The Last Song

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..."

He motioned to the article on the wall. "Pastor Harris almost died that night. He was inside doing a last minute rewrite on his sermon, and he barely got out. The church... it went up in minutes and the whole place burned to the ground. Pastor Harris was in the hospital for a month, and since then he's been holding services in an old warehouse that someone is letting him use. It's dingy and dark, but I figured it was only temporary until he told me that the insurance covered only half the damage, and there was no way they could afford a new window. I just couldn't imagine that. The church wouldn't be the same place I remember, and it wouldn't be right. So I'm going to finish it." He cleared his throat. "I need to finish it."

As he spoke, Ronnie found herself trying to picture her dad as a child at the church piano, her gaze flitting from him to the photograph to the partly constructed window on the table.

"You're doing a good thing."

"Yeah, well... we'll see how it turns out at the end. But Jonah seems to like working on it."

"Oh, about Jonah. He's pretty bitter about the fact you wouldn't let him have a cookie."

"He needed lunch first."

She smirked. "I'm not arguing. I just thought it was funny."

"Did he tell you he already had two cookies today?"

"I'm afraid he didn't mention that."

"I figured." He stacked his gloves on the table. "You want to have lunch with us?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think I do."

They headed toward the door. "By the way," he said, trying to sound casual, "am I ever going to have a chance to meet the young man who likes my daughter?"

She slid past him, into the sunlight. "Probably."

"How about inviting him over for dinner. And maybe afterwards we can... you know, do what we used to do," her dad said tentatively.

Ronnie thought about it. "I don't know, Dad. It can get kind of heated."

"I'll tell you what. I'll let you decide, okay?"

18

Will

C'mon, man. You've got to keep your head in the game. If you do that, we'll crush Landry and Tyson in the tournament."

Will tossed the ball from one hand to the other as he and Scott stood in the sand, still sweating from the final volleys. It was late afternoon. They'd finished up at the garage at three and had raced over to the beach for a scrimmage against a couple of teams from Georgia that were spending the week in the area. They were all preparing for the southeastern tournament later that August, which was going to be held at Wrightsville Beach.

"They haven't lost yet this year. And they just won the junior nationals," Will pointed out.

"So? We weren't there. They beat a bunch of scrubs."