She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "How's Vanderbilt?" she finally asked.
"It's what I expected."
"Is that good or bad?"
Instead of answering, he nodded at the rental car. "I take it you're heading home, huh?"
"I've got to catch a plane in a little while." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hating how self-conscious she felt. It was as if they were strangers. "Are you finished with the semester?"
"No, I've got finals next week, so I'm flying back tonight. My classes are harder than I expected. I'm probably going to have to pull some all-nighters."
"You'll be home for break soon. A few walks on the beach and you'll be good as new." Ronnie summoned an encouraging smile.
"Actually, my parents are hauling me off to Europe as soon as I'm finished. We'll spend Christmas in France. They think it's important for me to see the world."
"That sounds like fun."
He shrugged. "What about you?"
She looked away, her mind flashing unbidden to her last days with her dad.
"I think I'm going to audition at Juilliard," she said slowly. "We'll see if they'll still have me."
For the first time, he smiled, and she caught a glimpse of the spontaneous joy he had shown so often during those warm summer months. How she had missed his joy, his warmth, during the long march of the fall and winter. "Yeah? Good for you. And I'm sure you'll do great."
She hated the way they were talking around the edges of things. It felt so... wrong, given everything they'd shared over the summer and all they'd been through together. She drew a long breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. But it was just so hard right now, and she was so tired. The next words came out almost automatically.
"I want to apologize for the things I said to you. I didn't mean them. There was just so much going on. I shouldn't have taken it all out on you..."
He took a step toward her and reached for her arm. "It's okay," he said. "I understand."
At his touch, she felt all the pent-up emotion of the day burst to the surface, overwhelming her fragile composure, and she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the tears. "But if you'd done what I demanded, then Scott..."
He shook his head. "Scott's okay. Believe it or not, he even got his scholarship. And Marcus is in jail--"
"But I shouldn't have said those awful things to you!" she interrupted. "The summer shouldn't have ended like that. We shouldn't have ended like that, and I'm the one who caused it. You don't know how much it hurts to think that I drove you away..."
"You didn't drive me away," he said gently. "I was leaving. You knew that."
"But we haven't talked, we haven't written, and it was just so hard to watch what was happening to my dad... I wanted so much to talk to you, but I knew you were mad at me--"
As she began to cry, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. His embrace somehow made everything better and worse at the same time.
"Shhh," he murmured, "it's okay. I was never as mad as you thought I was."
She squeezed him harder, trying to cling to what they'd shared. "But you only called twice."
"Because I knew your dad needed you," he said, "and I wanted you to concentrate on him, not me. I remember how it was when Mikey died, and I remember wishing that I'd had more time with him. I couldn't do that to you."
She buried her face in his shoulder as he held her. All that she could think was that she needed him. She needed his arms around her, needed him to hold her and whisper that they'd find a way to be together.
She felt him lean into her and heard him murmur her name. When she pulled back, she saw him smiling down at her.
"You're wearing the bracelet," he whispered, touching her wrist.
"In my thoughts forever." She gave a shaky smile.
He tilted her chin so he could stare closely into her eyes. "I'm going to call you, okay? After I get back from Europe."
She nodded, knowing it was all they had, yet knowing it wasn't enough. Their lives were on separate tracks, now and forever. The summer was over, and they were each moving on.
She closed her eyes, hating the truth.
"Okay," she whispered.
Epilogue
Ronnie
In the weeks since her dad's funeral, Ronnie continued to experience some emotional upheaval, but she supposed that was to be expected. There were days when she woke with a feeling of dread, and she would spend hours reliving those last few months with her dad, too paralyzed with grief and regret to cry. After such an intense period together, it was hard for her to accept that he was suddenly gone, unreachable to her no matter how much she needed him. She felt his absence with a knife-edged sharpness she couldn't contain, and it sometimes left her in a bitter mood.
But those mornings weren't as common as they'd been during the first week she was home, and she sensed that they'd become less frequent over time. Staying with and caring for her dad had changed her, and she knew that she would survive. That's what her dad would have wanted, and she could almost hear him reminding her that she was stronger than she realized. He wouldn't want her to mourn for months; he would want her to live her life much the way he had in the final year of his own life. More than anything, he wanted her to embrace life and flourish.
Jonah, too. She knew her dad would want her to help Jonah move on, and since she'd been home, she'd spent a lot of time with him. Less than a week after they returned, Jonah was released from school for Christmas break, and she'd used the time to make special excursions with him: She'd taken him ice-skating at Rockefeller Center and brought him to the top of the Empire State Building; they'd visited the dinosaur exhibits at the Museum of Natural History, and she'd even spent most of one afternoon at FAO Schwarz. She'd always considered such things touristy and unbearably cliched, but Jonah had enjoyed their outings, and surprisingly, so had she.
They spent quiet time together, too. She sat with him while he watched cartoons, drew pictures with him at the kitchen table, and once, at his request, she'd even camped out in his room, sleeping on the floor beside his bed. In those private moments, they sometimes reminisced about the summer and told stories about their dad, which they both found comforting.
Still, she knew Jonah was struggling in his own ten-year-old way. It seemed as though something specific was bothering him, and it came to a head one night when they'd gone for a walk after dinner one blustery night. An icy wind was blowing, and Ronnie had her hands tucked deep into her pockets when Jonah finally turned to her, peeking up from the depths of his parka hood.
"Is Mom sick?" he asked. "Like Dad was?"
The question was so surprising that it took her a moment to respond. She stopped, squatting down so she could be at eye level. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"
"Because the two of you don't fight anymore. Like when you stopped fighting with Dad."
She could see the fear in his eyes and even, in a childlike way, could understand the logic of his thoughts. It was true, after all--she and her mom hadn't argued once since she'd returned. "She's fine. We just got tired of fighting, so we don't do it anymore."
He searched her face. "You promise?"
She pulled him close, holding him tight. "I promise."
Her time with their dad had altered even her relationship with her hometown. It took some time to get accustomed to the city again. She wasn't used to the relentless noise or the constant presence of other people; she had forgotten how the sidewalks were endlessly shadowed by the enormous buildings around her and the way people rushed everywhere, even in the narrow grocery store aisles. Nor did she feel much like socializing; when Kayla had called to see if she wanted to go out, she'd passed on the opportunity, and Kayla hadn't called again. Though she supposed they would always share memories, it would be a different sort of friendship from this point on. But Ronnie was okay with that; between being with Jonah and practicing the piano, she had little time for anything else.
Because
her dad's piano had yet to be shipped back to the apartment, she took the subway to Juilliard and practiced there. She'd called on her first day back in New York and had spoken to the director. He'd been good friends with her dad and had apologized for missing the funeral. He sounded surprised--and yes, excited, she thought--to hear from her. When she told him that she was reconsidering applying to Juilliard, he arranged for an accelerated audition schedule and even helped expedite her application.
Only three weeks after arriving back in New York, she'd opened her audition with the song she'd composed with her dad. She was a little rusty in her classical technique--three weeks wasn't much time to prepare for a high-level audition--but as she left the auditorium, she thought her dad would have been proud of her. Then again, she thought with a smile as she tucked his beloved score under her arm, he always had been.
Since the audition, she'd been playing three or four hours a day. The director had arranged to let her use the school's practice rooms, and she was beginning to tinker with some fledgling compositions. She thought of her dad often while sitting in the practice rooms, the same rooms that he had once sat in. Occasionally, when the sun was setting, the rays would slice between the buildings around her, throwing long bars of light on the floor. And always when she saw the light, she would think back to his window at the church and the cascade of light she'd seen at the funeral.
She thought constantly about Will, of course.
Mostly, she dwelled on memories of their summer rather than their brief encounter outside the church. She hadn't heard from him since the funeral, and as Christmas came and went, she began to lose hope that he would call. She remembered that he'd said something about spending the holidays overseas, but as each day elapsed without word from him, she vacillated between the certainty that he still loved her and the hopelessness of their situation. Perhaps it was best that he didn't call, she told herself, for what was there really to say?
She smiled sadly, forcing herself to push such thoughts away. She had work to do, and as she turned her attention to her latest project, a song with country-western and pop influences, she reminded herself that it was time to look ahead, not back. She might or might not be admitted to Juilliard, even if the director had told her that the status of her application looked "very promising." No matter what happened, she knew that her future lay in music, and one way or another, she would find her way back to that passion.
On top of the piano, her phone suddenly began to vibrate. Reaching for it, she assumed it was her mom before glancing at the screen. Freezing, she stared at it as it vibrated a second time. Taking a deep breath, she opened it up and placed it to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hi," said a familiar voice. "It's Will."
She tried to imagine where he was calling from. There seemed to be a cavernous echo behind him, reminiscent of an airport.
"Did you just get off a plane?" she asked.
"No. I got back a few days ago. Why?"
"You just sound funny," she said, feeling her heart sink just a bit. He'd been home for days; only now was he getting around to calling. "How was Europe?"
"It was a lot of fun, actually. My mom and I got along a lot better than I expected. How's Jonah doing?"
"He's okay. He's getting better, but... it's still hard."
"I'm sorry," he said, and again she heard that echoing sound. Maybe he was on the back veranda of his house. "What else is going on?"
"I auditioned at Juilliard, and I think it went really well..."
"I know," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Why else would you be there?"
She tried to make sense of his response. "Well, no... they've just been letting me practice here until my dad's piano arrives--because of my dad's history at the school and everything. The director was a good friend of his."
"I hope you're not too busy practicing to take time off."
"What are you talking about?"
"I was hoping you were free to go out this weekend. If you don't have any plans, I mean."
She felt her heart leap in her chest. "You're coming to New York?"
"I'm staying with Megan. You know, checking out how the newlyweds are doing."
"When are you getting in?"
"Let's see..." She could almost see him squinting at his watch. "I landed a little more than an hour ago."
"You're here? Where are you?"
It took him a moment to respond, and when she heard his voice again, she realized it wasn't coming from the phone. It was coming from behind her. Turning, she saw him in the doorway, holding his phone.
"Sorry," he said. "I couldn't resist."
Even though he was here, she couldn't quite process it. She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again.
Yep, still there. Amazing.
"Why didn't you call to let me know you were coming?"
"Because I wanted to surprise you."
You certainly did, was all she could think. Dressed in jeans and a dark blue V-neck sweater, he was as handsome as she remembered.
"Besides," he announced, "there's something important I have to tell you."
"What's that?" she answered.
"Before I tell you, I want to know if we have a date."
"What?"
"This weekend, remember? Are we on?"
She smiled. "Yeah, we're on."
He nodded. "How about the weekend after that?"
For the first time, she hesitated. "How long are you staying?"
He slowly started toward her. "Well... that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember when I said that Vanderbilt wasn't my first choice? That I really wanted to go to this school with an amazing environmental science program?"
"I remember."
"Well, the school doesn't normally allow midyear transfers, but my mom's on the board of trustees at Vanderbilt and she happened to know some people at this other university and was able to pull some strings. Anyway, I found out while I was in Europe that I'd been accepted, so I'm going to transfer. I start there next semester and thought you might want to know."
"Well... good for you," she said uncertainly. "Where are you going to go?"
"Columbia."
For an instant, she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "You mean Columbia as in New York Columbia?"
He grinned as if he'd pulled a rabbit out of his hat. "That's the one."
"Really?" Her voice came out as a squeak.
He nodded. "I start in a couple of weeks. Can you imagine that? A nice southern boy like me stuck in the big city? I'm probably going to need someone to help me get adjusted, and I was hoping it might be you. If you're okay with that."
By then, he was close enough to reach for the loops on her jeans. When he pulled her toward him, she felt everything around her fall away. Will was going to go to school here. In New York. With her.
And with that, she slipped her arms around him, feeling his body fit perfectly against her own, knowing that nothing could ever be better than this moment, right now. "I guess I'm okay with that. But it's not going to be easy for you. They don't have a lot of fishing or mudding around here."
His arms moved around her waist. "I figured."
"And not a lot of beach volleyball, either. Especially in January."
"I guess I'll have to make some sacrifices."
"Maybe if you're lucky, we can find you some other ways to occupy your time."
Leaning in, he kissed her gently, first on her cheek and then on her lips. When he met her eyes, she saw the young man she'd loved last summer and the young man she still loved now.
"I never stopped loving you, Ronnie. And I never stopped thinking about you. Even if summers do come to an end."
She smiled, knowing he was telling the truth.
"I love you, too, Will Blakelee," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.
Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song
(Series: # )
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