Nicholas Sparks - The Last Song

“You’re saying it was my fault?”

“No, not at all. There’s a lot of stuff that was going on that doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s been… difficult for the past few days.” She ran a nervous hand through her hair. It felt so hot in the garage.

Will took a moment to absorb what she’d said. “Why would you believe her in the first place? You don’t even know her.”

She closed her eyes. Why? she wondered. Because I’m an idiot.Because I should have trusted my instincts about her. But she didn’t say those things. She simply shook her head. “I don’t know.”

When she didn’t seem willing to add anything else, he tucked his thumbs into his pockets. “Is that all you came to say? Because I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I also wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice subdued. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

“Yeah, you did,” Will shot back. “You were completely irrational. Anything else?”

“And I also wanted you to know that I had a really good time yesterday. Well, up until the end, anyway.”

“Okay.”

She wasn’t sure what his answer meant, but when he flashed a brief smile, she felt herself begin to relax.

“‘Okay?’ That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say after I came all the way down here to apologize? ‘Okay’?”

Instead of answering, Will took a step toward her, and all at once, everything happened too quickly to even make sense of it. One second he was standing three feet away from her, and in the next he had a hand on her hip and was pulling her close. Leaning in, he kissed her. His lips were soft, and he was surprisingly gentle. Maybe it was simply that he’d caught her by surprise, but even so, she found herself kissing him back. The kiss didn’t last long, and it wasn’t the kind of earthshaking, soul-destroying kiss common in movies these days; but even so, she was glad it happened, and for whatever reason, she realized it was exactly what she’d wanted him to do.

When he pulled back, Ronnie could feel the blood flood her cheeks. His expression was kind but serious, and there was absolutely nothing wishy-washy about it.

“The next time you’re mad at me, talk to me,” he said. “Don’t shut me out. I don’t like playing games. And by the way, I had a great time, too.”

Ronnie still felt a little off balance as she walked back home. Replaying their kiss a hundred times, she still wasn’t sure how it happened.

But she liked it. She liked it a lot. All of which begged the question as to why she’d simply left afterward. It felt as though they should have made plans to see each other again, but with Scott in the background staring at them with his mouth hanging open, it seemed easier to give him another quick kiss and let him get back to work. But somehow she was certain they’d see each other again, probably sooner rather than later.

He liked her. She wasn’t sure why or how it happened, but he did. The thought was amazing, and she wished Kayla were here so she could talk to her about it. She supposed she could call her, but it wouldn’t be the same, and besides, she wasn’t even sure what she would say. She supposed she just wanted someone to listen.

As she approached the house, the door to the workshop swung open. Jonah stepped out into the sunlight and headed toward the house.

“Hey, Jonah!” she called out.

“Oh, hey, Ronnie!” Jonah turned and started jogging toward her. When he got close, he seemed to study her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want a cookie?”

“What?”

“A cookie. Like an Oreo. Do you want one?”

She had no idea where this was going, for the simple reason that her brother’s brain ran on tracks perpendicular, not parallel, to her own. She answered with caution. “No.”

“How can you not want a cookie?”

“I just don’t.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, waving it off. “Let’s say you did want a cookie. Let’s say you were dying for a cookie, and there were cookies in the cupboard. What would you do?”

“I’d eat a cookie?” she suggested.

Jonah snapped his fingers. “Exactly. That’s all I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?”

“That if people want cookies, they should get a cookie. It’s what people do.”

Aha, she thought. Now it makes sense. “Let me guess. Dad won’t let you have a cookie?”

“No. Even though I’m practically starving to death, he won’t even consider it. He says I have to have a sandwich first.”

“And you don’t think that’s fair.”

“You just said you’d get a cookie if you wanted one. So why can’t I? I’m not a little kid. I can make my own decisions.” He stared at her earnestly.

She brought a finger to her chin. “Hmm. I can see why this bothers you so much.”

“It’s not fair. If he wants a cookie, he can have one. If you want a cookie, you can have one. But if I want a cookie, the rules don’t count. Like you said, it’s not fair.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to eat a sandwich. Because I have to. Because the world isn’t fair to ten-year-olds.”

He trudged off without waiting for a response. She had to smile as she watched him go. Maybe later, she thought, she’d take him out for an ice cream. For a moment, she debated whether or not to follow him into the house, then she changed her mind and headed to the workshop. She figured it was probably time to see the window that she’d heard so much about.

From the door, she could see her dad soldering some lead together.

“Hey, sweetheart. Come on in.”

Ronnie stepped inside, really taking in the workshop for the first time. She wrinkled her nose at the weird animals on the shelves and eventually wandered to the table, where she saw the window. As far as she could tell, they still had a long way to go; it wasn’t even a quarter complete, and if the pattern was any indication, there were probably hundreds of pieces to go.

After finishing with the piece, her dad stood straighter and rolled his shoulders. “The table’s a little low for me. It gets to me after a while.”

“Do you need some Tylenol?”

“No, I’m just getting old. Tylenol can’t do much to fix that.”

She smiled before walking away from the table. Tacked to the wall, next to a newspaper article describing the fire, was a photograph of the window. She leaned in closer to get a better look before she turned to face him. “I talked to him,” she said. “I went over to the garage where he works.”

“And?”

“He likes me.”

Her dad shrugged. “He should. You’re a catch.”

Ronnie smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude. She wondered, but couldn’t quite remember, if he’d always been this nice. “Why are you making the window for the church? Because Pastor Harris is letting you stay in the house?”

“No. I would have made one anyway…” He trailed off. In the silence, Ronnie was looking at him expectantly. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

She nodded.

“I was maybe six or seven when I first wandered into Pastor Harris’s church. I took refuge there to get out of the rain-I mean, it was pouring and I was soaked. When I heard him playing the piano, I remember thinking that he’d tell me I couldn’t stay. But he didn’t. Instead, he brought me a blanket and a cup of soup, and he called my mom so she could come pick me up. But before she got there, he let me play the piano. I was just a little kid, banging on the keys, but… anyway, I ended up going back the next day and he eventually became my first piano teacher. He had this great love of music. He used to tell me that beautiful music was akin to angels singing, and I just got hooked. I went to the church every day and I’d play for hours beneath the original window, with this heavenly light cascading around me. That’s the image I always see when I recall the hours I spent there. This beautiful flood of light. And a few months ago, when the church burned…”