Do you want to talk about it? her dad asked one day as they strolled along the beach.
They were making their way toward the church. Since the construction had started up again, things were moving fast. The crew was massive: framers, electricians, men who specialized in trim carpentry or drywall. There were at least forty trucks on the work site, and people flowed in and out of the building constantly.
About what? she asked carefully.
About Will, he said. The way it ended between the two of you.
She gave him an appraising stare. How could you possibly know about that?
He shrugged. Because youve mentioned him only in passing over the past few weeks, and you never talk to him on the phone. Its not hard to figure out that something happened.
Its complicated, she said reluctantly.
They walked a few steps in silence before her dad spoke again. If it matters to you, I thought he was an exceptional young man.
She looped her arm through his. Yes, it does matter. And I thought so, too.
By then, theyd reached the church. She could see workers carrying in loads of lumber and cans of paint, and as usual her eyes sought out the empty space beneath the steeple. The window hadnt been installed yetmost of the construction had to be completed first to prevent the fragile glass pieces from crackingbut her dad still liked to visit. He was pleased by the renewed construction, but not primarily because of the window. He spoke constantly of how important the church was to Pastor Harris and how much the pastor missed preaching in the place that hed long considered a second home.
Pastor Harris was always on site, and usually he would walk down to the beach to visit with them when they arrived. Looking around now, she spotted him standing in the gravel parking lot.
He was talking to someone as he gestured animatedly at the building. Even from a distance, she could tell he was smiling.
She was about to wave in an attempt to get his attention when she suddenly recognized the man he was talking to. The sight startled her. The last time shed seen him, shed been distraught; the last time theyd been together, he hadnt bothered to say good-bye. Perhaps Tom Blakelee had simply been driving by and stopped to talk to the pastor about the rebuilding of the church. Maybe he was just interested.
For the rest of the week, she watched for Tom Blakelee when they visited the site, but she never saw him there again. Part of her was relieved, she admitted, that their worlds no longer intersected.
* * *
After their walks to the church and her dads afternoon nap, they usually read together. She finished Anna Karenina, four months after shed first started reading it. She checked out Doctor Zhivago from the public library. Something about the Russian writers appealed to her: the epic quality of their stories, perhaps; bleak tragedy and doomed love affairs painted on a grand canvas, so far removed from her own ordinary life.
Her dad continued to study his Bible, and sometimes hed read a passage or verse aloud at her request. Some were short and others were long, but many of them seemed to focus on the meaning of faith. She wasnt sure why, but she sometimes got the sense that the act of reading them aloud had shed light on a nuance or meaning that he had previously missed.
Dinners were becoming simple affairs. In early October, she began to do most of the cooking, and he accepted this change as easily as hed accepted everything else over the summer.
Most of the time, he would sit in the kitchen and they would talk as she boiled pasta or rice and browned some chicken or steak in the pan. It was the first time shed cooked meat in years, and she felt strange prodding her dad to eat it after putting the plate in front of him. He wasnt hungry much anymore, and the meals were bland because spices of any kind irritated his stomach. But she knew he needed food. Though he didnt have a scale in the house, she could see the pounds melting away.
One night after dinner, she finally told him what had happened with Will. She told him everything: about the fire and his attempts to cover for Scott, about all that had transpired with Marcus. Her dad listened intently as she spoke, and when at last he pushed aside his plate, she noticed he hadnt eaten more than a few bites.
Can I ask you a question?
Of course, she said. You can ask me anything.
When you told me that you were in love with Will, did you mean it?
She remembered Megan asking her the same question. Yes.
Then I think you might have been too hard on him.
But he was covering up a crime
I know. But if you think about it, youre now in the same position that he was. You know the truth, just as he did. And youve said nothing to anyone either.
But I didnt do it
And you said that he didnt either.
What are you trying to say? That I should tell Pastor Harris?
He shook his head. No, he said to her surprise. I dont think you should.
Why?
Ronnie, he said gently, there might be more to the story than meets the eye.
But
Im not saying Im right. Ill be the first to admit Im wrong about a lot of things. But if everything is just as you described it, then I want you to know this: Pastor Harris doesnt want to know the truth. Because if he does, hell have to do something about it. And trust me, he would never want to hurt Scott or his family, especially if it was an accident. Hes just not that kind of man. And one more thing. And of everything Ive said, this is the most important.
Whats that?
You need to learn how to forgive.
She crossed her arms. Ive already forgiven Will. Ive left him messages
Even before she finished, her dad was shaking his head. Im 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, Ronnie found another letter, one she hadnt yet opened. He must have added it to the stack recently, since it bore no stamp or postmark.
She didnt 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 didnt. In truth, she wasnt 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 routineseating, reading, and taking walks on the beachher 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 wasnt 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. Hed been coming by almost every day in recent weeks, usually right before dinner. For the most part, he kept the conversation light; he updated them on the construction or regaled them with amusing stories from his past, bringing a fleeting smile to her fathers face. But there were also moments when both of them seemed to run out of things to say to each other. Avoiding the elephant in the room was taxing for all of them, and in those moments, a fog of sadness seemed to settle in the living room.
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. Shed heard them once when shed gone inside to get a glass of water, and she remembered thinking that Pastor Harriss 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 Ronnie had to bait the hook.
The first two fish that took the bait got away, but they were finally able to hook a small red drum and land it on the dock. It was the same kind of fish shed caught with Will, and as the fish struggled while she freed the hook, she suddenly missed Will with an intensity that felt like physical pain.
When they returned home after a peaceful afternoon at the dock, two people were waiting for them on the porch. It wasnt 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 Ronnie of something shed managed to avoid thinking about in all her concerns for her father: that she would be returning to court before the month was out.
She wondered what they wanted and why they were here.
She took her time helping her dad out of the car, offering her arm to steady him.
Who are they? her dad murmured.
Ronnie explained, and he nodded. As they approached, Blaze climbed down from the porch.
Hi, Ronnie, she said, clearing her throat. She squinted slightly in the lowering sun. I came to talk to you.
Ronnie sat across from Blaze in the living room, watching as Blaze studied the floor. Their parents had retreated to the kitchen to give them some privacy.
Im really sorry about your dad, Blaze began. How is he doing?
Hes okay. Ronnie shrugged. How about you?
Blaze touched the front of her shirt. Ill always have scars here, she said, then gestured to her arms and belly, and here. She gave a sad smile. But Im lucky to be alive, really. She fidgeted in her seat before catching Ronnies eye. I wanted to thank you for bringing me to the hospital.
Ronnie nodded, still unsure where the conversation was going. Youre welcome.
In the silence, Blaze looked around the living room, uncertain what to say next. Ronnie, learning from her dad, simply waited.
I should have come by sooner, but I know youve been busy.
Its okay, Ronnie said. Im just glad to see youre doing okay.
Blaze looked up. Really?
Yeah, Ronnie said. She smiled. Even if you do look like an Easter egg.
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. Im trying. Im living back home again, but its hard. I did a lot of stupid things. To her, to other people. To you.
Ronnie sat motionless, her expression neutral. Why are you really here, Blaze?
Blaze twisted her hands together, betraying her agitation. I came to apologize. I did a terrible thing to you. And I know I cant 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 Ronnie wasnt sure shed heard her right. But Blazes entreating look told her everything she needed to know. After all these months, after all the countless days and nights of worry, it was suddenly over. Ronnie was in shock.
Im really sorry, Blaze continued in a low voice. I never should have put those things in your bag.
Ronnie was still trying to digest the fact that this nightmarish ordeal was coming to an end.
She studied Blaze, who was now picking repeatedly at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt.
Whats going to happen to you? Are they going to charge you?
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 Ronnie thought she saw something hard and defiant in her eyes. I told them about the fire at the church and the way it really started. Blaze made sure she had Ronnies attention before going on. Scott didnt start the fire. His bottle rocket had nothing to do with it. Oh, it landed near the church all right. But it was already out.
Ronnie absorbed this information in growing wonderment. For a moment, they stared at each other, the charge in the air palpable.
Then how did it start?
Blaze leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her forearms stretched out as if in supplication. We were out partying on the beachMarcus, Teddy, Lance, and me. A little later, Scott showed up, just down the beach from us. We pretended to ignore each other, but we could see Scott lighting up bottle rockets. Will was still down the beach and Scott sort of aimed one in his direction, but the wind caught it and it flew toward the church. Will started freaking out and came running. But Marcus thought the whole thing was hilarious, and the minute that rocket fell behind the church, he ran over to the churchyard. I didnt know what was happening at first, even after I followed him and saw him torching the scrub grass next to the church wall. The next thing I knew, the side of the building was on fire.
Youre saying Marcus did it? Ronnie could barely get the words out.
She nodded. He set other fires, too. At least Im pretty sure he didhe always loved fire. I guess I always knew he was crazy, but I She stopped herself, realizing shed been down that road too many times already. She sat up straight. Anyway, Ive agreed to testify against him.
Ronnie leaned back in her chair, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her.
She remembered the things shed said to Will, suddenly realizing that if Will had done what shed demanded, Scotts life would have been ruined for nothing.
She felt almost ill as Blaze went on. Im really sorry for everything, she said. And as crazy as it sounds, I did consider you my friend until I was an idiot and ruined it. For the first time, Blazes voice cracked. But youre a great person, Ronnie. Youre honest, and you were nice to me when you had no reason to be. A tear leaked out of one eye, and she swiped at it quickly. Ill never forget the day you offered to let me stay with you, even after all the terrible things I had done to you. I felt such shame. And yet I was grateful, you know? That someone still cared.
Blaze paused, visibly struggling to pull herself together. When she had blinked back her tears, she took a deep breath and fixed Ronnie with a determined look.
So if you ever need anythingand I mean anythinglet me know. Ill drop everything, okay? I know I cant ever make up for what I did to you, but in a way, I feel like you saved me.
Whats happened to your dad is just so unfair and I would do anything to help you.
Ronnie nodded.
And one last thing, Blaze added. We dont have to be friends, but if you ever see me again, will you please call me Galadriel? I cant stand the name Blaze.
Ronnie smiled. Sure thing, Galadriel.
As Blaze had promised, her lawyer called that afternoon, informing her that the charges in her shoplifting case had been dropped.
That night, as her dad lay sleeping in his bedroom, Ronnie turned on the local news. She wasnt sure if the news would cover it, but there it was, a thirty-second segment right before the weather forecast about the arrest of a new suspect in the ongoing arson investigation relating to a local church burning last year. When they flashed a mug shot of Marcus with a few details of his prior misdemeanor charges, she turned off the TV. Those cold, dead eyes still had the power to unnerve her.
She thought of Will and what he had done to protect Scott, for a crime that it turned out he hadnt even committed. Was it really so terrible, she wondered, that loyalty to his friend had skewed his judgment? Especially in light of the way things had turned out? Ronnie was no longer certain of anything. She had been wrong about so many things: her dad, Blaze, her mother, even Will. Life was so much more complicated than she ever imagined as a sullen teenager in New York.
She shook her head as she moved around the house, turning out the lights one by one. That lifea parade of parties and high school gossip and squabbles with her momfelt like another world, an existence she had only dreamed. Today, there was only this: her walk on the beach with her dad, the ceaseless sound of the ocean waves, the smell of winter approaching.
And the fruit of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Halloween came and went, and her dad grew weaker with every passing day.
They gave up their walks on the beach when the effort became too great, and in the mornings, when she made his bed, she saw dozens of strands of hair on his pillow. Knowing that the disease was accelerating, she moved her mattress into his bedroom in case he needed her help, and also to remain close to him for as long as she could.
He was on the highest dosages of pain medicine that his body could handle, but it never seemed enough. At night, as she slept on the floor beside him, he uttered whimpering cries that nearly broke her heart. She kept his medication right beside his bed, and they were the first things he reached for when he woke up. She would sit beside him in the mornings, holding him, his limbs trembling, until the medicine took effect.
But the side effects took their toll as well. He was unstable on his feet, and Ronnie had to support him whenever he moved, even across the room. Despite his weight loss, when he stumbled it was all she could do to keep him from falling. Though he never gave voice to his frustration, his eyes registered his disappointment, as if he were somehow failing her.
He now slept an average of seventeen hours a day, and Ronnie would spend entire days alone at home, reading and rereading the letters hed originally written to her. She hadnt yet read the last letter hed written to herthe idea still seemed too frighteningbut sometimes she liked to hold it between her fingers, trying to summon the strength to open it.
She called home more frequently, timing her calls for when Jonah got home from school or after they had finished dinner. Jonah seemed subdued, and when he asked about their dad she sometimes felt guilty about holding back the truth. But she couldnt burden him that way, and she noticed that whenever her dad spoke with him, he always did his best to sound as energetic as he could. Afterward, he often sat in the chair by the phone, spent from his exertions, too tired even to move. She would watch him in silence, chafing at the knowledge that there was something more she could do, if only she knew what it was.
Whats your favorite color? she asked.
They were seated at the kitchen table, and Ronnie had a pad of paper open before her.
Steve gave her a quizzical smile. Thats what you wanted to ask me?
This is just the first question. Ive got a lot more.
He reached for the can of Ensure shed placed before him. He was no longer eating much solid food, and she watched as he took a sip, knowing he was doing it to please her, not because he was hungry.
Green, he said.
She wrote down the answer and read the next question. How old were you when you first kissed a girl?
Are you serious? He made a face.
Please, Dad, she said. Its important.
He answered again, and she wrote it down. They got through a quarter of the questions shed jotted down, and over the next week, he eventually answered them all. She wrote down the answers carefully, not necessarily verbatim, but she hoped with enough detail to reconstruct the answers in the future. It was an engaging and sometimes surprising exercise, but by the end, she concluded that her dad was mostly the same man shed come to know over the summer.
Which was good and bad, of course. Good because shed suspected he would be, and bad because it left her no closer to the answer shed been seeking all along.
The second week of November brought the first rains of autumn, but the construction at the church continued without pause. If anything, the pace increased. Her dad no longer accompanied her; still, Ronnie walked down the beach to the church every day to see how things were progressing. It had become part of her routine during the quiet hours when her dad was napping.
Though Pastor Harris always registered her arrival with a wave, he no longer joined her on the beach to chat.
In a week, the stained-glass window would be installed, and Pastor Harris would know hed done something for her dad that no one else could do, something she knew would mean the world to him. She was happy for him, even as she prayed for guidance of her own.
On a gray November day, her dad suddenly insisted that they venture out to the pier. Ronnie was anxious about the distance and the cold, but he was adamant. He wanted to see the ocean from the pier, he said. One last time, were the words he didnt have to say.
They dressed in overcoats, and Ronnie even wrapped a wool scarf around her fathers neck.
The wind carried in it the first sharp taste of winter, making it feel colder than the thermometer suggested. She insisted on driving to the pier and parked Pastor Harriss car in the deserted boardwalk lot.
It took a long time to reach the end of the pier. They were alone beneath a cloud-swept sky, the iron gray waves visible between the concrete planks. As they shuffled forward, her father kept his arm looped through hers, clinging to her as the wind tugged at their overcoats.
When they finally made it, her dad reached out for the railing and almost lost his balance. In the silvery light, the planes of his sunken cheeks stood out in sharp relief and his eyes looked a little glassy, but she could tell he was satisfied.
The steady movement of the waves stretching out before him to the horizon seemed to bring him a feeling of serenity. There was nothing to seeno boats, no porpoises, no surfersbut his expression seemed peaceful and free of pain for the first time in weeks. Near the waterline, the clouds seemed almost alive, roiling and shifting as the wintry sun attempted to pierce their veiled masses. She found herself watching the play of clouds with the same wonder her father did, wondering where his thoughts lay.
The wind was picking up, and she saw him shiver. She could tell he wanted to stay, his gaze locked on the horizon. She tugged gently on his arm, but he only tightened his grip on the railing.
She relented then, standing next to him until he was shuddering with cold, finally ready to go. He released the railing and let her turn him around, starting their slow march back to the car.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed he was smiling.
It was beautiful, wasnt it? she remarked.
Her dad took a few steps before answering.
Yes, he said. But mostly I enjoyed sharing that moment with you.
Two days later, she resolved to read his final letter. She would do it soon, before he was gone.
Not tonight, but soon, she promised herself. It was late at night, and the day with her dad had been the hardest yet. The medicine didnt seem to be helping him at all. Tears leaked out of his eyes as spasms of pain racked his body; she begged him to let her bring him to the hospital, but still he refused.
No, he gasped. Not yet.
When? she asked desperately, close to tears herself. He didnt answer, only held his breath, waiting for the pain to pass. When it did, he seemed suddenly weaker, as if it had sheared away a sliver of the little life he had left.
I want you to do something for me, he said. His voice was a ragged whisper.
She kissed the back of his hand. Anything, she said.
When I first received my diagnosis, I signed a DNR. Do you know what that is? He searched her face. It means I dont want any extraordinary measures that might keep me alive.
If I go to the hospital, I mean.
She felt her stomach twist in fear. What are you trying to say?
When the time comes, you have to let me go.
No, she said, beginning to shake her head, dont talk like that.
His gaze was gentle but insistent. Please, he whispered. Its what I want. When I go to the hospital, bring the papers. Theyre in my top desk drawer, in a manila envelope.
No Dad, please, she cried. Dont make me do that. I cant do that.
He held her gaze. Even for me?
That night, his whimpers were broken by a labored, rapid breathing that terrified her.
Though she had promised she would do what he asked, she wasnt sure she could.
How could she tell the doctors not to do anything? How could she let him die?
On Monday, Pastor Harris picked them both up and drove them to the church to watch the window being installed. Because he was too weak to stand, they brought a lawn chair with them.
Pastor Harris helped her support him as they slowly made their way to the beach. A crowd had gathered in anticipation of the event, and for the next few hours, they watched as workers carefully set the window in place. It was as spectacular as shed imagined it would be, and when the final brace was bolted into place, a cheer went up. She turned to see her fathers reaction and noticed that hed fallen asleep, cocooned in the heavy blankets shed draped over him.
With Pastor Harriss help, she brought him home and put him in bed. On his way out, the pastor turned to her.
He was happy, he said, as much to convince himself as her.
I know he was, she assured him, reaching out to squeeze his arm. Its exactly what he wanted.
Her dad slept for the rest of the day, and as the world went black outside her window, she knew it was time to read the letter. If she didnt do it now, she might never find the courage.
The light in the kitchen was dim. After tearing open the envelope, she slowly unfolded the page. The handwriting was different from his previous letters; gone was the flowing, open style shed expected. In its place was something like a scrawl. She didnt want to imagine what a struggle it must have been to write the words or how long it had taken him. She took a deep breath and began to read.
Hi, sweetheart,
Im proud of you.
I havent said those words to you as often as I should have. I say them now, not because you chose to stay with me through this incredibly difficult time, but because I wanted you to know that youre the remarkable person Ive always dreamed you could be.
Thank you for staying. I know its hard for you, surely harder than you imagined it would be, and Im sorry for the hours that youre going to inevitably spend alone. But Im especially sorry because I havent always been the father youve needed me to be. I know Ive made mistakes. I wish I could change so many things in my life. I suppose thats normal, considering whats happening to me, but theres 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 dont last long; they come and go like ocean breezes. But sometimes, they stretch out forever.