The Last Song

by Nicholas Sparks

  Thank 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.

  As 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.

  That'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.

  Thank 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.

  You 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.

  Dad

  Thanksgiving passed. Along the beach, people began to put up Christmas decorations.

  Her dad had lost a third of his body weight and spent nearly all his time in bed.

  Ronnie 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.

  It 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.

  Before 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.

  Later 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.

  Her 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.

  In 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.

  "Not yet, Daddy," she whispered. "Just a little more time, okay?"

  Outside the hospital window, the sky was gray and cloudy. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, and the stark and empty branches somehow reminded her of bones. The air was cold and still, presaging a storm.

  The envelope sat on the nightstand, and though she'd promised her dad she would give it to the doctor, she hadn't done so yet. Not until she was sure he wouldn't wake, not until she was sure she was never going to have the chance to say good-bye. Not until she was certain there was nothing more she could do for him.

  She prayed fiercely for a miracle, a tiny one. And as though God Himself were listening, it happened twenty minutes later.

  She'd been sitting beside him for most of the morning. She'd grown so used to the sound of his breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor that the slightest change sounded like an alarm. Looking up, she saw his arm twitch and his eyes flutter open. He blinked under the fluorescent lights, and Ronnie instinctively reached for his hand.

  "Dad?" she said. Despite herself, she felt a surge of hope; she imagined him slowly sitting up.

  But he didn't. He didn't even seem to hear her. When he rolled his head with great effort to look at her, she saw a darkness in his eyes that she'd never seen before. But then he blinked and she heard him sigh.

  "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered hoarsely.

  The fluid in his lungs made him sound as if he were drowning. She forced herself to smile. "How are you doing?"

  "Not too well." He paused, as if to gather his strength. "Where am I?"

  "You're in the hospital. You were brought here this morning. I know you have a DNR, but..."

  When he blinked again, she thought his eyes might stay closed. But eventually he opened them.

  "It's okay," he whispered. The forgiveness in his voice tore at her heart. "I understand."

  "Please don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not."

  She kissed him on the cheek and tried to wrap her arms around his shrunken figure. She felt his hand graze her back.

  "Are you... okay?" he asked her.

  "No," she admitted, feeling the tears start to come. "I'm not okay at all."

  "I'm sorry," he breathed.

  "No, don't say that," she said, willing herself not to break down. "I'm the one who's sorry. I never should have stopped talking to you. I've wanted so desperately to take it all back."

  He gave a ghostly smile. "Did I ever tell you that I think you're beautiful?"

  "Yeah," she said, sniffling. "You've told me."

  "Well, this time I mean it."

  She laughed helplessly through her tears. "Thanks," she said. Leaning over, she kissed his hand.

  "Do you remember when you were little?" he asked, suddenly serious. "You used to watch me playing the piano for hours. One day, I found you sitting at the keyboard playing a melody you had heard me play. You were only four years old. You always had so much talent."

  "I remember," she said.

  "I want you to know something," her dad said, gripping her hand with surprising force. "No matter how bright your star became, I never cared about the music half as much as I cared about you as a daughter... I want you to know that."

  She nodded. "I believe you. And I love you, too, Dad."

  He took a long breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Then will you bring me home?"

  The words struck her with their full weight, unavoidable and direct. She glanced at the envelope, knowing what he was asking and what he needed her to say. And in that instant, she remembered everything about the last five months. Images raced through her mind, one after the next, stopping only when she saw him sitting in the church at the keyboard, beneath the empty space where the window would eventually be installed.

  And it was then that she knew what her heart had been telling her to do all along.

  "Yes," she said. "I'll bring you home. But I need you to do something for me, too."

  Her dad swallowed. It seemed to take all the strength he had to say. "I'm not sure I can anymore."

  She smiled and reached for the envelope. "Even for me?"

  Pastor Harris had lent her his car, and she drove as fast as she could. Holding her cell phone, she made the call as she was changing lanes. She qui
ckly explained what was happening and what she needed; Galadriel agreed immediately. She drove as though her father's life depended on it, accelerating at every yellow light.

  Galadriel was waiting for her at the house when she arrived. Beside her on the porch lay two crowbars, which she hefted as Ronnie approached.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  Ronnie merely nodded, and together they entered the house.

  With Galadriel's help, it took less than an hour to dismantle her father's work. She didn't care about the mess they left in the living room; the only thing she could think about was the time her father had left and what she still needed to do for him. When the last piece of plywood was ripped away, Galadriel turned to her, sweating and breathless.

  "Go pick up your dad. I'll clean up. And I'll help you bring him in when you get back."

  She drove even faster on the way back to the hospital. Before she had left the hospital, she'd met with her dad's doctor and explained what she planned to do. With the attending nurse's help, she'd raced through the release forms the hospital required; when she called the hospital from the car, she paged the same nurse and asked her to have her dad waiting downstairs in a wheelchair.

  The car's tires squealed as she turned in to the hospital parking lot. She followed the lane toward the emergency room entrance and saw immediately that the nurse had been good to her word.

  Ronnie and the nurse helped her dad into the car, and she was back on the road within minutes. Her dad seemed more alert than he'd been in the hospital room, but she knew that could change at any time. She needed to get him home before it was too late. As she drove the streets of a town she'd eventually come to think of as her own, she felt a rush of fear and hope. It all seemed so simple, so clear now. When she reached the house, Galadriel was waiting for her. Galadriel had moved the couch into position, and together they helped her father recline on it.

  Despite his condition, it seemed to dawn on him what Ronnie had done. Ever so gradually, she saw his grimace replaced by an expression of wonder. As he stared at the piano standing exposed in the alcove, she knew she had done the right thing. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek.

  "I finished your song," she said. "Our last song. And I want to play it for you."

  36

  Steve

  Life, he realized, was much like a song.

  In the beginning there is mystery, in the end there is confirmation, but it's in the middle where all the emotion resides to make the whole thing worthwhile.

  For the first time in months, he felt no pain at all; for the first time in years, he knew his questions had answers. As he listened to the song that Ronnie had finished, the song that Ronnie had perfected, he closed his eyes in the knowledge that his search for God's presence had been fulfilled.

  He finally understood that God's presence was everywhere, at all times, and was experienced by everyone at one time or another. It had been with him in the workshop as he'd labored over the window with Jonah; it had been present in the weeks he'd spent with Ronnie. It was present here and now as his daughter played their song, the last song they would ever share. In retrospect, he wondered how he could have missed something so incredibly obvious.

  God, he suddenly understood, was love in its purest form, and in these last months with his children, he had felt His touch as surely as he had heard the music spilling from Ronnie's hands.

  37

  Ronnie

  Her dad died less than a week later, in his sleep, with Ronnie on the floor next to him. Ronnie couldn't bring herself to speak of the details. She knew her mom was waiting for her to finish; in the three hours she'd been talking, her mom had remained silent, much the way her dad always had. But the moments in which she watched her father draw his last breaths felt intensely private to her, and she knew she would never speak of them to anyone. Being at his side as he left this world was a gift that he had given her, and only her, and she would never forget how solemn and intimate it had felt.

  Instead, she stared out at the freezing December rain and spoke of her last recital, the most important recital of her life.

  "I played for him as long as I could, Mom. And I tried so hard to make it beautiful for him, because I knew how much it meant to him. But he was just so weak," she whispered. "At the end, I'm not sure he could even hear me." She pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering idly if she had any tears left to shed. There had been so many tears already.

  Her mom opened her arms and beckoned to her. Her own tears shone bright in her eyes.

  "I know he heard you, sweetheart. And I know it was beautiful."

  Ronnie gave herself over to her mother's embrace, resting her head on her chest as she used to do when she was a child.

  "Never forget how happy you and Jonah made him," her mother murmured, stroking her hair.

  "He made me happy, too," she mused. "I learned so much from him. I just wish I had thought to tell him. That, and a million other things." She shut her eyes. "But now it's too late."

  "He knew," her mom assured her. "He always knew."

  The funeral was a simple affair, held in the church that had recently been reopened. Her dad had asked to be cremated, and his wishes had been honored.

  Pastor Harris gave the eulogy. It was short but brimming with authentic grief and love. He had loved her father like a son, and despite herself, Ronnie cried along with Jonah. She slipped her arm around him as he sobbed the bewildered cries of a child, and she tried not to think about how he would remember this loss, so early in life.

  Only a handful of people had come to the service. She'd spotted Galadriel and Officer Pete as she'd walked in and had heard the church door open once or twice after she'd taken her seat, but other than that, the church was empty. She ached at the thought that so few people knew how special her dad had been or how much he'd meant to her.

  After the service, she continued to sit in the pew with Jonah while Brian and her mom went outside to talk to Pastor Harris. The four of them were flying back to New York in just a few hours, and she knew she didn't have much time.

  Even so, she didn't want to leave. The rain, pouring down all morning, had stopped, and the sky was beginning to clear. She had been praying for that, and she found herself staring at her father's stained-glass window, willing the clouds to part.

  And when they did, it was just as her father had described it. The sun flooded through the glass, splitting into hundreds of jewel-like prisms of glorious, richly colored light. The piano stood in a waterfall of brilliant color, and for a moment Ronnie pictured her father sitting at its keys, his face upturned to the light. It didn't last long, but she squeezed Jonah's hand in silent awe. Despite the weight of her grief, she smiled, knowing that Jonah was thinking the same thing.

  "Hi, Daddy," she whispered. "I knew you would come."

  When the light had faded, she said a silent good-bye and pulled herself to her feet. But when she turned around, she saw that she and Jonah weren't alone in the church. Near the door, seated in the last pew, she saw Tom and Susan Blakelee.

  She put her hand on Jonah's shoulder. "Would you go outside and tell Mom and Brian that I'll be right out? I have to talk to someone first."

  "Okay," he said, rubbing his swollen eyes with a fist as he exited the church. Once he was gone, she started toward them, watching as they rose to greet her.

  Surprising her, Susan was the first to speak.

  "I'm sorry for your loss. Pastor Harris told us your father was a wonderful man."

  "Thank you," she said. She looked from one of Will's parents to the other and smiled. "I appreciate that you came. And I also want to thank you both for what you did for the church. It was really important to my dad."

  At her words, she saw Tom Blakelee glance away, and she knew she'd been right. "It was supposed to be anonymous," he murmured.

  "I know. And Pastor Harris didn't tell me or my dad. But I guessed the truth when I saw you at the site. It was a beautiful thing, what you did."

&nbs
p; He nodded almost shyly, and she saw his eyes flicker to the window. He, too, had seen the light flood the church.

  In the silence, Susan waved toward the door. "There's someone here to see you."

  "Are you ready?" her mom asked as soon as she exited the church. "We're already running late."

  Ronnie barely heard her. Instead, she stared at Will. He was dressed in a black suit. His hair was longer, and her first thought was that it made him look older. He was talking to Galadriel, but as soon as he saw her, she watched him raise a finger, as if asking her to hold that thought.

  "I need a few more minutes, okay?" she said without taking her eyes off Will.

  She hadn't expected him to come, hadn't expected to see him ever again. She didn't know what it meant, that he was here, and wasn't sure whether to feel ecstatic or heartbroken or both. She took a step in his direction and stopped.

  She couldn't read his expression. As he started toward her, she recalled the way he'd seemed to glide through the sand the first time she'd ever seen him; she remembered their kiss on the boat dock the night of his sister's wedding. And she heard again the words she'd said to him on the day they'd said good-bye. She was besieged by a storm of conflicting emotions--desire, regret, longing, fear, grief, love. There was so much to say, yet what could they really begin to say in this awkward setting and with so much time already passed?

  "Hi." If only I were telepathic, and you could read my mind.

  "Hey," he said. He seemed to be searching her face for something, but for what, she didn't know.

  He made no move toward her, nor did she reach out to him.

  "You came," she said, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice.

  "I couldn't stay away. And I'm sorry about your dad. He was... a great person." For a moment, a shadow seemed to cross his face, and he added, "I'll miss him."

  She flashed on the memory of their evenings together at her dad's house, the smell of his cooking and Jonah's shouts of laughter as they played liar's poker. She felt suddenly dizzy. It was all so surreal, to see Will here on this terrible day. Part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms and apologize for the way she had let him go. But another part, mute and paralyzed from the loss of her dad, wondered whether she was still the same person Will had once loved. So much had happened since the summer.