The Last Song - Страница 3

The late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, making the interior of the house stuffy, and Steve could feel beads of sweat beginning to form. Thankfully, the pain in his stomach had lessened since the morning, but he’d been nervous for days, and he knew it would come back. He’d always had a weak stomach; in his twenties, he’d had an ulcer and was hospitalized for diverticulitis; in his thirties, he’d had his appendix removed after it had burst while Kim was pregnant with Jonah. He ate Rolaids like candy, he’d been on Nexium for years, and though he knew he could probably eat better and exercise more, he doubted that either would have helped. Stomach problems ran in his family.

His father’s death six years ago had changed him, and since the funeral, he’d felt as though he’d been on a countdown of sorts. In a way, he supposed he had. Five years ago, he’d quit his position at Juilliard, and a year after that, he’d decided to try his luck as a concert pianist. Three years ago, he and Kim decided to divorce; less than twelve months later, the tour dates began drying up, until they finally ended completely. Last year, he’d moved back here, to the town where he’d grown up, a place he never thought he’d see again. Now he was about to spend the summer with his children, and though he tried to imagine what the fall would bring once Ronnie and Jonah were back in New York, he knew only that leaves would yellow before turning to red and that in the mornings his breaths would come out in little puffs. He’d long since given up trying to predict the future.

This didn’t bother him. He knew predictions were pointless, and besides, he could barely understand the past. These days, all he could say for sure was that he was ordinary in a world that loved the extraordinary, and the realization left him with a vague feeling of disappointment at the life he’d led. But what could he do? Unlike Kim, who’d been outgoing and gregarious, he’d always been more reticent and blended into crowds. Though he had certain talents as a musician and composer, he lacked the charisma or showmanship or whatever it was that made a performer stand out. At times, even he admitted that he’d been more an observer of the world than a participant in it, and in moments of painful honesty, he sometimes believed he was a failure in all that was important. He was forty-eight years old. His marriage had ended, his daughter avoided him, and his son was growing up without him. Thinking back, he knew he had no one to blame but himself, and more than anything, this was what he wanted to know: Was it still possible for someone like him to experience the presence of God?

Ten years ago, he could never have imagined wondering about such a thing. Two years, even. But middle age, he sometimes thought, had made him as reflective as a mirror. Though he’d once believed that the answer lay somehow in the music he created, he suspected now that he’d been mistaken. The more he thought about it, the more he’d come to realize that for him, music had always been a movement away from reality rather than a means of living in it more deeply. He might have experienced passion and catharsis in the works of Tchaikovsky or felt a sense of accomplishment when he’d written sonatas of his own, but he now knew that burying himself in music had less to do with God than a selfish desire to escape.

He now believed that the real answer lay somewhere in the nexus of love he felt for his children, in the ache he experienced when he woke in the quiet house and realized they weren’t here. But even then, he knew there was something more.

And somehow, he hoped his children would help him find it.

A few minutes later, Steve noticed the sun reflecting off the windshield of a dusty station wagon outside. He and Kim had purchased it years ago for weekend outings to Costco and family getaways. He wondered in passing if she’d remembered to change the oil before she’d driven down, or even since he’d left. Probably not, he decided. Kim had never been good at things like that, which was why he’d always taken care of them.

But that part of his life was over now.

Steve rose from his seat, and by the time he stepped onto the porch, Jonah was already out of the car and rushing toward him. His hair hadn’t been combed, his glasses were crooked, and his arms and legs were as skinny as pencils. Steve felt his throat tighten, reminded again of how much he’d missed in the past three years.

“Dad!”

“Jonah!” Steve shouted back as he crossed the rocky sand that constituted his yard. When Jonah jumped into his arms, it was all he could do to remain upright.

“You’ve gotten so big,” he said.

“And you’ve gotten smaller!” Jonah said. “You’re skinny now.”

Steve hugged his son tight before putting him down. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, too. Mom and Ronnie fought the whole time.”

“That’s no fun.”

“It’s okay. I ignored it. Except when I egged them on.”

“Ah,” Steve responded.

Jonah pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t Mom let us fly?”

“Did you ask her?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

“It’s not important. I was just wondering.”

Steve smiled. He’d forgotten how talkative his son could be.

“Hey, is this your house?”

“That’s it.”

“This place is awesome!”

Steve wondered if Jonah was serious. The house was anything but awesome. The bungalow was easily the oldest property on Wrightsville Beach and sandwiched between two massive homes that had gone up within the last ten years, making it seem even more diminutive. The paint was peeling, the roof was missing numerous shingles, and the porch was rotting; it wouldn’t surprise him if the next decent storm blew it over, which would no doubt please the neighbors. Since he’d moved in, neither family had ever spoken to him.

“You think so?” he said.

“Hello? It’s right on the beach. What else could you want?” He motioned toward the ocean. “Can I go check it out?”

“Sure. But be careful. And stay behind the house. Don’t wander off.”

“Deal.”

Steve watched him jog off before turning to see Kim approaching. Ronnie had stepped out of the car as well but was still lingering near it.

“Hi, Kim,” he said.

“Steve.” She leaned in to give him a brief hug. “You doing okay?” she asked. “You look thin.”

“I’m okay.”

Behind her, Steve noticed Ronnie slowly making her way toward them. He was struck by how much she’d changed since the last photo Kim had e-mailed. Gone was the all-American girl he remembered, and in her place was a young woman with a purple streak in her long brown hair, black fingernail polish, and dark clothing. Despite the obvious signs of teenage rebellion, he thought again how much she resembled her mother. Good thing, too. She was, he thought, as lovely as ever.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, sweetie. It’s good to see you.”

When Ronnie didn’t answer, Kim scowled at her. “Don’t be rude. Your father’s talking to you. Say something.”

Ronnie crossed her arms. “All right. How about this? I’m not going to play the piano for you.”

“Ronnie!” Steve could hear Kim’s exasperation.

“What?” She tossed her head. “I thought I’d get that out of the way early.”

Before Kim could respond, Steve shook his head. The last thing he wanted was an argument. “It’s okay, Kim.”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s okay,” Ronnie said, pouncing. “I need to stretch my legs. I’m going for a walk.”

As she stomped away, Steve watched Kim struggle with the impulse to call her back. In the end, though, she said nothing.

“Long drive?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“You can’t even imagine it.”

He smiled, thinking that for just an instant, it was easy to imagine they were still married, both of them on the same team, both of them still in love.

Except, of course, that they weren’t.

After unloading the bags, Steve went to the kitchen, where he tapped ice cubes from the old-fashioned tray and dropped them into the mismatched glasses that had come with the place.

Behind him, he heard Kim enter the kitchen. He reached for a pitcher of sweet tea, poured two glasses, and handed one to her. Outside, Jonah was alternately chasing, and being chased by, the waves as seagulls fluttered overhead.

“It looks like Jonah’s having fun,” he said.

Kim took a step toward the window. “He’s been excited about coming for weeks.” She hesitated. “He’s missed you.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“I know,” she said. She took a drink of her tea before glancing around the kitchen. “So this is the place, huh? It’s got… character.”

“By character, I assume you’ve noticed the leaky roof and lack of air-conditioning.”

Kim flashed a brief smile, caught.

“I know it’s not much. But it’s quiet and I can watch the sun come up.”

“And the church is letting you stay here for free?”

Steve nodded. “It belonged to Carson Johnson. He was a local artist, and when he passed away, he left the house to the church. Pastor Harris is letting me stay until they’re ready to sell.”

“So what’s it like living back home? I mean, your parents used to live, what? Three blocks from here?”

Seven, actually. Close. “It’s all right.” He shrugged.

“It’s so crowded now. The place has really changed since the last time I was here.”

“Everything changes,” he said. He leaned against the counter, crossing one leg over the other. “So when’s the big day?” he asked, changing the subject. “For you and Brian?”