Nicholas Sparks - The Last Song

Blaze lowered her burger. “That’s it? That’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“I never killed someone’s flowers, if that’s what you mean. Or vandalized anything.”

“You’ve never stuck your brother’s head in the toilet? Or crashed the car? Or shaved the cat or something?”

Ronnie gave a small smile. “No.”

“You’re probably the most boring teenager in the world.”

Ronnie giggled again before taking a sip of her soda. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you go home last night?”

Blaze took a pinch of the salt she’d piled up and sprinkled it over her fries. “I didn’t want to.”

“What about your mom? Doesn’t she get mad?”

“Probably,” Blaze said.

Off to the side, the door to the diner swung open and Ronnie turned to see Marcus, Teddy, and Lance heading toward their booth. Marcus wore a T-shirt emblazoned with a skull, and a chain was attached to the belt loop of his jeans.

Blaze scooted over, but strangely, Teddy took a seat beside her while Marcus squeezed in next to Ronnie. As Lance pulled up a chair from an adjoining table and flipped it around before sitting, Marcus reached for Blaze’s plate. Both Teddy and Lance automatically grabbed for the fries.

“Hey, that’s for Blaze,” Ronnie cried, trying to stop them. “Get your own.”

Marcus turned from one to the other. “Yeah?”

“It’s okay,” Blaze said, pushing the plate toward him. “Really. I won’t be able to eat it all anyway.”

Marcus reached for the ketchup, acting as though he’d proved his point. “So what are you two talking about? From the window, it looked intense.”

“Nothing,” Blaze said.

“Let me guess. She’s telling you about her mom’s sexy boyfriend and their late night trapeze acts, right?”

Blaze wiggled in her seat. “Don’t be gross.”

Marcus gave Ronnie a frank stare. “Did she tell you about the night one of her mom’s boyfriends came sneaking into her room? She was like, ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes to get the hell out of here.’”

“Shut up, okay? That’s not funny. And we weren’t talking about him.”

“Whatever,” he said, smirking.

Blaze reached for her shake as Marcus began eating the burger. Teddy and Lance grabbed more fries, and over the next few minutes, the three of them devoured most of what was on the plate. To Ronnie’s dismay, Blaze said nothing, and Ronnie wondered about that.

Or actually, she didn’t wonder. It seemed obvious that Blaze didn’t want Marcus to get mad at her, so she let him do whatever he wanted. She’d seen it before: Kayla, for all her tough posturing, was the same way when it came to guys. And generally, they treated her like dirt.

But she wouldn’t say that here. She knew it would only make things worse.

Blaze sipped her milkshake and put it back on the table. “So what do you guys want to do after this?”

“We’re out,” Teddy grunted. “Our old man needs me and Lance to work today.”

“They’re brothers,” Blaze explained.

Ronnie studied them, not seeing the resemblance. “You are?”

Marcus finished the burger and pushed the plate to the center of the table. “I know. It’s hard to believe parents could have two such ugly kids, huh? Anyway, their family owns a piece-of-crap motel just over the bridge. The pipes are like a hundred years old, and Teddy’s job is to plunge the toilets when they get clogged.”

Ronnie wrinkled her nose, trying to imagine it. “Really?”

Marcus nodded. “Gross, huh? But don’t worry about Teddy. He’s great at it. A real prodigy. He actually enjoys it. And Lance here-his job is to clean the sheets after the noontime crowd rolls through.”

“Ew,” Ronnie said.

“I know. It’s totally disgusting,” Blaze added. “And you should see some of the people that go for the hourly rates. You could catch a disease just walking into the room.”

Ronnie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so instead she turned to Marcus. “So what do you do?” she asked.

“Whatever I want,” he answered.

“Which means?” Ronnie challenged.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” she said, keeping her voice cool. “I was just asking.”

Teddy grabbed the last of the fries from Blaze’s plate. “It means he hangs out at the motel with us. In his room.”

“You have a room at the motel?”

“I live there,” he said.

The obvious question was why, and she waited for more, but Marcus stayed quiet. She suspected he wanted her to attempt to tease the information out of him. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but she had the sudden sense that he wanted her to be interested in him. Wanted her to like him. Even though Blaze was right there.

Her suspicions were confirmed when he reached for a cigarette. After he lit it, he blew the smoke toward Blaze, then turned to Ronnie.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

Ronnie shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. It seemed like everyone, Blaze included, was waiting for her answer.

“Why?”

“We’re having a little get-together at Bower’s Point. Not just us. A bunch of people. I want you to come. Without the cops this time.”

Blaze studied the tabletop, toying with the pile of salt. When Ronnie didn’t answer, Marcus rose from the table and headed for the door without turning back.

Hey, Dad,” Jonah called out. He was standing behind the piano in the alcove as Steve brought the plates of spaghetti to the table. “Is that a picture of you with Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Yeah, that’s my mom and dad.”

“I don’t remember that picture. From the apartment, I mean.”

“For a long time, it was in my office at school.”

“Oh,” Jonah said. He leaned closer to the photo, studying it. “You kind of look like Grandpa.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Maybe a little.”

“Do you miss him?”

“He was my dad. What do you think?”

“I’d miss you.”

As Jonah came to the table, Steve reflected that it had been a satisfying, if uneventful, day. They’d spent the morning in the shop, where Steve had taught Jonah to cut glass; they’d eaten sandwiches on the porch and collected seashells in the late afternoon. And Steve had promised that as soon as it was dark, he would take Jonah for a walk down the beach with flashlights to watch the hundreds of spider crabs darting in and out of their sand burrows.

Jonah pulled out his chair and plopped down. He took a drink of milk, leaving a white mustache. “Do you think Ronnie’s coming home soon?”

“I hope so.”

Jonah wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “Sometimes she stays out pretty late.”

“I know.”

“Is the police officer going to bring her back home again?”

Steve glanced out the window; dusk was coming, and the water was turning opaque. He wondered where she was and what she was doing.

“No,” he said. “Not tonight.”

After their walk along the beach, Jonah took a shower before crawling into bed. Steve pulled up the covers and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks for the great day,” Steve whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

“Good night, Jonah. I love you.”

“Me, too, Dad.”

Steve rose and started for the door.

“Hey, Dad?”

Steve turned. “Yes?”

“Did your dad ever take you out to look for spider crabs?”

“No,” Steve said.

“Why not? That was awesome.”

“He wasn’t that kind of father.”

“What kind was he?”

Steve considered the question. “He was complicated,” he finally said.

At the piano, Steve recalled the afternoon six years earlier when he took his father’s hand for the first time in his life. He had told his father that he knew he’d done the best he could in raising him, that he didn’t blame his father for anything, and that most of all, he loved him.

His father turned toward him. His eyes were focused, and despite the high doses of morphine that he’d been taking, his mind was clear. He stared at Steve for a long time before pulling his hand away.

“You sound like a woman when you talk like that,” he said.

They were in a semiprivate room on the fourth floor of the hospital. His father had been there for three days. IV tubes snaked out of his arms, and he hadn’t eaten solid food in more than a month. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin was translucent. Up close, Steve thought his father’s breath smelled of decay, another sign the cancer was announcing its victory.

Steve turned toward the window. Outside, he could see nothing but blue skies, a bright, unyielding bubble surrounding the room. No birds, no clouds, no visible trees. Behind him, he could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor. It sounded strong and steady, with regular rhythm, making it seem that his father would live another twenty years. But it wasn’t his heart that was killing him.

“How is he?” Kim asked later that night when they were talking on the phone.

“Not good,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer he has, but…”

He trailed off. He could imagine Kim on the other end, standing near the stove, stirring pasta or dicing tomatoes, the phone cocked between her ear and shoulder. She’d never been able to sit still when talking on the phone.

“Did anyone else come by?”

“No,” he answered. What he didn’t tell her was that according to the nurses, no one else had visited at all.

“Were you able to talk to him?” she asked.

“Yes, but not for long. He was drifting in and out most of the day.”

“Did you say what I told you to say?”

“Yes,” he said.

“What did he say?” she asked. “Did he say he loved you, too?”

Steve knew the answer she wanted. He was standing in his father’s home, inspecting the photos on the mantel: the family after Steve was baptized, a wedding photo of Kim and Steve, Ronnie and Jonah as toddlers. The frames were dusty, untouched in years. He knew that it had been his mother who put them there, and as he stared at them, he wondered what his father thought as he looked at them, or if he even saw them at all, or if he even realized they were there.