The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks | Page 7

gotten so big,” he said.
“And you’ve gotten smaller!” Jona h said. “You’re skinny now.”
Steve hugged his son tight before putting him down. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am, too. Mom and Ronnie fought the whole time.”
“That’s no fun.”
“It’s okay. I ignored it. Excep t when I egged them on.”
“Ah,” Steve responded.
Jonah pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t Mom let us fly?”

“Did you ask her?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“It’s not important. I was just wondering.”
Steve smiled. He’d forgotten how talkative his son could be.
“Hey, is this your house?”
“That’s it.”
“This place is awesome!”
Steve wondered if Jonah was serious. The house was anything but awesome. The bungalow
was easily the oldest property on Wrightsville Beach and sandwiched between two massive
homes that had gone up within th e last ten years, making it seem even more diminutive. The
paint was peeling, the roof wa s missing numerous shingles, and the porch was rotting; it
wouldn’t surprise him if the next decent storm blew it over, which would no doubt please the
neighbors. Since he’d moved in, neither family had ever spoken to him. “You think so?” he said.
“Hello? It’s right on the beach. What else co uld you want?” He motioned toward the ocean.
“Can I go check it out?” “Sure. But be careful. And stay behind the house. Don’t wander off.”
“Deal.”
Steve watched him jog off before turning to see Kim approaching. Ronnie had stepped out
of the car as well but was still lingering near it.
“Hi, Kim,” he said.
“Steve.” She leaned in to give him a brief hug. “You doing okay?” she asked. “You look
thin.” “I’m okay.”
Behind her, Steve noticed Ronnie slowly maki ng her way toward them. He was struck by
how much she’d changed since the last photo Kim had e-mailed. Gone was the all-American girl
he remembered, and in her place was a young woma n with a purple streak in her long brown
hair, black fingernail polish, and dark clothing. Despite the obvious signs of teenage rebellion, he
thought again how much she resembled her moth er. Good thing, too. She was, he thought, as
lovely as ever. He cleared his throat. “Hi, sweetie. It’s good to see you.”
When Ronnie didn’t answer, Kim scowled at her. “Don’t be rude. Your father’s talking to
you. Say something.” Ronnie crossed her arms. “All right. How about this? I’m not going to play the piano for
you.” “Ronnie!” Steve could hear Kim’s exasperation.
“What?” She tossed her head. “I thought I’d get that out of the way early.”
Before Kim could respond, Stev e shook his head. The last thing he wanted was an
argument. “It’s okay, Kim.” “Yeah, Mom. It’s okay,” Ronnie said, pouncing. “I need to stretch my legs. I’m going for a
walk.” As she stomped away, Steve watched Kim struggl e with the impulse to call her back. In the
end, though, she said nothing. “Long drive?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“You can’t even imagine it.”
He smiled, thinking that for just an instant, it was easy to imagine they were still married,
both of them on the same team, both of them still in love. Except, of course, that they weren’t.
After unloading the bags, Steve went to the ki tchen, where he tapped ice cubes from the old-
fashioned tray and dropped them into the mismat ched glasses that had come with the place.

Behind him, he heard Kim enter the kitchen. He reached for a pitcher of sweet tea, poured
two glasses, and handed one to her. Outside, Jo nah was alternately chasing, and being chased by,
the waves as seagulls fluttered overhead. “It looks like Jonah’s having fun,” he said.
Kim took a step toward the window. “He’s been excited about coming for weeks.” She
hesitated. “He’s missed you.” “I’ve missed him.”
“I know,” she said. She took a drink of her t ea before glancing around the kitchen. “So this
is the place, huh? It’s got… character.” “By character, I assume you’ve noticed the leaky roof and lack of air-conditioning.”
Kim flashed a brief smile, caught.
“I know it’s not much. But it’s quiet and I can watch the sun come up.”
“And the church is lettin g you stay here for free?”
Steve nodded. “It belonged to Carson Johnson. He was a local artist, and when he passed
away, he left the house to the church. Pastor Harris is letting me stay until they’re ready to