The Last Song (40 page)

When her dad put his arm around her, she began to cry harder, conscious that there would soon be a time when this simple act
of affection would no longer be possible. Despite herself, she remembered the day she’d arrived at his house and the anger
she’d felt toward him; she remembered storming off, the thought of touching him as alien to her as space travel. She’d hated
him then and she loved him now.

She was glad she finally knew his secret, even as she wished she didn’t. She felt him running his fingers through her hair.
There would come a time when he would no longer be able to do this, when he would no longer be around, and she squeezed her
eyelids shut, trying to block out the future. She needed more time with him. She needed him to listen as she whined; she needed
him to forgive her when she made mistakes. She needed him to love her the way he had this summer. She needed all of it forever,
and she knew it wouldn’t happen.

She allowed her dad to hold her and wept like the child she no longer was.

Later, he answered her questions. He told her about his father and the history of cancer in his family, he told her about
the pains he’d begun to feel as the New Year rolled in. He told her that radiation was not an option, because the disease
was present in so many of his organs. As he spoke the words, she imagined the malignant cells moving from one spot in his
body to the next, a marauding army of evil that left destruction in its wake. She asked about chemotherapy, and again his
answer was the same. The cancer was aggressive, and while chemotherapy might help slow the disease, it couldn’t stop it, and
it would leave him feeling worse than if he’d done nothing at all. He explained the concept of quality of life, and as he
did, she hated him for not telling her earlier. Yet she knew he’d made the right decision. Had she known, the summer would
have unfolded differently. Their relationship would have taken a different course, and she didn’t want to think of what it
might have become.

He was pale, and she knew the morphine was making him sleepy.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked.

“Not like it did. It’s better,” he assured her.

She nodded. She tried again not to think about the malignant cells invading his organs.

“When did you tell Mom?”

“In February, right after I found out. But I asked her not to tell you.”

Ronnie tried to remember how her mom had acted back then. She had to have been upset, but either Ronnie couldn’t remember
or she hadn’t been paying attention. As usual, she’d been thinking only about herself. She wanted to believe she was different
now, but she knew that wasn’t completely true. Between work and spending time with Will, she’d spent relatively little time
with her dad, and time was the one thing she could never get back.

“But if you’d told me, I would have been around more. We could have seen each other more, I could have helped you so you wouldn’t
be so tired all the time.”

“Just knowing you were here was more than enough.”

“But maybe you wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.”

He reached for her hand. “Or maybe watching you enjoy a carefree summer while you fell in love was what kept me out of the
hospital in the first place.”

Though he didn’t say as much, she knew he didn’t expect to live much longer, and she tried to imagine life without him.

If she hadn’t come to stay with him, if she hadn’t given him a chance, it might have been easier to let him go. But she had,
and nothing about what was happening was going to be easy. In the eerie quiet, she was able to hear his labored breathing,
and she noticed again how much weight he’d lost. She wondered whether he would live until Christmas, or even long enough for
her to visit again.

She was alone and her father was dying, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked him. He hadn’t slept long, maybe ten minutes, before he’d rolled to her.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Will you have to stay in the hospital?”

It was the one question she’d been afraid to ask. While he’d dozed, she’d held his hand, imagining that he would never leave
this place. That he’d spend the rest of his life in this room that smelled of disinfectant, surrounded by nurses who were
no more than strangers.

“No,” he said. “I’ll probably be home in a few days.” He smiled. “At least I hope so.”

She squeezed his hand. “And then what? Once we’re gone?”

He thought about it. “I suppose I’d like to see the window completed. And finish the song I started. I still think there’s
something… special there.”

She scooted her chair closer. “I mean who’s going to make sure you’re okay?”

He didn’t answer right away but tried to sit up a little in the bed. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “And if I need something, I
can call Pastor Harris. He lives only a couple of blocks away.”

She tried to imagine Pastor Harris, with his burned hands and his cane, trying to aid her father if he needed help getting
into the car. He seemed to know what she was thinking.

“Like I said, I’ll be okay,” he murmured. “I’ve known this was coming, and if worse comes to worst, there’s a hospice associated
with the hospital.”

She didn’t want to imagine him there, either. “A hospice?”

“It’s not as bad as you think. I’ve been there.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago. And I went back again last week. They’ll be ready for me whenever I need it.”

Yet another thing she didn’t know, yet another secret revealed. Yet another truth portending the inevitable. Her stomach roiled,
nausea settling in.

“But you’d rather be at home, wouldn’t you?”

“I will be,” he said.

“Until you can’t?”

His expression was almost too sad to bear. “Until I can’t.”

She left her father’s room, heading for the cafeteria. It was time, her dad said, for him to talk to Jonah.

She was dazed as she walked the corridors. It was almost midnight now, but the emergency room was as busy as always. She passed
by rooms, most of them with open doors, and saw crying children accompanied by anxious parents and a woman who couldn’t stop
vomiting. Nurses bustled around the main station, reaching for charts or loading up carts. It amazed her that so many people
could be sick this late at night, yet she knew that most of them would be gone by tomorrow. Her dad, on the other hand, was
scheduled to be moved to a room upstairs; they were only waiting for the paperwork to go through.

She weaved through the crowded waiting room toward a door that led to the main area of the hospital lobby and the cafeteria.
As the door swung shut behind her, the noise level dropped. She could hear the sound of her footfalls, could almost hear herself
thinking, and as she moved, she felt waves of exhaustion and nausea coursing through her. This was the place where sick people
came; this was the place where people came to die, and she knew her father would see this place again.

She could barely swallow as she reached the cafeteria. She rubbed her gritty, swollen eyes, promising herself that she was
going to keep it together. The grill was closed at this hour, but there were vending machines on the far wall, and a couple
of nurses sat in the corner, sipping coffee. Jonah and Will were seated at a table near the door, and Will looked up as she
approached. On the table stood a half-empty bottle of water and milk and a packet of cookies for Jonah. Jonah turned around
to look at her.

“That took you long enough,” he said. “What’s going on? Is Dad okay?”

“He’s doing better,” she said. “But he wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” He put down his cookie. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, nothing like that. He wants to tell you what’s going on.”

“Why can’t you tell me?” He sounded anxious, and Ronnie felt her heart contract with dread.

“Because he wants to talk to you alone. Like he did with me. I’ll walk you over there and wait outside the door, okay?”

He got up from his seat and headed for the door, leaving her to trail after him. “Cool,” he said as he passed her, and Ronnie
suddenly wanted to run away. But she had to stay with Jonah.

Will continued to sit, unmoving, his eyes fixed on Ronnie.

“Give me a second, okay?” she called to Jonah.

Will stood up from the table, looking frightened for her. He knows, she suddenly thought. Somehow he already knows.

“Can you wait for us?” Ronnie began. “I know you probably—”

“Of course I’ll wait,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here for as long as you need me.”

Relief rushed through her, and she gave him a grateful look, then turned and followed Jonah. They pushed open the door and
headed into the otherwise empty corridor, toward the hustle and bustle of the emergency room.

No one close to her had ever died. Though her dad’s parents had died and she remembered attending the funerals, she’d never
known them well. They weren’t the kind of grandparents that visited. They were strangers in a way, and even after they’d passed
away, she’d never remembered missing them.

About the closest she’d ever come to something like this was when Amy Childress, her seventh-grade history teacher, was killed
in a traffic accident the summer after Ronnie had finished taking her class. She’d heard about it first from Kayla, and she
remembered feeling less sad than shocked, if only because Amy was so young. Ms. Childress was still in her twenties and had
been teaching only a few years, and Ronnie remembered how surreal it had felt. She was always so friendly; she was one of
the few teachers Ronnie ever had that used to laugh aloud in class. When she returned to school in the fall, she wasn’t sure
what to expect. How did people react to something like this? What did the other teachers think? She walked the halls that
day, searching for signs of anything different, but aside from a small plaque that had been mounted on the wall near the principal’s
office, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Teachers taught their classes and socialized in the lounge; she saw Mrs. Taylor
and Mr. Burns—two of the teachers Ms. Childress often ate lunch with—smiling and laughing as they walked down the halls.

She remembered that it bothered her. Granted, the accident had occurred over the summer and people had already mourned, but
when she went by Ms. Childress’s classroom and saw that it was now being used to teach science, she realized she was angry,
not only that Ms. Childress had died, but that her memory had been erased so entirely in such a short period of time.

She didn’t want that to happen to her dad. She didn’t want him forgotten in a matter of weeks—he was good man, a good father,
and he deserved more than that.

Thinking along those lines made her realize something else, too: She’d never really known her dad when he was healthy. She’d
last spent time with him when she was a freshman in high school. Now, she was technically an adult, old enough to vote or
join the army, and over the summer, he’d harbored his secret. Who would he have been had he not known what was happening to
him? Who was he, really?

She had nothing to judge him by, other than memories of him as her piano teacher. She knew little about him. She didn’t know
the novelists he liked to read, she didn’t know his favorite animal, and if pressed, she couldn’t begin to guess his favorite
color. They weren’t important things and she knew they didn’t really matter, but somehow she was troubled by the thought that
she would probably never learn the answers.

Behind the door, she heard the sounds of Jonah crying, and she knew he’d learned the truth. She heard her brother’s frantic
denials and the answering murmurs of her father. She leaned against the wall, aching for Jonah and for herself.

She wanted to do something to make this nightmare go away. She wanted to turn back the clock to the moment the turtles had
hatched, when all was right with the world. She wanted to stand beside the boy she loved, her happy family by her side. She
suddenly remembered Megan’s radiant expression when she’d danced with her father at the wedding, and she felt a piercing ache
at the knowledge that she and her dad would never share that special moment.

She closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound of Jonah’s cries. He sounded so helpless,
so young… so scared. There was no way he could understand what was happening, there was no way he would ever really recover.
She knew he’d never forget this awful day.

“Can I get you a glass of water?”

She barely heard the words but somehow knew they were directed at her. Looking up through her tears, she saw Pastor Harris
standing before her.

She couldn’t answer, but she was somehow able to shake her head. His expression was kind, but she could see his anguish in
the stoop of his shoulders, in the way he gripped the cane.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. His voice sounded weary. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. Your dad is a special man.”

She nodded. “How did you know he was here? Did he call you?”

“No,” he said. “One of the nurses called me. I’m here two or three times a week, and when you brought him in, they thought
I’d want to know. They know I think of him as my son.”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

Pastor Harris eyed the closed door. “Only if he wants to see me.” By his pained expression, she knew he could hear Jonah’s
cries. “And after talking to the two of you, I’m sure he will. You have no idea how much he was dreading this moment.”

“You’ve talked about it?”

“Many times. He loves the two of you more than life itself, and he didn’t want to hurt you. He knew the time would come, but
I’m sure he didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it changes anything.”

“But everything has changed,” Pastor Harris countered.

“Because I know?”

“No,” he said. “Because of the time you’ve spent together. Before the two of you came down, he was so nervous. Not about being
sick, but because of how much he wanted to spend time with you, and wanted everything to go well. I don’t think you realize
how much he missed you, or how much he really loves you and Jonah. He was literally counting the days. When I’d see him, he’d
say, ‘Nineteen days,’ or, ‘Twelve days.’ And the day before you arrived? He spent hours cleaning the house and putting new
sheets on the beds. I know the place isn’t much, but if you’d seen it before, you’d understand. He wanted the two of you to
have a summer to remember, and he wanted to be part of that. Like all parents, he wants you to be happy. He wants to know
that you’re going to be okay. He wants to know that you’ll make good decisions. That’s what he needed this summer, and that’s
what you’ve given him.”