The Last Song Read Free

forward. “What’s over there? Is that a Ferris wheel?”
    Her mom craned her neck, trying to see around the minivan in the lane beside her. “I think it is, honey,” she answered. “There
     must be a carnival in town.”
    “Can we go? After we all have dinner together?”
    “You’ll have to ask your dad.”
    “Yeah, and maybe afterward, we’ll all sit around the campfire and roast marshmallows,” Ronnie interjected. “Like we’re one
     big, happy family.”
    This time, both of them ignored her.
    “Do you think they have other rides?” Jonah asked.
    “I’m sure they do. And if your dad doesn’t want to ride them, I’m sure your sister will go with you.”
    “Awesome!”
    Ronnie sagged in her seat. It figured her mom would suggest something like that. The whole thing was too depressing to believe.

2

    S teve
    S teve Miller played the piano with keyed-up intensity, anticipating his children’s arrival at any minute.
    The piano was located in a small alcove off the small living room of the beachside bungalow he now called home. Behind him
     were items that represented his personal history. It wasn’t much. Aside from the piano, Kim had been able to pack his belongings
     into a single box, and it had taken less than half an hour to put everything in place. There was a snapshot of him with his
     father and mother when he was young, another photo of him playing the piano as a teen. They were mounted between both of the
     degrees he’d received, one from Chapel Hill and the other from Boston University, and below it was a certificate of appreciation
     from Juilliard after he’d taught for fifteen years. Near the window were three framed schedules outlining his tour dates.
     Most important, though, were half a dozen photographs of Jonah and Ronnie, some tacked to the walls or framed and sitting
     atop the piano, and whenever he looked at them, he was reminded of the fact that despite his best intentions, nothing had
     turned out the way he’d expected.
    The late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, making the interior of the house stuffy, and Steve could feel beads
     of sweat beginning to form. Thankfully, the pain in his stomach had lessened since the morning, but he’d been nervous for
     days, and he knew it would come back. He’d always had a weak stomach; in his twenties, he’d had an ulcer and was hospitalized
     for diverticulitis; in his thirties, he’d had his appendix removed after it had burst while Kim was pregnant with Jonah. He
     ate Rolaids like candy, he’d been on Nexium for years, and though he knew he could probably eat better and exercise more,
     he doubted that either would have helped. Stomach problems ran in his family.
    His father’s death six years ago had changed him, and since the funeral, he’d felt as though he’d been on a countdown of sorts.
     In a way, he supposed he had. Five years ago, he’d quit his position at Juilliard, and a year after that, he’d decided to
     try his luck as a concert pianist. Three years ago, he and Kim decided to divorce; less than twelve months later, the tour
     dates began drying up, until they finally ended completely. Last year, he’d moved back here, to the town where he’d grown
     up, a place he never thought he’d see again. Now he was about to spend the summer with his children, and though he tried to
     imagine what the fall would bring once Ronnie and Jonah were back in New York, he knew only that leaves would yellow before
     turning to red and that in the mornings his breaths would come out in little puffs. He’d long since given up trying to predict
     the future.
    This didn’t bother him. He knew predictions were pointless, and besides, he could barely understand the past. These days,
     all he could say for sure was that he was ordinary in a world that loved the extraordinary, and the realization left him with
     a vague feeling of disappointment at the life he’d led. But what could he do? Unlike Kim, who’d been