. She took a seat
beside him and asked the question she’d been wondering about since she’d examined the book herself.

“Do you have a favorite passage?” she asked.

“Many,” he said. “I’ve always enjoyed the Psalms. And I always learn a lot from the letters of Paul.”

“But you don’t underline anything,” she said. When he raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. “I looked through it while you were
gone and I didn’t see anything.”

He thought about his answer. “If I tried to underline something important, I’d probably end up underlining almost everything.
I’ve read it so many times and I always learn something new.”

She studied him carefully. “I don’t remember you reading the Bible before…”

“That’s because you were young. I kept this Bible by my bed, and I’d read through parts of it once or twice a week. Ask your
mom. She’ll tell you.”

“Have you read anything lately that you’d like to share?”

“Do you want me to?”

After she nodded, it took him only a minute to find the passage he wanted.

“It’s Galatians 5:22,” he said, pressing the Bible flat in his lap. He cleared his throat before he started. “But when the
Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”

She watched him as he read the verse, remembering how she’d acted when she’d first arrived and how he’d responded to her anger.
She remembered the times he’d refused to argue with her mom, even when she’d tried to provoke him. She’d seen that as weakness
and often wished her father were different. But all at once, she knew she’d been wrong about everything.

Her dad, she saw now, had never been acting alone. The Holy Spirit had been controlling his life all along.

The package from her mom arrived the following day, and Ronnie knew her mom had done what she’d asked. She brought the large
envelope to the kitchen table and tore it straight across the top, then dumped the contents on the table.

Nineteen letters, all of them sent by her dad, all of them ignored and unopened. She noted the various return addresses he’d
scrawled across the top: Bloomington, Tulsa, Little Rock…

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t read them. Had she really been that angry? That bitter? That… mean? Looking back, she knew
the answer, but it still didn’t make sense to her.

Thumbing through the letters, she looked for the first one he’d written. Like most of the others, it was printed neatly in
black ink, and the postmark had faded slightly. Beyond the kitchen window, her dad was standing on the beach with his back
to the house: Like Pastor Harris, he’d begun to wear long sleeves despite the summer heat.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the letter, and there, in the sunlight of the kitchen, she began to read.

Dear Ronnie,

I don’t even know how to start a letter like this, other than to say that I’m sorry.

That’s why I asked you to meet with me at the café, and what I wanted to tell you later that night when I called. I can understand
why you didn’t come and why you didn’t take my call. You’re angry with me, you’re disappointed in me, and in your heart, you
believe I’ve run away. In your mind, I’ve abandoned you and abandoned the family.

I can’t deny that things are going to be different, but I want you to know that if I were in your shoes, I would probably
feel much the way you do. You have every right to be angry with me. You have every right to be disappointed in me. I suppose
I’ve earned the feelings you have, and it’s not my intent to try to make excuses or cast any blame or try to convince you
that you might understand it in time.

In all honesty, you might not, and that would hurt me more than you could ever imagine. You and Jonah have always meant so
much to me, and I want you to understand that neither you nor Jonah were to blame for anything. Sometimes, for reasons that
aren’t always clear, marriages just don’t work out. But remember this: I will always love you, and I will always love Jonah.
I will always love your mother, and she will always have my respect. She is the giver of the two greatest gifts I’ve ever
received, and she’s been a wonderful mother. In many ways, despite the sadness I feel that your mother and I will no longer
be together, I still believe it was a blessing to have been married to her for as long as I was.

I know this isn’t much and it’s certainly not enough to make you understand, but I want you to know that I still believe in
the gift of love. I want you to believe in it, too. You deserve that in your life, for nothing is more fulfilling than love
itself.

I hope that in your heart, you’ll find some way to forgive me for leaving. It doesn’t have to be now, or even soon. But I
want you to know this: When you’re finally ready, I’ll be waiting with open arms on what will be the happiest day of my life.

I love you,

Dad

“I feel like I should be doing more for him,” Ronnie said.

She was sitting on the back porch across from Pastor Harris. Her dad was inside sleeping, and Pastor Harris had come by with
a pan of vegetable lasagna that his wife had made. It was mid-September and still hot during the day, though there’d been
an evening a couple of days earlier that hinted at the crispness of autumn. It lasted only a single night; in the morning
the sun was hot, and Ronnie had found herself strolling the beach and wondering whether the night before had been an illusion.