The Last Song

“What’s that?”

“You need to learn how to forgive.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ve already forgiven Will. I’ve left him messages…”

Even before she finished, her dad was shaking his head. “I’m not talking about Will. You need to learn to forgive yourself first.”

That night, at the bottom of the stack of letters her dad had written, Ro

She didn’t know whether he wanted her to read it now or whether it was meant to be read after he was gone. She supposed she could have asked him, but she didn’t. In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to read it; simply holding the envelope frightened her, because she knew that it was the last letter he would ever write to her.

His disease continued to progress. Though they followed their regular routines-eating, reading, and taking walks on the beach-her dad was taking more medicine for his pain. There were times when his eyes were glassy and out of focus, but she still had the sense that the dosage wasn’t strong enough. Now and then, she would see him wince as he sat reading on the couch. He would close his eyes and lean back, his face a mask of pain. When that happened, he would grip her hand; but as the days wore on, she noticed that his grip was growing weaker. His strength was fading, she thought; everything about him was fading. And soon he would be gone completely.

She could tell Pastor Harris noticed the changes in her dad as well. He’d been coming by almost every day in recent weeks, usually right before di

When she sensed that they wanted to be alone, she would go stand out on the porch and try to imagine what they might be talking about. She could guess, of course: They talked about faith or family and maybe some regrets they each had, but she knew they also prayed together. She’d heard them once when she’d gone inside to get a glass of water, and she remembered thinking that Pastor Harris’s prayer sounded more like a plea. He seemed to be begging for strength as though his own life depended on it, and as she listened to him, she closed her eyes to chime in with a silent prayer of her own.

Mid-October brought three days of unseasonably chilly weather, cold enough to require a sweatshirt in the mornings. After months of relentless heat, she enjoyed the briskness in the air, but those three days were hard on her dad. Though they still walked the beach, he moved even more slowly, and they paused only briefly outside the church before turning and heading back home. By the time they reached the door, her dad was shivering. Once inside, she drew him a warm bath, hoping it would help, feeling the first twinges of panic at the new signs of sickness that signaled the disease was advancing more rapidly.

On a Friday, a week before Halloween, her father rallied enough for them to try fishing on the small dock that Will had first taken her to. Officer Pete lent them some extra rods and a tackle box. Remarkably, her dad had never been fishing before, so Ro

When they returned home after a peaceful afternoon at the dock, two people were waiting for them on the porch. It wasn’t until she got out of the car that she recognized Blaze and her mom. Blaze looked astonishingly different. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and she was dressed in white shorts and a long-sleeved aquamarine top. She wore no jewelry or makeup.

Seeing Blaze again reminded Ro

She took her time helping her dad out of the car, offering her arm to steady him.

“Who are they?” her dad murmured.

Ro

“Hi, Ro

Ro

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” Blaze began. “How is he doing?”

“He’s okay.” Ro

Blaze touched the front of her shirt. “I’ll always have scars here,” she said, then gestured to her arms and belly, “and here.” She gave a sad smile. “But I’m lucky to be alive, really.” She fidgeted in her seat before catching Ro

Ro

In the silence, Blaze looked around the living room, uncertain what to say next. Ro

“I should have come by sooner, but I know you’ve been busy.”

“It’s okay,” Ro

Blaze looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Ro

Blaze pulled on her top. “Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh? My mom bought me some clothes.”

“They suit you. I guess the two of you are getting along better.”

Blaze gave her a rueful look. “I’m trying. I’m living back home again, but it’s hard. I did a lot of stupid things. To her, to other people. To you.”

Ro

Blaze twisted her hands together, betraying her agitation. “I came to apologize. I did a terrible thing to you. And I know I can’t take back the stress I caused you, but I want you to know that I talked to the DA this morning. I told her that I put the stuff in your bag because I was mad at you, and I signed an affidavit that said you had no idea what was going on. You should be getting a call today or tomorrow, but she promised me that she would drop the charges.”

The words came out so fast that at first Ro

“I’m really sorry,” Blaze continued in a low voice. “I never should have put those things in your bag.”

Ro

“No,” she said. At this she looked up, her jaw squared. “I had some information they wanted about another crime. A bigger crime.”

“You mean about what happened to you on the pier?”

“No,” she said, and Ro