The Last Song

  "You don't have to do that, Pete."

  The officer continued to study the group in the distance. "I think in this instance, it's better if I go."

  Inexplicably, Will felt a strange wave of relief. It must have shown, because when he turned back toward his friends, each of them was staring at him.

  "What the hell was that all about?" Scott demanded.

  Will didn't answer. He couldn't, because he didn't really understand it himself.

  6

  Ronnie

  Under normal circumstances, Ronnie probably would have appreciated an evening like this. In New York, the lights from the city made it impossible to see many stars, but here, it was just the opposite. Even with the layer of marine haze, she could clearly make out the Milky Way, and directly to the south, Venus glowed brightly. The waves crashed and rolled rhythmically along the beach, and on the horizon, she could see the faint lights of half a dozen shrimp boats.

  But the circumstances weren't normal. As she stood on the porch, she glared at the officer, livid beyond belief.

  No, change that. She wasn't just livid. She was seething. What had happened was so... overprotective, so over the top, she could still barely process it. Her first thought was simply to hitchhike to the bus station and buy herself a ticket back to New York. She wouldn't tell her dad or her mom; she'd call Kayla. Once she was there, she would figure out what to do next. No matter what she decided, it couldn't be any worse than this.

  But that wasn't possible. Not with Officer Pete here. He stood behind her now, making sure she went inside.

  She still couldn't believe it. How could her dad--her own flesh-and-blood father--do something like this? She was almost an adult, she hadn't been doing anything wrong, and it wasn't even midnight. What was the problem? Why did he have to turn this into something far bigger than it was? Oh sure, at first Officer Pete had made it sound like it had been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill order to vacate their spot on Bower's Point--something that hadn't surprised the others--but then he'd turned to her. Zeroed in on her specifically.

  "I'm taking you home," he'd said, making it sound as if she were eight years old.

  "No thanks," she'd responded.

  "Then I'll have to arrest you on vagrancy charges, and have your dad bring you home."

  It dawned on her then that her dad had asked the police to bring her home, and there was an instant when she was frozen in mortification.

  Sure, she'd had problems with her mom, and yeah, she'd blown off her curfew now and then. But never, ever, not even once, had her mother sent the police after her.

  On the porch, the officer intruded on her thoughts. "Go on in," he prompted, making it fairly clear that if she didn't open the door, he would.

  From inside, she could hear the soft sounds of the piano, and she recognized the sonata by Edvard Grieg in E minor. She took a deep breath before opening the door, then slammed it shut behind her.

  Her father stopped playing and looked up as she glared at him.

  "You sent the cops after me?"

  Her dad said nothing, but his silence was enough.

  "Why would you do something like that?" she demanded. "How could you do something like that?"

  He said nothing.

  "What is it? You didn't want me to have fun? You didn't trust me? You didn't get the fact that I don't want to be here?"

  Her father folded his hands in his lap. "I know you don't want to be here..."

  She took a step forward, still glaring. "So you decide you want to ruin my life, too?"

  "Who's Marcus?"

  "Who cares!" she shouted. "That's not the point! You're not going to monitor every single person I ever talk to, so don't even try!"

  "I'm not trying--"

  "I hate being here! Don't you get that? And I hate you, too!"

  She stared at him, her face daring him to contradict her. Hoping he'd try, so she'd be able to say it again.

  But her dad said nothing, as usual. She hated that kind of weakness. In a fury, she crossed the room toward the alcove, grabbed the picture of her playing the piano--the one with her dad beside her on the bench--and hurled it across the room. Though he flinched at the sound of breaking glass, he remained quiet.

  "What? Nothing to say?"

  He cleared his throat. "Your bedroom's the first door on the right."

  She didn't even want to dignify his comment with a response, so she stormed down the hall, determined to have nothing more to do with him.

  "Good night, sweetheart," he called out. "I love you."

  There was a moment, just a moment, when she cringed at what she'd said to him; but her regret vanished as quickly as it had come. It was as if he hadn't even realized she'd been angry: She heard him begin to play the piano again, picking up exactly where he'd left off.

  In the bedroom--not hard to find, considering there were only three doors off the hallway, one to the bathroom and the other to her dad's room--Ronnie flipped on the light. With a frustrated sigh, she peeled off the ridiculous Nemo T-shirt she'd almost forgotten she was wearing.

  It had been the worst day of her life.

  Oh, she knew she was being melodramatic about the whole thing. She wasn't stupid. Still, it hadn't been a great one. About the only good thing to come out of the whole day was meeting Blaze, which gave her hope that she'd have at least one person to spend time with this summer.

  Assuming, of course, that Blaze still wanted to spend time with her. After Dad's little stunt, even that was in doubt. Blaze and the rest of them were probably still talking about it. Probably laughing about it. It was the kind of thing Kayla would bring up for years.

  The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. She tossed the Nemo shirt into the corner--if she never saw it again, it would be too soon--and began slipping off her concert shirt.

  "Before I get too grossed out, you should know I'm in here."

  Ronnie jumped at the sound, whirling around to see Jonah staring at her.

  "Get out!" she screamed. "What are you doing in here? This is my room!"

  "No, it's our room," Jonah said. He pointed. "See? Two beds."

  "I'm not going to share a room with you!"

  He tilted his head to the side. "You're going to sleep in Dad's room?"

  She opened her mouth to respond, considered moving to the living room before quickly realizing she wasn't going out there again, then closed her mouth without a word. She stomped toward her suitcase, unzipped the top, and flung open the lid. Anna Karenina lay on top, and she tossed it aside, searching for her pajamas.

  "I rode the Ferris wheel," Jonah said. "It was pretty cool to be so high. That's how Dad found you."

  "Great."

  "It was awesome. Did you ride it?"

  "No."

  "You should have. I could see all the way to New York."

  "I doubt it."

  "I could. I can see pretty far. With my glasses, I mean. Dad said I have eagle eyes."

  "Yeah, right."

  Jonah said nothing. Instead, he reached for the teddy bear he'd brought with him from home. It was the one he clutched whenever he was nervous, and Ronnie winced, regretting her words. Sometimes the way he talked made it easy to think of him as an adult, but as he pulled the bear to his chest, she knew she shouldn't have been so harsh. Though he was precocious, though he was verbal to the point of annoyance at times, he was small for his age, more the size of a six-or seven-year-old than a ten-year-old. It had never been easy for him. He'd been born three months prematurely, and he suffered from asthma, poor vision, and a lack of fine-motor coordination. She knew kids his age could be cruel.

  "I didn't mean that. With your glasses, you definitely have eagle eyes."

  "Yeah, they're pretty good now," he mumbled, but when he turned away and faced the wall, she winced again. He was a sweet kid. A pain in the butt sometimes, but she knew he didn't have a mean bone in him.

  She went over to his bed and sat beside him. "Hey," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean i
t. I'm just having a bad night."

  "I know," he said.

  "Did you go on any of the other rides?"

  "Dad took me on most of them. He almost got sick, but I didn't. And I wasn't scared at all in the haunted house. I could tell the ghosts were fake."

  She patted him on the hip. "You've always been pretty brave."

  "Yeah," he said. "Like that time when the lights went out in the apartment? You were scared that night. I wasn't scared, though."

  "I remember."

  He seemed satisfied with her answer. But then he grew quiet, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you miss Mom?"

  Ronnie reached for the covers. "Yeah."

  "I kind of miss her, too. And I didn't like being here alone."

  "Dad was in the other room," she said.

  "I know. But I'm glad you came home anyway."

  "Me, too."

  He smiled before looking worried again. "Do you think Mom is doing okay?"

  "She's fine," she assured him. She pulled up the covers. "But I know she misses you, too."

  In the morning, with sunlight peeking through the curtains, it took Ronnie a few seconds to realize where she was. Blinking at the clock, she thought, You've got to be kidding me.

  Eight o'clock? In the morning? In the summer?

  She plopped back down, only to find herself staring at the ceiling, already knowing that sleep was out of the question. Not with the sun shooting daggers through the windows. Not with her father already hammering on the piano in the living room. As she suddenly remembered what had happened last night, the anger she felt at what her father had done resurfaced.

  Welcome to another day in paradise.

  Outside the window, she heard the distant roar of engines. She rose from the bed and pulled aside the curtain, only to jump back, startled at the sight of a raccoon sitting atop a torn bag of garbage. While the strewn garbage was gross, the raccoon was cute, and she tapped the glass, trying to get its attention.

  It was only then that she noticed the bars on the window.

  Bars. On. The. Window.

  Trapped.

  Gritting her teeth, she whirled around and marched into the living room. Jonah was watching cartoons and eating a bowl of cereal; her dad glanced up but continued to play.

  She put her hands on her hips, waiting for him to stop. He didn't. She noticed that the picture she'd thrown was back in place atop the piano, albeit without the glass.

  "You can't keep me locked up all summer," she said. "It's not going to happen."

  Her dad glanced up, though he continued to play. "What are you talking about?"

  "You put bars on the window! Like I'm supposed to be your prisoner?"

  Jonah continued to watch the cartoon. "I told you she'd be mad," he commented.

  Steve shook his head, his hands continuing to move across the keyboard. "I didn't put them up. They came with the house."

  "I don't believe you."

  "They did," Jonah said. "To protect the art."

  "I'm not talking to you, Jonah!" She turned back to her dad. "Let's get one thing straight. You're not going to spend this summer treating me like I'm still a little girl! I'm eighteen years old!"

  "You won't be eighteen until August twentieth," Jonah said behind her.

  "Would you please stay out of this!" She whirled around to face him. "This is between me and Dad."

  Jonah frowned. "But you're not eighteen yet."

  "That's not the point!"

  "I thought you forgot."

  "I didn't forget! I'm not stupid."

  "But you said--"

  "Would you just shut up for a second?" she said, unable to hide her exasperation. She swiveled her gaze back to her dad, who'd continued to play, never missing a note. "What you did last night was..." She stopped, unable to put all that was going on, all that had happened, into words. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions. Don't you get that? You gave up the right to tell me what to do when you walked out the door. And would you please listen to me!"

  Abruptly, her dad stopped playing.

  "I don't like this little game you're playing."

  He seemed confused. "What game?"

  "This! Playing the piano every minute I'm here! I don't care how much you want me to play! I'm never going to play the piano again! Especially not for you!"

  "Okay."

  She waited for more, but there was nothing.

  "That's it?" she asked. "That's all you're going to say?"

  Her dad seemed to debate how to answer. "Do you want breakfast? I made some bacon."

  "Bacon?" she demanded. "You made bacon?"

  "Uh-oh," Jonah said.

  Her dad glanced at Jonah.

  "She's a vegetarian, Dad," he explained.

  "Really?" he asked.

  Jonah answered for her. "For three years. But she's weird sometimes, so it makes sense."

  Ronnie stared at them in amazement, wondering how the conversation had been hijacked. This wasn't about bacon, this was about what happened last night. "Let's get one thing straight," she said. "If you ever send the police to bring me home again, I won't just refuse to play the piano. I won't just go home. I'll never, ever speak to you again. And if you don't believe me, try me. I've already gone three years without talking to you, and it was the easiest thing I've ever done."

  With that, she stomped back to her room. Twenty minutes later, after showering and changing, she was out the door.

  *

  Her first thought as she trudged through the sand was that she should have worn shorts.

  It was already hot, the air thick with humidity. Up and down the beach, people were already lying on towels or playing in the surf. Near the pier, she spotted half a dozen surfers floating on their boards, waiting for the perfect wave.

  Above them, at the head of the pier, the festival was no more. The rides had been disassembled and the booths had already been hauled away, leaving behind only scattered garbage and food remnants. Moving on, she wandered through the town's small business district. None of the stores were open yet, but most were the kind she'd never set foot in anyway--touristy beach shops, a couple of clothing stores that seemed to specialize in skirts and blouses that her mom might wear, and a Burger King and McDonald's, two places she refused to enter on principle. Add in the hotel and half a dozen upscale restaurants and bars, and that was pretty much it. In the end, the only interesting locales were a surf shop, a music store, and an old-fashioned diner where she could imagine hanging out with friends... if she ever made any.

  She headed back to the beach and skipped down the dune, noting that the crowds had multiplied. It was a gorgeous, breezy day; the sky overhead was a deep, cloudless blue. If Kayla had been here, she'd even consider spending the day in the sun, but Kayla wasn't here and she wasn't about to put on her suit and go sit by herself. But what else was there to do?

  Maybe she should try to get a job. It would give her an excuse to be out of the house most of the day. She hadn't seen any "Help Wanted" signs in the windows downtown, but someone had to be hiring, right?

  "Did you make it home okay? Or did the cop end up making a pass at you?"

  Looking behind her, Ronnie saw Blaze squinting up at her from the dune. Lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed her.

  "No, he didn't make a pass at me."

  "Oh, so you made a pass at him?"

  Ronnie crossed her arms. "Are you done?"

  Blaze shrugged, her expression mischievous, and Ronnie smiled.

  "So what happened after I left? Anything exciting?"

  "No. The guys took off and I don't know where they went. I ended up just crashing at Bower's Point."

  "You didn't go home?"

  "No." She got to her feet, brushing the sand from her jeans. "Do you have any money?"

  "Why?"

  Blaze stood straight. "I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I'm kind of hungry."

  7

  Will

  Will s
tood in the well beneath the Ford Explorer in his uniform, watching the oil drain while simultaneously doing his best to ignore Scott, something easier said than done. Scott had been haranguing him about the previous evening on and off since they'd arrived at work that morning.

  "See, you were thinking about this all wrong," Scott continued, trying yet another tack. He retrieved three cans of oil and set them on the shelf beside him. "There's a difference between hooking up and getting back together."

  "Aren't we done with this yet?"

  "We would be if you had any sense. But from where I stand, it's obvious you were confused. Ashley doesn't want to get back together with you."

  "I wasn't confused," Will said. He wiped his hands on a towel. "That's exactly what she was asking."

  "That's not what Cassie told me."

  Will set aside the towel and reached for his water bottle. His dad's shop specialized in brake repairs, oil changes, tune-ups, and front-end alignments, and his dad always wanted the place to look as though the floor had been waxed and the place just opened for business. Unfortunately, air-conditioning hadn't been quite as important to him, and in the summer, the temperature was somewhere between the Mojave and the Sahara. He took a long drink, finishing the bottle before trying to get through to Scott again. Scott was far and away the most stubborn person he'd ever known. The guy could seriously drive him nuts.

  "You don't know Ashley the way I do." He sighed. "And besides, it's over and done. I don't know why you keep talking about it."

  "You mean aside from the fact that Harry didn't meet Sally last night? Because I'm your friend and I care about you. I want you to enjoy this summer. I want to enjoy this summer. I want to enjoy Cassie."

  "So go out with her, then."

  "If only it was that easy. See, last night I suggested the same thing. But Ashley was so upset that Cassie didn't want to leave her."

  "I'm really sorry it didn't work out."

  Scott was dubious. "Yeah, I can tell."

  By that point, the oil had drained. Will grabbed the cans and headed up the steps while Scott stayed below to replace the plug and dump the used oil into the recycling barrel. As Will opened the can and set the funnel, he glanced at Scott below.

  "Hey, by the way, did you see the girl who stopped the fight?" he asked. "The one who helped the little boy find his mom?"

  It took a moment for the words to register. "You mean the vampire chick in the cartoon shirt?"