The Last Song

by Nicholas Sparks

  His sister, Megan, was like him that way. Beautiful and smart, she'd intimidated most of the boys she'd ever dated. For a long time, she had flitted from one guy to the next, but not out of vanity or flightiness. When he'd asked why she seemed unable to settle down, her answer had been straightforward: "There are guys who grow up thinking they'll settle down some distant time in the future, and there are guys who are ready for marriage as soon as they meet the right person. The former bore me, mainly because they're pathetic; and the latter, quite frankly, are hard to find. But it's the serious ones I'm interested in, and it takes time to find a guy like that whom I'm equally interested in. I mean, if the relationship can't survive the long term, why on earth would it be worth my time and energy for the short term?"

  Megan. He smiled, thinking about her. She lived her life by her own rules. She had driven Mom crazy during the last six years with her attitude, of course, since she'd quickly eliminated pretty much every guy in town who hailed from the kind of family of which his mother approved. But he had to admit, he thought Megan had gotten it right, and thankfully, she'd been able to meet a guy in New York who satisfied all her criteria.

  In a strange way, Ronnie reminded him of Megan. She was an oddball, a freethinker, and stubbornly independent, too. On the surface, she was unlike anyone he could ever imagine finding attractive, but... her dad was great, her brother was a hoot, and she was just about as smart and caring as anyone he'd ever met. Who else would camp out all night to protect a turtle nest? Who else would stop a fight to help a little kid? Who else read Tolstoy in her spare time?

  And who else, at least in this town, would fall for Will before knowing anything about his family?

  That, he had to admit, was important to him, too, as much as he wished it weren't. He loved his dad and his family name, and he was proud of the business his dad had built. He appreciated the advantages that his life had brought him, but... he wanted to be his own person, too. He wanted people to know him first as Will, not Will Blakelee, and there wasn't another person in the world he could talk to about it, other than his sister. It wasn't as if he lived in Los Angeles, where celebrity kids could be found in every school, or was at a place like Andover, where practically everyone knew someone who came from a famous family. It wasn't so easy in a place like this, where everyone knew everybody, and as he'd grown older, he'd grown somewhat cautious about his friendships. He was willing to talk to almost anyone, but he'd learned to put up an invisible wall, at least until he was certain his family had nothing to do with the new acquaintance or was the reason a girl seemed to be interested in him. And if he hadn't known for certain that Ronnie knew nothing about his family, he'd been convinced when he'd pulled up in front of his house.

  "What are you thinking about?" he heard her ask. A light breeze rippled through her hair, and she tried in vain to collect the strands into a loose ponytail. "You've been kind of quiet."

  "I was thinking about how much I enjoyed coming over."

  "To our little house? It's a bit different from what you're used to."

  "Your house is great," he insisted. "And so is your dad and Jonah. Even though he crushed me in liar's poker."

  "He always wins, but don't ask me how. I mean, ever since he was little. I think he cheats, but I haven't figured out how."

  "Maybe you just need to lie better."

  "Oh, you mean like you telling me you work for your dad?"

  "I do work for my dad," Will said.

  "You know what I mean."

  "Like I told you, I didn't think it mattered." He stopped walking and turned to her. "Does it?"

  She seemed to choose her words carefully. "It's interesting and it helps explain a few things about you, but if I told you that my mom worked as a paralegal at a Wall Street law firm, would you feel any different about me?"

  This, he knew, he could answer with complete honesty. "No. But it's different."

  "Why?" she asked. "Because your family is rich? A statement like that only makes sense to someone who thinks that money is all that matters."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Well, what did you mean?" she challenged, then shook her head. "Look, let's get one thing straight. I don't care if your dad is the sultan of Brunei. You happened to be born into a privileged family. What you do with that truth is completely up to you. I'm here because I want to be with you. But if I didn't, all the money in the world wouldn't have changed my feelings about you."

  As she spoke, he watched her growing more animated. "Why do I get the feeling you've given that speech before?"

  "Because I have said it before." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Come to New York, and you'll understand why I've learned to say what I mean. In some clubs, all you meet are snobs, and they're so into who their family is or how much their family makes... it bores me. I stand there, and all I want to say is, It's great that others in your family have done something, but what have you done? But I don't, because they don't get it. They think they're the chosen ones. It's not even worth getting mad about, because the whole idea is so ridiculous. But if you think I invited you over because of who your family is--"

  "I didn't," he said, cutting her off. "I never thought that for a second."

  In the darkness, he knew she was considering whether he was telling the truth or simply saying what she wanted to hear. Hoping to put an end to the discussion, he turned and motioned behind them, toward the workshop near the house.

  "What's that place?" he asked.

  She didn't answer right away, and he sensed she was still trying to decide whether she believed him.

  "It came with the house," she said at last. "My dad and Jonah are making a stained-glass window this summer."

  "Your dad makes stained-glass windows?"

  "He does now."

  "Is that what he's always done?"

  "No," she answered. "Like he told you at dinner, he used to teach piano." She paused to brush something from her feet, then changed the subject. "What's next for you? Are you going to keep working for your dad?"

  He swallowed, resisting the temptation to kiss her again. "I will until the end of August. I'm going to Vanderbilt in the fall."

  From one of the houses up the beach drifted the faint strains of music; squinting into the distance, Will could see a group congregated on the back deck. The song was something from the eighties, though he couldn't pinpoint it.

  "That should be fun."

  "I guess."

  "You don't sound very excited."

  Will took her hand and they began to stroll again. "It's a great school, and the campus is beautiful," he recited a little awkwardly.

  She studied him. "But you don't want to go there?"

  Ronnie seemed to intuit his every feeling and thought, which was both disconcerting and a source of relief. At least he could tell her the truth.

  "I wanted to go somewhere else, and I got accepted at a school that has this incredible environmental science program, but my mom really wanted me to go to Vanderbilt." He could feel the sand sliding between his toes as he walked.

  "Do you always do what your mom wants?"

  "You don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "It's a family tradition. My grandparents went there, my parents went there, my sister went there. My mom is on the board of trustees, and... she..."

  He struggled to find the right words. Beside him, he could sense Ronnie watching him, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

  "I know that she can be kind of... distant when people meet her for the first time. But once you get to know her, she's the truest person in the world. She would do anything--I mean anything--for me. But the last few years have been really hard for her."

  He stopped to pick out a seashell from the sand. After examining it, he sent it arcing toward the waves. "Do you remember when you asked about the bracelet?"

  Ronnie nodded, waiting for him to go on.

  "My sister and I wear the bracelets in honor of our little brother. His name was Mike, and he was
a great little guy... the kind of kid who was happiest when he was with other people. He had this real infectious laugh, and you couldn't help but laugh along with him when something funny happened." He paused, looking over the water. "Anyway, four years ago, Scott and I had a basketball game and it was my mom's turn to drive, so like always, Mike came along with us. It had been raining all day, and a lot of the roads were slick. I should have been paying more attention, but Scott and I started playing mercy in the backseat. You know that game? Where you try to bend each other's wrists in the wrong direction until one of you gives in?"

  He hesitated, trying to summon his strength for the rest of what he had to say.

  "We were really trying to get each other--wiggling and kicking the back of the seat--and my mom kept telling us to stop, but we ignored her. In the end, I got Scott just where I wanted and I really gave it my all and I made him scream. My mom turned around to see what happened, and that was all it took. She lost control of the car. And..." He swallowed, feeling the words choke him. "Anyway, Mike didn't make it. Hell, without Scott, my mom and I probably wouldn't have made it either. We went through the guardrail and into the water. The thing is, Scott's an amazing swimmer, grew up at the beach and all that--and he managed to pull the three of us out, even though he was only twelve at the time. But Mikey..." Will pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mikey died on impact. He hadn't even finished his first year of kindergarten."

  Ronnie reached for his hand. "I'm so sorry."

  "Me, too." He blinked back the tears that still came when he thought of that day.

  "You know it was an accident, right?"

  "Yeah, I know. And my mom does, too. But even so, she blames herself for losing control of the car, just like I know there's a part of her that blames me, too." He shook his head. "Anyway, after that, she's always felt the need to control things. Including me. I know she's just trying to keep me safe, to keep bad things from happening, and I think part of me believes that, too. I mean, look what happened. My mom just completely lost it at the funeral, and I hated myself for doing that to her. I felt responsible. And I promised myself I would try to somehow make it up to her. Even though I knew that I couldn't."

  As he spoke, he began to twist the macrame bracelet.

  "What do the letters mean? IMTF?"

  "In my thoughts forever. It was my sister's idea, as a way to remember him. She told me about it right after the funeral, but I barely heard her. I mean, it was just so awful to be in the church that day. With my mom screaming and my little brother in the casket, and my dad and sister crying... I swore that I'd never go to another funeral."

  For once, Ronnie seemed at a loss for words. Will straightened up, knowing it was a lot to take in and wondering why he'd even told her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all that."

  "It's okay," she said quickly, squeezing his hand. "I'm glad you did."

  "It's not the perfect life you probably imagined, is it."

  "I never assumed your life was perfect."

  He said nothing, and Ronnie impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I wish you didn't have to go through all that."

  He drew a long breath and resumed walking down the beach. "Anyway, it was important to my mom that I go to Vanderbilt. So that's where I'm going."

  "I'm sure you'll have fun. I've heard it's a great school."

  He laced his fingers through hers, thinking how soft they felt next to his callused skin. "Now it's your turn. What don't I know about you?"

  "There's nothing like what you just told me," she said, shaking her head. "It doesn't even compare."

  "It doesn't have to be important. It just has to explain who you are."

  She glanced back at the house. "Well... I didn't talk to my dad for three years. Actually, I started talking to him only a couple of days ago. After he and my mom separated, I was... angry with him. I honestly never wanted to see him again, and the last thing I wanted was to spend the summer down here."

  "How about now?" He noticed the moonlight shining in her eyes. "Are you glad you came?"

  "Maybe," she answered.

  He laughed and gave her a playful nudge. "What were you like when you were a kid?"

  "Boring," she said. "All I did was play the piano."

  "I'd like to hear you play."

  "I don't play anymore," she said quickly, a stubborn edge to her voice.

  "Ever?"

  She shook her head, and though he knew there was more, she clearly didn't want to talk about it. Instead, he listened as she went on to describe her friends in New York and how she usually spent her weekends, smiling at her stories about Jonah. It felt so natural to spend time with her, so easy and true. He'd told her things he'd never discussed even with Ashley. He supposed he wanted her to know the real him, and somehow he trusted she'd know how to respond.

  She wasn't like anyone he'd met before. He was sure he wanted never to let go of her hand; their fingers seemed to fit together in just the right way--effortlessly clasped, like perfect complements.

  Aside from the house that was hosting the party, they were completely alone. The strains of music were soft and distant, and when he looked up, he caught the brief flash of a shooting star passing overhead. When he turned to Ronnie, he knew by her expression that she'd seen it as well.

  "What did you wish for?" she asked, her voice a whisper. But he couldn't answer. Instead, he raised her hand and slipped his other arm around her back. He stared at her, knowing with certainty that he was falling in love. He pulled her close and kissed her beneath a blanket of stars, wondering how on earth he'd been lucky enough to find her.

  21

  Ronnie

  Okay, she admitted that she could get used to living like this: lounging on the diving board in the backyard pool, an ice cold glass of sweet tea by her side, a fruit tray in the cabana, which had been served by the chef, along with real silverware and a fancy mint garnish.

  Still, she couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Will to grow up in a world like this. Then again, since he'd never known anything different, he probably didn't notice it anymore. As she sunned herself on the diving board, she took in the sight of him standing on the roof of the cabana, getting ready to jump. He'd climbed it like a gymnast, and even from a distance, she could see the muscles flexing in his arms and stomach.

  "Hey," he shouted. "Watch me do a flip."

  "A flip? That's it? You climb all the way up there and you're only going to do one flip?"

  "What's wrong with doing a flip?" he demanded.

  "I'm just saying that anyone can do one flip," she taunted. "Even I could do one flip."

  "I'd like to see that." He sounded skeptical.

  "I don't want to get wet."

  "But I invited you over here to swim!"

  "This is how girls like me swim. It's also known as tanning."

  He laughed. "Actually, it's probably a good idea you're getting some sun. I guess the sun doesn't shine in New York, huh?"

  "Are you saying I'm pale?" She frowned.

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "That's not the word I'd use. I think 'pasty' is a bit more accurate."

  "Wow, what a charmer. It makes me wonder what I used to see in you."

  "Used to?"

  "Yes, and I must say that if you keep using words like pasty when it comes to describing me, I'm not seeing much of a future for us, either."

  He seemed to evaluate her. "How about if I do two flips? Will you forgive me?"

  "Only if you end the flips with a perfect dive. But if two flips and a big clumsy entry is all you can do, I'll pretend to be amazed, as long as you don't get me wet."

  He raised an eyebrow before retreating a few steps and then taking one big step to launch himself in the air. He pulled himself into a tight tuck, spun twice, and went into the water arms first and body straight, almost without a ripple.

  Now that, she thought, was impressive, if not completely surprising, given the graceful way he moved on the volleyball
court. When he surfaced at the edge of the diving board, treading water, she knew he was pleased with himself.

  "That was okay," she said.

  "Just okay?"

  "I'd give it a four point six."

  "Out of five?"

  "Out of ten," she said.

  "That was at least an eight!"

  "Of course you think that. That's why I'm the judge."

  "How do I appeal?" he said, reaching up to latch on to the edge of the board.

  "You can't. It's official."

  "What if I'm not happy?"

  "Then maybe you'll think twice about using the word pasty."

  He laughed and began to pull himself up. Ronnie gripped the diving board.

  "Hey... stop... don't do that...," she warned.

  "You mean... this?" he said, pulling down even harder.

  "I told you I don't want to get wet!" she shrieked.

  "And I want you to come swimming with me!" Without warning, he seized her arm and gave a tug. Squealing, she plunged into the water. As soon as she came up for air, he tried to kiss her, but she backed away.

  "No!" she cried out, laughing, relishing the briskness of the water and the silky sensation of his skin against hers. "I don't forgive you!"

  As she struggled playfully with him, she noticed Susan watching from the veranda. From the expression on her face, she was definitely not happy.

  Later that afternoon, as they were heading back to the beach to check on the turtle nest, they stopped for ice cream. Ronnie walked beside Will, licking her fast-melting ice-cream cone, thinking how amazing it was that they'd kissed for the first time only yesterday. If last night had been almost perfect, then today had been even better. She loved how easily they shifted from serious to lighthearted and that he was as good at teasing her as he was at being teased.

  Of course, he had pulled her into the pool, which was why she needed to time her reaction perfectly. It wasn't that hard since he didn't know it was coming, but as soon as he raised his own ice-cream cone to his lips, she gave the cone a sharp nudge, smearing ice cream on his face. Giggling, she skipped off around the corner... directly into the arms of Marcus.