thrillerSparksLast Song 20 страница

“It’s complicated,” she said reluctantly.walked a few steps in silence before her dad spoke again. “If it matters to you, I thought he was an exceptional young man.”looped her arm through his. “Yes, it does matter. And I thought so, too.”then, they’d reached the church. She could see workers carrying in loads of lumber and cans of paint, and as usual her eyes sought out the empty space beneath the steeple. The window hadn’t been installed yet-most of the construction had to be completed first to prevent the fragile glass pieces from cracking-but her dad still liked to visit. He was pleased by the renewed construction, but not primarily because of the window. He spoke constantly of how important the church was to Pastor Harris and how much the pastor missed preaching in the place that he’d long considered a second home.Harris was always on site, and usually he would walk down to the beach to visit with them when they arrived. Looking around now, she spotted him standing in the gravel parking lot. He was talking to someone as he gestured animatedly at the building. Even from a distance, she could tell he was smiling.was about to wave in an attempt to get his attention when she suddenly recognized the man he was talking to. The sight startled her. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been distraught; the last time they’d been together, he hadn’t bothered to say good-bye. Perhaps Tom Blakelee had simply been driving by and stopped to talk to the pastor about the rebuilding of the church. Maybe he was just interested.the rest of the week, she watched for Tom Blakelee when they visited the site, but she never saw him there again. Part of her was relieved, she admitted, that their worlds no longer intersected.their walks to the church and her dad’s afternoon nap, they usually read together. She finished Anna Karenina, four months after she’d first started reading it. She checked out Doctor Zhivago from the public library. Something about the Russian writers appealed to her: the epic quality of their stories, perhaps; bleak tragedy and doomed love affairs painted on a grand canvas, so far removed from her own ordinary life.dad continued to study his Bible, and sometimes he’d read a passage or verse aloud at her request. Some were short and others were long, but many of them seemed to focus on the meaning of faith. She wasn’t sure why, but she sometimes got the sense that the act of reading them aloud had shed light on a nuance or meaning that he had previously missed.were becoming simple affairs. In early October, she began to do most of the cooking, and he accepted this change as easily as he’d accepted everything else over the summer. Most of the time, he would sit in the kitchen and they would talk as she boiled pasta or rice and browned some chicken or steak in the pan. It was the first time she’d cooked meat in years, and she felt strange prodding her dad to eat it after putting the plate in front of him. He wasn’t hungry much anymore, and the meals were bland because spices of any kind irritated his stomach. But she knew he needed food. Though he didn’t have a scale in the house, she could see the pounds melting away.night after dinner, she finally told him what had happened with Will. She told him everything: about the fire and his attempts to cover for Scott, about all that had transpired with Marcus. Her dad listened intently as she spoke, and when at last he pushed aside his plate, she noticed he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” she said. “You can ask me anything.”

“When you told me that you were in love with Will, did you mean it?”remembered Megan asking her the same question. “Yes.”

“Then I think you might have been too hard on him.”

“But he was covering up a crime…”

“I know. But if you think about it, you’re now in the same position that he was. You know the truth, just as he did. And you’ve said nothing to anyone either.”

“But I didn’t do it…”

“And you said that he didn’t either.”

“What are you trying to say? That I should tell Pastor Harris?”shook his head. “No,” he said to her surprise. “I don’t think you should.”

“Why?”

“Ronnie,” he said gently, “there might be more to the story than meets the eye.”

“But-”

“I’m not saying I’m right. I’ll be the first to admit I’m wrong about a lot of things. But if everything is just as you described it, then I want you to know this: Pastor Harris doesn’t want to know the truth. Because if he does, he’ll have to do something about it. And trust me, he would never want to hurt Scott or his family, especially if it was an accident. He’s just not that kind of man. And one more thing. And of everything I’ve said, this is the most important.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to learn how to forgive.”crossed her arms. “I’ve already forgiven Will. I’ve left him messages…”before she finished, her dad was shaking his head. “I’m not talking about Will. You need to learn to forgive yourself first.”night, at the bottom of the stack of letters her dad had written, Ronnie found another letter, one she hadn’t yet opened. He must have added it to the stack recently, since it bore no stamp or postmark.didn’t know whether he wanted her to read it now or whether it was meant to be read after he was gone. She supposed she could have asked him, but she didn’t. In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to read it; simply holding the envelope frightened her, because she knew that it was the last letter he would ever write to her.disease continued to progress. Though they followed their regular routines-eating, reading, and taking walks on the beach-her dad was taking more medicine for his pain. There were times when his eyes were glassy and out of focus, but she still had the sense that the dosage wasn’t strong enough. Now and then, she would see him wince as he sat reading on the couch. He would close his eyes and lean back, his face a mask of pain. When that happened, he would grip her hand; but as the days wore on, she noticed that his grip was growing weaker. His strength was fading, she thought; everything about him was fading. And soon he would be gone completely.could tell Pastor Harris noticed the changes in her dad as well. He’d been coming by almost every day in recent weeks, usually right before dinner. For the most part, he kept the conversation light; he updated them on the construction or regaled them with amusing stories from his past, bringing a fleeting smile to her father’s face. But there were also moments when both of them seemed to run out of things to say to each other. Avoiding the elephant in the room was taxing for all of them, and in those moments, a fog of sadness seemed to settle in the living room.she sensed that they wanted to be alone, she would go stand out on the porch and try to imagine what they might be talking about. She could guess, of course: They talked about faith or family and maybe some regrets they each had, but she knew they also prayed together. She’d heard them once when she’d gone inside to get a glass of water, and she remembered thinking that Pastor Harris’s prayer sounded more like a plea. He seemed to be begging for strength as though his own life depended on it, and as she listened to him, she closed her eyes to chime in with a silent prayer of her own.October brought three days of unseasonably chilly weather, cold enough to require a sweatshirt in the mornings. After months of relentless heat, she enjoyed the briskness in the air, but those three days were hard on her dad. Though they still walked the beach, he moved even more slowly, and they paused only briefly outside the church before turning and heading back home. By the time they reached the door, her dad was shivering. Once inside, she drew him a warm bath, hoping it would help, feeling the first twinges of panic at the new signs of sickness that signaled the disease was advancing more rapidly.a Friday, a week before Halloween, her father rallied enough for them to try fishing on the small dock that Will had first taken her to. Officer Pete lent them some extra rods and a tackle box. Remarkably, her dad had never been fishing before, so Ronnie had to bait the hook. The first two fish that took the bait got away, but they were finally able to hook a small red drum and land it on the dock. It was the same kind of fish she’d caught with Will, and as the fish struggled while she freed the hook, she suddenly missed Will with an intensity that felt like physical pain.they returned home after a peaceful afternoon at the dock, two people were waiting for them on the porch. It wasn’t until she got out of the car that she recognized Blaze and her mom. Blaze looked astonishingly different. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and she was dressed in white shorts and a long-sleeved aquamarine top. She wore no jewelry or makeup.Blaze again reminded Ronnie of something she’d managed to avoid thinking about in all her concerns for her father: that she would be returning to court before the month was out. She wondered what they wanted and why they were here.took her time helping her dad out of the car, offering her arm to steady him.

“Who are they?” her dad murmured.explained, and he nodded. As they approached, Blaze climbed down from the porch.

“Hi, Ronnie,” she said, clearing her throat. She squinted slightly in the lowering sun. “I came to talk to you.”sat across from Blaze in the living room, watching as Blaze studied the floor. Their parents had retreated to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” Blaze began. “How is he doing?”

“He’s okay.” Ronnie shrugged. “How about you?”touched the front of her shirt. “I’ll always have scars here,” she said, then gestured to her arms and belly, “and here.” She gave a sad smile. “But I’m lucky to be alive, really.” She fidgeted in her seat before catching Ronnie’s eye. “I wanted to thank you for bringing me to the hospital.”nodded, still unsure where the conversation was going. “You’re welcome.”the silence, Blaze looked around the living room, uncertain what to say next. Ronnie, learning from her dad, simply waited.

“I should have come by sooner, but I know you’ve been busy.”

“It’s okay,” Ronnie said. “I’m just glad to see you’re doing okay.”looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Ronnie said. She smiled. “Even if you do look like an Easter egg.”pulled on her top. “Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh? My mom bought me some clothes.”

“They suit you. I guess the two of you are getting along better.”gave her a rueful look. “I’m trying. I’m living back home again, but it’s hard. I did a lot of stupid things. To her, to other people. To you.”sat motionless, her expression neutral. “Why are you really here, Blaze?”twisted her hands together, betraying her agitation. “I came to apologize. I did a terrible thing to you. And I know I can’t take back the stress I caused you, but I want you to know that I talked to the DA this morning. I told her that I put the stuff in your bag because I was mad at you, and I signed an affidavit that said you had no idea what was going on. You should be getting a call today or tomorrow, but she promised me that she would drop the charges.”words came out so fast that at first Ronnie wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. But Blaze’s entreating look told her everything she needed to know. After all these months, after all the countless days and nights of worry, it was suddenly over. Ronnie was in shock.

“I’m really sorry,” Blaze continued in a low voice. “I never should have put those things in your bag.”was still trying to digest the fact that this nightmarish ordeal was coming to an end. She studied Blaze, who was now picking repeatedly at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt. “What’s going to happen to you? Are they going to charge you?”

“No,” she said. At this she looked up, her jaw squared. “I had some information they wanted about another crime. A bigger crime.”

“You mean about what happened to you on the pier?”

“No,” she said, and Ronnie thought she saw something hard and defiant in her eyes. “I told them about the fire at the church and the way it really started.” Blaze made sure she had Ronnie’s attention before going on. “Scott didn’t start the fire. His bottle rocket had nothing to do with it. Oh, it landed near the church all right. But it was already out.”absorbed this information in growing wonderment. For a moment, they stared at each other, the charge in the air palpable.

“Then how did it start?”leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her forearms stretched out as if in supplication. “We were out partying on the beach-Marcus, Teddy, Lance, and me. A little later, Scott showed up, just down the beach from us. We pretended to ignore each other, but we could see Scott lighting up bottle rockets. Will was still down the beach and Scott sort of aimed one in his direction, but the wind caught it and it flew toward the church. Will started freaking out and came running. But Marcus thought the whole thing was hilarious, and the minute that rocket fell behind the church, he ran over to the churchyard. I didn’t know what was happening at first, even after I followed him and saw him torching the scrub grass next to the church wall. The next thing I knew, the side of the building was on fire.”

“You’re saying Marcus did it?” Ronnie could barely get the words out.nodded. “He set other fires, too. At least I’m pretty sure he did-he always loved fire. I guess I always knew he was crazy, but I…” She stopped herself, realizing she’d been down that road too many times already. She sat up straight. “Anyway, I’ve agreed to testify against him.”leaned back in her chair, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She remembered the things she’d said to Will, suddenly realizing that if Will had done what she’d demanded, Scott’s life would have been ruined for nothing.felt almost ill as Blaze went on. “I’m really sorry for everything,” she said. “And as crazy as it sounds, I did consider you my friend until I was an idiot and ruined it.” For the first time, Blaze’s voice cracked. “But you’re a great person, Ronnie. You’re honest, and you were nice to me when you had no reason to be.” A tear leaked out of one eye, and she swiped at it quickly. “I’ll never forget the day you offered to let me stay with you, even after all the terrible things I had done to you. I felt such… shame. And yet I was grateful, you know? That someone still cared.”paused, visibly struggling to pull herself together. When she had blinked back her tears, she took a deep breath and fixed Ronnie with a determined look.

“So if you ever need anything-and I mean anything-let me know. I’ll drop everything, okay? I know I can’t ever make up for what I did to you, but in a way, I feel like you saved me. What’s happened to your dad is just so unfair… and I would do anything to help you.”nodded.

“And one last thing,” Blaze added. “We don’t have to be friends, but if you ever see me again, will you please call me Galadriel? I can’t stand the name Blaze.”smiled. “Sure thing, Galadriel.”Blaze had promised, her lawyer called that afternoon, informing her that the charges in her shoplifting case had been dropped.night, as her dad lay sleeping in his bedroom, Ronnie turned on the local news. She wasn’t sure if the news would cover it, but there it was, a thirty-second segment right before the weather forecast about “the arrest of a new suspect in the ongoing arson investigation relating to a local church burning last year.” When they flashed a mug shot of Marcus with a few details of his prior misdemeanor charges, she turned off the TV. Those cold, dead eyes still had the power to unnerve her.thought of Will and what he had done to protect Scott, for a crime that it turned out he hadn’t even committed. Was it really so terrible, she wondered, that loyalty to his friend had skewed his judgment? Especially in light of the way things had turned out? Ronnie was no longer certain of anything. She had been wrong about so many things: her dad, Blaze, her mother, even Will. Life was so much more complicated than she ever imagined as a sullen teenager in New York.shook her head as she moved around the house, turning out the lights one by one. That life-a parade of parties and high school gossip and squabbles with her mom-felt like another world, an existence she had only dreamed. Today, there was only this: her walk on the beach with her dad, the ceaseless sound of the ocean waves, the smell of winter approaching.the fruit of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.came and went, and her dad grew weaker with every passing day.gave up their walks on the beach when the effort became too great, and in the mornings, when she made his bed, she saw dozens of strands of hair on his pillow. Knowing that the disease was accelerating, she moved her mattress into his bedroom in case he needed her help, and also to remain close to him for as long as she could.was on the highest dosages of pain medicine that his body could handle, but it never seemed enough. At night, as she slept on the floor beside him, he uttered whimpering cries that nearly broke her heart. She kept his medication right beside his bed, and they were the first things he reached for when he woke up. She would sit beside him in the mornings, holding him, his limbs trembling, until the medicine took effect.the side effects took their toll as well. He was unstable on his feet, and Ronnie had to support him whenever he moved, even across the room. Despite his weight loss, when he stumbled it was all she could do to keep him from falling. Though he never gave voice to his frustration, his eyes registered his disappointment, as if he were somehow failing her.now slept an average of seventeen hours a day, and Ronnie would spend entire days alone at home, reading and rereading the letters he’d originally written to her. She hadn’t yet read the last letter he’d written to her-the idea still seemed too frightening-but sometimes she liked to hold it between her fingers, trying to summon the strength to open it.called home more frequently, timing her calls for when Jonah got home from school or after they had finished dinner. Jonah seemed subdued, and when he asked about their dad she sometimes felt guilty about holding back the truth. But she couldn’t burden him that way, and she noticed that whenever her dad spoke with him, he always did his best to sound as energetic as he could. Afterward, he often sat in the chair by the phone, spent from his exertions, too tired even to move. She would watch him in silence, chafing at the knowledge that there was something more she could do, if only she knew what it was.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.were seated at the kitchen table, and Ronnie had a pad of paper open before her.gave her a quizzical smile. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

“This is just the first question. I’ve got a lot more.”reached for the can of Ensure she’d placed before him. He was no longer eating much solid food, and she watched as he took a sip, knowing he was doing it to please her, not because he was hungry.

“Green,” he said.wrote down the answer and read the next question. “How old were you when you first kissed a girl?”

“Are you serious?” He made a face.

“Please, Dad,” she said. “It’s important.”answered again, and she wrote it down. They got through a quarter of the questions she’d jotted down, and over the next week, he eventually answered them all. She wrote down the answers carefully, not necessarily verbatim, but she hoped with enough detail to reconstruct the answers in the future. It was an engaging and sometimes surprising exercise, but by the end, she concluded that her dad was mostly the same man she’d come to know over the summer.was good and bad, of course. Good because she’d suspected he would be, and bad because it left her no closer to the answer she’d been seeking all along.second week of November brought the first rains of autumn, but the construction at the church continued without pause. If anything, the pace increased. Her dad no longer accompanied her; still, Ronnie walked down the beach to the church every day to see how things were progressing. It had become part of her routine during the quiet hours when her dad was napping. Though Pastor Harris always registered her arrival with a wave, he no longer joined her on the beach to chat.a week, the stained-glass window would be installed, and Pastor Harris would know he’d done something for her dad that no one else could do, something she knew would mean the world to him. She was happy for him, even as she prayed for guidance of her own.a gray November day, her dad suddenly insisted that they venture out to the pier. Ronnie was anxious about the distance and the cold, but he was adamant. He wanted to see the ocean from the pier, he said. One last time, were the words he didn’t have to say.dressed in overcoats, and Ronnie even wrapped a wool scarf around her father’s neck. The wind carried in it the first sharp taste of winter, making it feel colder than the thermometer suggested. She insisted on driving to the pier and parked Pastor Harris’s car in the deserted boardwalk lot.took a long time to reach the end of the pier. They were alone beneath a cloud-swept sky, the iron gray waves visible between the concrete planks. As they shuffled forward, her father kept his arm looped through hers, clinging to her as the wind tugged at their overcoats.they finally made it, her dad reached out for the railing and almost lost his balance. In the silvery light, the planes of his sunken cheeks stood out in sharp relief and his eyes looked a little glassy, but she could tell he was satisfied.steady movement of the waves stretching out before him to the horizon seemed to bring him a feeling of serenity. There was nothing to see-no boats, no porpoises, no surfers-but his expression seemed peaceful and free of pain for the first time in weeks. Near the waterline, the clouds seemed almost alive, roiling and shifting as the wintry sun attempted to pierce their veiled masses. She found herself watching the play of clouds with the same wonder her father did, wondering where his thoughts lay.wind was picking up, and she saw him shiver. She could tell he wanted to stay, his gaze locked on the horizon. She tugged gently on his arm, but he only tightened his grip on the railing.relented then, standing next to him until he was shuddering with cold, finally ready to go. He released the railing and let her turn him around, starting their slow march back to the car. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he was smiling.

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she remarked.dad took a few steps before answering.

“Yes,” he said. “But mostly I enjoyed sharing that moment with you.”days later, she resolved to read his final letter. She would do it soon, before he was gone. Not tonight, but soon, she promised herself. It was late at night, and the day with her dad had been the hardest yet. The medicine didn’t seem to be helping him at all. Tears leaked out of his eyes as spasms of pain racked his body; she begged him to let her bring him to the hospital, but still he refused.

“No,” he gasped. “Not yet.”

“When?” she asked desperately, close to tears herself. He didn’t answer, only held his breath, waiting for the pain to pass. When it did, he seemed suddenly weaker, as if it had sheared away a sliver of the little life he had left.

“I want you to do something for me,” he said. His voice was a ragged whisper.kissed the back of his hand. “Anything,” she said.

“When I first received my diagnosis, I signed a DNR. Do you know what that is?” He searched her face. “It means I don’t want any extraordinary measures that might keep me alive. If I go to the hospital, I mean.”felt her stomach twist in fear. “What are you trying to say?”

“When the time comes, you have to let me go.”

“No,” she said, beginning to shake her head, “don’t talk like that.”gaze was gentle but insistent. “Please,” he whispered. “It’s what I want. When I go to the hospital, bring the papers. They’re in my top desk drawer, in a manila envelope.”

“No… Dad, please,” she cried. “Don’t make me do that. I can’t do that.”held her gaze. “Even for me?”night, his whimpers were broken by a labored, rapid breathing that terrified her. Though she had promised she would do what he asked, she wasn’t sure she could.could she tell the doctors not to do anything? How could she let him die?Monday, Pastor Harris picked them both up and drove them to the church to watch the window being installed. Because he was too weak to stand, they brought a lawn chair with them. Pastor Harris helped her support him as they slowly made their way to the beach. A crowd had gathered in anticipation of the event, and for the next few hours, they watched as workers carefully set the window in place. It was as spectacular as she’d imagined it would be, and when the final brace was bolted into place, a cheer went up. She turned to see her father’s reaction and noticed that he’d fallen asleep, cocooned in the heavy blankets she’d draped over him.Pastor Harris’s help, she brought him home and put him in bed. On his way out, the pastor turned to her.

“He was happy,” he said, as much to convince himself as her.

“I know he was,” she assured him, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “It’s exactly what he wanted.”dad slept for the rest of the day, and as the world went black outside her window, she knew it was time to read the letter. If she didn’t do it now, she might never find the courage.light in the kitchen was dim. After tearing open the envelope, she slowly unfolded the page. The handwriting was different from his previous letters; gone was the flowing, open style she’d expected. In its place was something like a scrawl. She didn’t want to imagine what a struggle it must have been to write the words or how long it had taken him. She took a deep breath and began to read., sweetheart,’m proud of you.haven’t said those words to you as often as I should have. I say them now, not because you chose to stay with me through this incredibly difficult time, but because I wanted you to know that you’re the remarkable person I’ve always dreamed you could be.you for staying. I know it’s hard for you, surely harder than you imagined it would be, and I’m sorry for the hours that you’re going to inevitably spend alone. But I’m especially sorry because I haven’t always been the father you’ve needed me to be. I know I’ve made mistakes. I wish I could change so many things in my life. I suppose that’s normal, considering what’s happening to me, but there’s something else I want you to know.hard as life can be and despite all my regrets, there have been moments when I felt truly blessed. I felt that way when you were born, and when I took you to the zoo as a child and watched you stare at the giraffes in amazement. Usually, those moments don’t last long; they come and go like ocean breezes. But sometimes, they stretch out forever.’s what the summer was like for me, and not only because you forgave me. The summer was a gift to me, because I came to know the young woman I always knew you would grow into. As I told your brother, it was the best summer of my life, and I often wondered during those idyllic days how someone like me could have been blessed with a daughter as wonderful as you.you, Ronnie. Thank you for coming. And thank you for the way you made me feel each and every day we had the chance to be together.and Jonah have always been the greatest blessings in my life. I love you, Ronnie, and I’ve always loved you. And never, ever forget that I am, and always have been, proud of you. No father has ever been as blessed as I.passed. Along the beach, people began to put up Christmas decorations.dad had lost a third of his body weight and spent nearly all his time in bed.stumbled across the sheets of paper when she was cleaning the house one morning. They’d been wedged carelessly into the drawer of the coffee table, and when she pulled them out, it took her only a moment to recognize her father’s hand in the musical notes scrawled on the page.was the song he’d been writing, the song she’d heard him playing that night in the church. She set the pages on top of the table to inspect them more closely. Her eye raced over the heavily edited series of notes, and she thought again that her dad had been on to something. As she read, she could hear the arresting strains of the opening bars in her head. But as she flipped through the score to the second and third pages, she could also see that it wasn’t quite right. Although his initial instincts had been good, she thought she recognized where the composition began to lose its way. She fished a pencil from the table drawer and began to overlay her own work on his, scrawling rapid chord progressions and melodic riffs where her father had left off.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.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.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.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.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-05