The Last Song - Страница 67

“Shhh,” he murmured, “it’s okay. I was never as mad as you thought I was.”

She squeezed him harder, trying to cling to what they’d shared. “But you only called twice.”

“Because I knew your dad needed you,” he said, “and I wanted you to concentrate on him, not me. I remember how it was when Mikey died, and I remember wishing that I’d had more time with him. I couldn’t do that to you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder as he held her. All that she could think was that she needed him. She needed his arms around her, needed him to hold her and whisper that they’d find a way to be together.

She felt him lean into her and heard him murmur her name. When she pulled back, she saw him smiling down at her.

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he whispered, touching her wrist.

“In my thoughts forever.” She gave a shaky smile.

He tilted her chin so he could stare closely into her eyes. “I’m going to call you, okay? After I get back from Europe.”

She nodded, knowing it was all they had, yet knowing it wasn’t enough. Their lives were on separate tracks, now and forever. The summer was over, and they were each moving on.

She closed her eyes, hating the truth.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Epilogue. Ronnie

In the weeks since her dad’s funeral, Ronnie continued to experience some emotional upheaval, but she supposed that was to be expected. There were days when she woke with a feeling of dread, and she would spend hours reliving those last few months with her dad, too paralyzed with grief and regret to cry. After such an intense period together, it was hard for her to accept that he was suddenly gone, unreachable to her no matter how much she needed him. She felt his absence with a knife-edged sharpness she couldn’t contain, and it sometimes left her in a bitter mood.

But those mornings weren’t as common as they’d been during the first week she was home, and she sensed that they’d become less frequent over time. Staying with and caring for her dad had changed her, and she knew that she would survive. That’s what her dad would have wanted, and she could almost hear him reminding her that she was stronger than she realized. He wouldn’t want her to mourn for months; he would want her to live her life much the way he had in the final year of his own life. More than anything, he wanted her to embrace life and flourish.

Jonah, too. She knew her dad would want her to help Jonah move on, and since she’d been home, she’d spent a lot of time with him. Less than a week after they returned, Jonah was released from school for Christmas break, and she’d used the time to make special excursions with him: She’d taken him ice-skating at Rockefeller Center and brought him to the top of the Empire State Building; they’d visited the dinosaur exhibits at the Museum of Natural History, and she’d even spent most of one afternoon at FAO Schwarz. She’d always considered such things touristy and unbearably clichéd, but Jonah had enjoyed their outings, and surprisingly, so had she.

They spent quiet time together, too. She sat with him while he watched cartoons, drew pictures with him at the kitchen table, and once, at his request, she’d even camped out in his room, sleeping on the floor beside his bed. In those private moments, they sometimes reminisced about the summer and told stories about their dad, which they both found comforting.

Still, she knew Jonah was struggling in his own ten-year-old way. It seemed as though something specific was bothering him, and it came to a head one night when they’d gone for a walk after dinner one blustery night. An icy wind was blowing, and Ronnie had her hands tucked deep into her pockets when Jonah finally turned to her, peeking up from the depths of his parka hood.

“Is Mom sick?” he asked. “Like Dad was?”

The question was so surprising that it took her a moment to respond. She stopped, squatting down so she could be at eye level. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because the two of you don’t fight anymore. Like when you stopped fighting with Dad.”

She could see the fear in his eyes and even, in a childlike way, could understand the logic of his thoughts. It was true, after all-she and her mom hadn’t argued once since she’d returned. “She’s fine. We just got tired of fighting, so we don’t do it anymore.”

He searched her face. “You promise?”

She pulled him close, holding him tight. “I promise.”

Her time with their dad had altered even her relationship with her hometown. It took some time to get accustomed to the city again. She wasn’t used to the relentless noise or the constant presence of other people; she had forgotten how the sidewalks were endlessly shadowed by the enormous buildings around her and the way people rushed everywhere, even in the narrow grocery store aisles. Nor did she feel much like socializing; when Kayla had called to see if she wanted to go out, she’d passed on the opportunity, and Kayla hadn’t called again. Though she supposed they would always share memories, it would be a different sort of friendship from this point on. But Ronnie was okay with that; between being with Jonah and practicing the piano, she had little time for anything else.

Because her dad’s piano had yet to be shipped back to the apartment, she took the subway to Juilliard and practiced there. She’d called on her first day back in New York and had spoken to the director. He’d been good friends with her dad and had apologized for missing the funeral. He sounded surprised-and yes, excited, she thought-to hear from her. When she told him that she was reconsidering applying to Juilliard, he arranged for an accelerated audition schedule and even helped expedite her application.

Only three weeks after arriving back in New York, she’d opened her audition with the song she’d composed with her dad. She was a little rusty in her classical technique-three weeks wasn’t much time to prepare for a high-level audition-but as she left the auditorium, she thought her dad would have been proud of her. Then again, she thought with a smile as she tucked his beloved score under her arm, he always had been.

Since the audition, she’d been playing three or four hours a day. The director had arranged to let her use the school’s practice rooms, and she was beginning to tinker with some fledgling compositions. She thought of her dad often while sitting in the practice rooms, the same rooms that he had once sat in. Occasionally, when the sun was setting, the rays would slice between the buildings around her, throwing long bars of light on the floor. And always when she saw the light, she would think back to his window at the church and the cascade of light she’d seen at the funeral.

She thought constantly about Will, of course.

Mostly, she dwelled on memories of their summer rather than their brief encounter outside the church. She hadn’t heard from him since the funeral, and as Christmas came and went, she began to lose hope that he would call. She remembered that he’d said something about spending the holidays overseas, but as each day elapsed without word from him, she vacillated between the certainty that he still loved her and the hopelessness of their situation. Perhaps it was best that he didn’t call, she told herself, for what was there really to say?

She smiled sadly, forcing herself to push such thoughts away. She had work to do, and as she turned her attention to her latest project, a song with country-western and pop influences, she reminded herself that it was time to look ahead, not back. She might or might not be admitted to Juilliard, even if the director had told her that the status of her application looked “very promising.” No matter what happened, she knew that her future lay in music, and one way or another, she would find her way back to that passion.

On top of the piano, her phone suddenly began to vibrate. Reaching for it, she assumed it was her mom before glancing at the screen. Freezing, she stared at it as it vibrated a second time. Taking a deep breath, she opened it up and placed it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” said a familiar voice. “It’s Will.”

She tried to imagine where he was calling from. There seemed to be a cavernous echo behind him, reminiscent of an airport.

“Did you just get off a plane?” she asked.

“No. I got back a few days ago. Why?”

“You just sound funny,” she said, feeling her heart sink just a bit. He’d been home for days; only now was he getting around to calling. “How was Europe?”

“It was a lot of fun, actually. My mom and I got along a lot better than I expected. How’s Jonah doing?”

“He’s okay. He’s getting better, but… it’s still hard.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and again she heard that echoing sound. Maybe he was on the back veranda of his house. “What else is going on?”

“I auditioned at Juilliard, and I think it went really well…”

“I know,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Why else would you be there?”

She tried to make sense of his response. “Well, no… they’ve just been letting me practice here until my dad’s piano arrives-because of my dad’s history at the school and everything. The director was a good friend of his.”

“I hope you’re not too busy practicing to take time off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was hoping you were free to go out this weekend. If you don’t have any plans, I mean.”

She felt her heart leap in her chest. “You’re coming to New York?”

“I’m staying with Megan. You know, checking out how the newlyweds are doing.”