The Last Song(31)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

Ronnie flashed back on the time she had visited Blaze’s house and seen the money tucked into the envelope. It didn’t sound like the same mother, but Ronnie didn’t want to say that. In the silence, Blaze pushed herself up and stood. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled, as though she’d been wearing them for a week straight. Which was probably true.

“I know what you want me to do,” Blaze said. “But I can’t. And it’s not because I don’t like you. I do. I think you’re nice, and I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I’m as trapped as you are. And I don’t think Marcus is done with you, either.”

Ronnie stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Blaze stood. “He’s been talking about you again. And not in a good way. I’d stay away from me if I were you.”

Before Ronnie could respond, Blaze started walking off.

“Hey, Blaze,” she called out.

Blaze slowly turned around.

“If you ever need something to eat or a place to stay, you know where I live.”

For an instant, Ronnie thought she saw not only a flash of gratitude, but something that reminded her of the smart, lively girl she’d first met in June.

“And one more thing,” Ronnie added. “That fire stuff you’re doing with Marcus is crazy.”

Blaze gave her a sad smile. “Do you really think it’s crazier than anything else in my life right now?”

The following afternoon, Ronnie stood in front of her closet, knowing she had absolutely nothing to wear. Even if she was going to the wedding—which she still wasn’t certain about—she didn’t have anything remotely appropriate, unless it was a wedding with Ozzy Osbourne and his clan.

But this was a formal, black-tie wedding: Tuxedos and gowns were required for guests, not just the wedding party. She’d never imagined attending something like this when she was packing for the summer back in New York. She hadn’t even brought along the pair of black pumps her mom had purchased for her last Christmas, the ones that were still in the box.

She really didn’t understand why Will wanted her to come. Even if she found a way to look presentable, it wasn’t as though she’d have anyone to talk to. Will was in the wedding party, which meant tons of pictures while she went to the reception, and he had to sit at the head table, so they wouldn’t even be together for the meal. She’d probably end up sitting at a table with the governor or a senator or some family that had flown in on a private jet… talk about awkward. Add in the fact that Susan hated her, and the whole thing was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Horrible in every conceivable way.

On the other hand…

When would she ever be invited to a wedding like this again? Supposedly, the house had undergone a major transformation in the last couple of weeks: A new, temporary deck had been erected over the pool, tents had been raised, tens of thousands of flowers had been planted, and not only had lights been rented from one of the film studios in Wilmington, but the crew had come in and set up everything using stand-ins. The catering—everything from caviar to Cristal champagne—was being supplied by three different restaurants in Wilmington, and overseeing the whole operation was a chef Susan knew from Boston, who was supposedly once considered for the position of head chef at the White House. It was completely over the top, certainly nothing she would ever want for her own wedding—something beachside in Mexico with a dozen people in attendance was more her style—but she supposed that was part of the appeal of attending. She’d never go to another wedding like it for as long as she lived.

Assuming, of course, she could find something to wear. Honestly, she didn’t even know why she was searching her closet. She couldn’t wave a magic wand and turn a pair of her jeans into a dress or pretend that a new part in her hair would make someone overlook one of her concert T-shirts. The only halfway decent outfit she owned, the only one that Susan might not find repugnant if she’d simply stopped by on her way to a movie, was the outfit she wore to the aquarium, the one that made her look like an Easter egg.

“What are you doing?”

Jonah stood in the doorway, staring at her.

“I need to find something to wear,” she said.

“Are you going out?”

“No. I meant to wear to the wedding.”

He tilted his head. “You’re getting married?”

“Of course not. Will’s sister is getting married.”

“What’s her name?”

“Megan.”

“Is she nice?”

Ronnie shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never met her.”

“Then why are you going to her wedding?”

“Because Will asked me to go. That’s the way it works,” she explained. “He can bring a guest to the wedding. I’m supposed to be the guest.”

“Oh,” he said. “What are you going to wear?”

“Nothing. I don’t have anything.”

He motioned toward her. “What you’re wearing is nice.”

The Easter egg outfit. Figures.

She tugged at her shirt. “I can’t wear this. It’s a formal wedding. I’m supposed to wear a gown.”

“Do you have a gown in the closet?”

“No.”

“Then why are you standing there?”

Right, she thought, closing the door. She flopped down on her bed.

“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t go. It’s as simple as that.”

“Do you want to go?” Jonah asked curiously.

In an instant, her thoughts flashed from Absolutely not to Kind of and, finally, to Yeah, I do. She tucked her legs up under her. “Will wants me to go. It’s important to him. And it would be something to see.”

“Then why don’t you buy a gown?”

“Because I don’t have any money,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s easy to fix.” He went to his collection of toys in the corner. Wedged in at one end was a model of an airliner; he picked it up and brought it over, unscrewing the nose of the plane. As he began dumping the contents on her bed, Ronnie’s jaw dropped at the sight of all the cash he’d accumulated. There had to be at least a few hundred dollars.

“It’s my bank,” he said. He wiped his nose. “I’ve been saving for a while.”

“Where did you get all this?”

Jonah pointed to a ten-dollar bill. “This one was for not telling Dad I saw you that night at the carnival.” He pointed to a single. “This one was for not telling Dad that you were making out with Will.” He continued to point at various bills. “This one was for the guy with blue hair, and this was from liar’s poker. This one was for that time you snuck out after your curfew—”

“I get it,” she said. But still… She blinked. “You saved it all?”

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” he answered. “Mom and Dad buy me everything I need. All I have to do is beg long enough. It’s pretty easy to get what I want. You just have to know how to work it. Mom needs me to cry, but Dad needs me to explain why I deserve it.”

She smiled. Her brother, the blackmailer slash psychologist. Amazing.

“So I don’t really need it. And I like Will. He makes you happy.”

Yeah, she thought, he does.

“You’re a pretty good little brother, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. And you can have it all, on one condition.”

Here it comes, she thought. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to go dress shopping with you. It’s boring.”

It didn’t take long for her to make a decision. “Deal.”

Ronnie stared at herself, hardly able to recognize the image in the mirror. It was the morning of the wedding, and she had spent the past four days trying on pretty much every appropriate gown in the city, walking back and forth in various pairs of new shoes, and sitting for hours in the hair salon.

It had taken her almost an hour of curling and blowing to do her hair the way the girl at the salon had taught her. As Ronnie sat in the chair, she’d also asked advice about makeup, and the girl had given her some suggestions that Ronnie had followed carefully. The dress—there weren’t all that many good choices despite the number of stores she’d visited—featured a deep V-neck and black sequins, a far cry from anything she’d ever imagined wearing. The night before, she’d filed and painted her nails on her own, taking her time, pleased that she hadn’t smeared any of the polish.

I don’t know you, Ronnie told her reflection, turning this way and that. I’ve never seen you before. She tugged at her dress, adjusting it slightly. She looked pretty good, she had to admit. She smiled. And definitely good enough for the wedding.

She slipped into her shoes on the way out the door and headed down the hallway to the living room. Her dad was reading his Bible again, and Jonah was watching cartoons, as usual. When her dad and brother looked up, they did visible double takes.

“Holy crap,” Jonah said.

Her dad turned to glare at him. “You shouldn’t say that word.”

“What word?” Jonah asked.

“You know the word I’m talking about.”

“Sorry, Dad,” he said, chastised. “I meant jiminy crap,” he tried again.

Ronnie and her dad laughed, and Jonah turned from one to the other. “What?”

“Nothing,” her dad said. Jonah moved nearer to inspect her more closely.

“What happened to the purple in your hair?” he asked. “It’s gone.”

Ronnie bobbed her curls. “Temporarily,” she said. “Is it okay?”

Before her dad could answer, Jonah piped up. “You look normal again. But you don’t look like my sister.”

“You look wonderful,” her dad said quickly.

Surprising herself, Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. “Is the dress okay?”

“It’s perfect,” her dad answered.

“And my shoes? I’m not sure they go with the dress.”

“They’re just right.”

“I tried to do my makeup and my nails…”

Before she even finished, her dad shook his head. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he said. “In fact, I don’t know if there’s anyone more beautiful in the entire world.”

He’d said the same thing a hundred times before. “Dad—”

“He means it,” Jonah interrupted. “You look awesome. I’m being honest. I barely recognize you.”

She frowned at him in mock indignation. “So you’re saying you don’t like the way I usually look?”

He shrugged. “No one likes purple hair except weirdos.”

When she laughed, she caught her dad smiling at her.

“Wow” was all he could say.

Half an hour later, she was pulling through the gates of the Blakelee estate, her heart racing. They had just run the gauntlet of Highway Patrol officers stationed along the road to check IDs, and now they were being stopped by men in suits who wanted to park their car. Her dad tried calmly to explain that he was simply dropping her off, but his response made no sense to any of the three valets—they couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that a guest at the wedding didn’t even have her own car.

And the improvements…

Ronnie had to admit the place was as spectacular as a movie set. There were flowers everywhere, the hedge was trimmed to perfection, and even the brick-and-stucco wall that surrounded the property had been freshly painted.

When they were finally able to make their way to the central roundabout, her dad stared at the house, which was growing larger in the foreground. Eventually, he turned to her. She wasn’t used to seeing her father surprised by anything, but she could hear it in his voice.

“This is Will’s house?”

“This is it,” she said. She knew what he’d say: that it was huge, or he didn’t realize how wealthy the family was, or did she feel like she belonged in a place like this? Instead, he smiled at her without a trace of self-consciousness.

“What a lovely place for a wedding.”

He drove carefully, thankfully drawing no extra attention to the old car they were driving. It was actually Pastor Harris’s car, an old Toyota sedan with a boxy style that was out of date as soon as it came off the production line in the 1990s; but it ran, and right now that was good enough. Her feet were already aching. How some women wore pumps every day was beyond her. Even when she was seated, they felt like instruments of torture. She should have wrapped her toes in Band-Aids. And her dress obviously hadn’t been designed to wear while sitting; it was digging into her ribs, making it hard to breathe. Then again, maybe she was just too nervous to breathe.

Her dad made his way around the circle drive, his gaze fixed on the house just as hers had been the first time she’d seen it. Even though she should have been used to it by now, the place still felt overwhelming to her. Add in the guests—she’d never seen so many tuxedos and formal gowns in her life—and she couldn’t help but feel out of place already. She really didn’t belong here.

Up ahead, a dark-suited man was signaling to the cars, and before she knew it, it was her turn to get out. As the man swung open her door and offered his hand to help her out, her father reached out to pat her leg.

“You can do this.” He smiled. “And have fun.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

She peeked in the mirror one last time before emerging from the car. Once she was out, she adjusted her dress, thinking it was easier to breathe now that she was standing. The porch railings were decorated with lilies and tulips, and as she made her way up the steps toward the door, it suddenly swung open.