The Last Song - Страница 65

Before she knew it, three hours had gone by and she heard her dad beginning to stir. After tucking the pages back into the drawer, she headed for the bedroom, ready to face whatever the day would bring.

Later that evening, when her father had fallen into yet another fitful sleep, she retrieved the pages, this time working long past midnight. In the morning, she woke up eager and anxious to show him what she’d done. But when she entered his bedroom, he wouldn’t stir at all, and she panicked when she realized that he was barely breathing.

Her stomach was in knots as she called the ambulance, and she felt unsteady as she made her way back to the bedroom. She wasn’t ready, she told herself, she hadn’t shown him the song. She needed another day. It’s not time yet. But with trembling hands, she opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the manila envelope.

In the hospital bed, her father looked smaller than she’d ever seen him. His face had collapsed in on itself, and his skin had an unnatural grayish pallor. His breaths were as shallow and rapid as an infant’s. She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she weren’t here. Wishing she were anywhere but here.

“Not yet, Daddy,” she whispered. “Just a little more time, okay?”

Outside the hospital window, the sky was gray and cloudy. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, and the stark and empty branches somehow reminded her of bones. The air was cold and still, presaging a storm.

The envelope sat on the nightstand, and though she’d promised her dad she would give it to the doctor, she hadn’t done so yet. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t wake, not until she was sure she was never going to have the chance to say good-bye. Not until she was certain there was nothing more she could do for him.

She prayed fiercely for a miracle, a tiny one. And as though God Himself were listening, it happened twenty minutes later.

She’d been sitting beside him for most of the morning. She’d grown so used to the sound of his breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor that the slightest change sounded like an alarm. Looking up, she saw his arm twitch and his eyes flutter open. He blinked under the fluorescent lights, and Ronnie instinctively reached for his hand.

“Dad?” she said. Despite herself, she felt a surge of hope; she imagined him slowly sitting up.

But he didn’t. He didn’t even seem to hear her. When he rolled his head with great effort to look at her, she saw a darkness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. But then he blinked and she heard him sigh.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered hoarsely.

The fluid in his lungs made him sound as if he were drowning. She forced herself to smile. “How are you doing?”

“Not too well.” He paused, as if to gather his strength. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. You were brought here this morning. I know you have a DNR, but…”

When he blinked again, she thought his eyes might stay closed. But eventually he opened them.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. The forgiveness in his voice tore at her heart. “I understand.”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

She kissed him on the cheek and tried to wrap her arms around his shrunken figure. She felt his hand graze her back.

“Are you… okay?” he asked her.

“No,” she admitted, feeling the tears start to come. “I’m not okay at all.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“No, don’t say that,” she said, willing herself not to break down. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should have stopped talking to you. I’ve wanted so desperately to take it all back.”

He gave a ghostly smile. “Did I ever tell you that I think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah,” she said, sniffling. “You’ve told me.”

“Well, this time I mean it.”

She laughed helplessly through her tears. “Thanks,” she said. Leaning over, she kissed his hand.

“Do you remember when you were little?” he asked, suddenly serious. “You used to watch me playing the piano for hours. One day, I found you sitting at the keyboard playing a melody you had heard me play. You were only four years old. You always had so much talent.”

“I remember,” she said.

“I want you to know something,” her dad said, gripping her hand with surprising force. “No matter how bright your star became, I never cared about the music half as much as I cared about you as a daughter… I want you to know that.”

She nodded. “I believe you. And I love you, too, Dad.”

He took a long breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then will you bring me home?”

The words struck her with their full weight, unavoidable and direct. She glanced at the envelope, knowing what he was asking and what he needed her to say. And in that instant, she remembered everything about the last five months. Images raced through her mind, one after the next, stopping only when she saw him sitting in the church at the keyboard, beneath the empty space where the window would eventually be installed.

And it was then that she knew what her heart had been telling her to do all along.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll bring you home. But I need you to do something for me, too.”

Her dad swallowed. It seemed to take all the strength he had to say. “I’m not sure I can anymore.”

She smiled and reached for the envelope. “Even for me?”

Pastor Harris had lent her his car, and she drove as fast as she could. Holding her cell phone, she made the call as she was changing lanes. She quickly explained what was happening and what she needed; Galadriel agreed immediately. She drove as though her father’s life depended on it, accelerating at every yellow light.

Galadriel was waiting for her at the house when she arrived. Beside her on the porch lay two crowbars, which she hefted as Ronnie approached.

“Ready?” she asked.

Ronnie merely nodded, and together they entered the house.

With Galadriel’s help, it took less than an hour to dismantle her father’s work. She didn’t care about the mess they left in the living room; the only thing she could think about was the time her father had left and what she still needed to do for him. When the last piece of plywood was ripped away, Galadriel turned to her, sweating and breathless.

“Go pick up your dad. I’ll clean up. And I’ll help you bring him in when you get back.”

She drove even faster on the way back to the hospital. Before she had left the hospital, she’d met with her dad’s doctor and explained what she planned to do. With the attending nurse’s help, she’d raced through the release forms the hospital required; when she called the hospital from the car, she paged the same nurse and asked her to have her dad waiting downstairs in a wheelchair.

The car’s tires squealed as she turned in to the hospital parking lot. She followed the lane toward the emergency room entrance and saw immediately that the nurse had been good to her word.

Ronnie and the nurse helped her dad into the car, and she was back on the road within minutes. Her dad seemed more alert than he’d been in the hospital room, but she knew that could change at any time. She needed to get him home before it was too late. As she drove the streets of a town she’d eventually come to think of as her own, she felt a rush of fear and hope. It all seemed so simple, so clear now. When she reached the house, Galadriel was waiting for her. Galadriel had moved the couch into position, and together they helped her father recline on it.

Despite his condition, it seemed to dawn on him what Ronnie had done. Ever so gradually, she saw his grimace replaced by an expression of wonder. As he stared at the piano standing exposed in the alcove, she knew she had done the right thing. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek.

“I finished your song,” she said. “Our last song. And I want to play it for you.”

36 Steve

Life, he realized, was much like a song.

In the beginning there is mystery, in the end there is confirmation, but it’s in the middle where all the emotion resides to make the whole thing worthwhile.

For the first time in months, he felt no pain at all; for the first time in years, he knew his questions had answers. As he listened to the song that Ronnie had finished, the song that Ronnie had perfected, he closed his eyes in the knowledge that his search for God’s presence had been fulfilled.

He finally understood that God’s presence was everywhere, at all times, and was experienced by everyone at one time or another. It had been with him in the workshop as he’d labored over the window with Jonah; it had been present in the weeks he’d spent with Ronnie. It was present here and now as his daughter played their song, the last song they would ever share. In retrospect, he wondered how he could have missed something so incredibly obvious.

God, he suddenly understood, was love in its purest form, and in these last months with his children, he had felt His touch as surely as he had heard the music spilling from Ronnie’s hands.

37 Ronnie

Her dad died less than a week later, in his sleep, with Ronnie on the floor next to him. Ronnie couldn’t bring herself to speak of the details. She knew her mom was waiting for her to finish; in the three hours she’d been talking, her mom had remained silent, much the way her dad always had. But the moments in which she watched her father draw his last breaths felt intensely private to her, and she knew she would never speak of them to anyone. Being at his side as he left this world was a gift that he had given her, and only her, and she would never forget how solemn and intimate it had felt.