The Last Song - Страница 16

“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?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ronnie pleaded. “I didn’t ask him. I don’t know what his game was…”

“His game? His game?” Blaze threw down the headphones. “I saw the way you were staring at him! I heard what you said!”

“But I didn’t say it! I didn’t ask him to walk anywhere-”

“You tried to kiss him!”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t try to kiss him…”

Blaze took a step forward. “He told me!”

“Then he’s lying!” Ronnie snapped, holding her ground. “There’s something seriously wrong with that guy.”

“No… no… don’t even go there…”

“He lied to you. I wouldn’t kiss him. I don’t even like him. The only reason I was there was because you insisted that we go.”

For a long moment, Blaze didn’t say anything. Ronnie wondered if she was finally getting through to her.

“Whatever,” Blaze said, her tone making her meaning perfectly clear.

She pushed past Ronnie, jostling her as she headed toward the door. Ronnie watched her go, unsure whether she was hurt or angry at the way Blaze had just acted before deciding it was a bit of both. Through the window, she saw Blaze storm off.