It was a gesture of forgiveness and comfort offered privately, out of his father’s sight. Just for the two of them. He smiled softly at her in gratitude. In—relief.
Telling her about such a painful part of his past had hurt, but now the story was in her capable, gentle hands. She’d keep it safe there. She’d keephimsafe, and that realization was like sinking into a hot bath after a lifetime spent wading through rocky, icy shallows.
Dad cleared his throat. “I told Peter he should choose a different major for a more stable career path, but—”
“So, Daniel.” This time, Maria was the one to interrupt his father, her voice bland and perfectly polite. “You said you attended university here in Madison? Like Peter?”
After a final squeeze of Peter’s hand, she let him go to refill her glass with San Pellegrino, and they both resumed eating.
“Yes. It’s where I worked too.” His father’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “Peter and I were based in two different parts of campus, though. I majored in accounting and worked in the bursar’s office, and Peter got his bachelor’s in theater, so our paths didn’t cross much, even when we were there at the same time. Especially since he chose to live on campus instead of at home.”
Another choice his dad had found inexplicable and argued against, although seeing Peter caused him nothing but consternation and pain.
They both knew it. Neither of them had ever said it. Not even his father, for all his facility with words.
Maria placed her fork on her plate so carefully, it didn’t clink. “He graduated summa cum laude, correct?”
Peter’s own fork paused halfway to his mouth. How the fuck did she knowthat?
“Yes, and I wasn’t surprised. Peter was always bright, and whatever he decided to do, he did well. He could have majored in anything. Excelled at any job.” His father’s words sounded like praise. Almost. If you didn’t hear the lament in each syllable. “Butright after graduation, he left for Los Angeles, and that was it. He never moved back to the area or returned to school.”
“Why would he?” Maria’s head tipped to one side. “He’s been a successful actor for twenty years now, has he not?”
Anyone who didn’t personally know her would swear that was an innocent question, born of genuine confusion. But he knew that tone. When he raised his head from contemplation of his plate, he knew that look on her face too. And maybe a better person would have intervened at that point, but...
Yeah. He was who he was.
“More or less.” His father’s brow creased. “Like Peter said, an acting career doesn’t offer a steady income. The first few years, he had to do construction work to make ends meet.”
True enough. Early on, the parts Peter landed were too small and didn’t pay enough. The few leading-man roles he got offered, the story usually revolved around his size, and he didn’t want those parts unless they guaranteed him either a lot of money or a lot of fame. Which they hadn’t, so he’d continued playing bit roles for far too long.
“Ah. So he had to supplement his acting income, like virtually all Hollywood hopefuls.” Her shoulder hitched in a graceful, dismissive shrug. “And almost every single one of those hopefuls eventually gives up and leaves, or stays but never finds success. Your son is the exception, Daniel. A man who’s defied incredibly steep odds and carved out a meaningful career through sheer talent and stubbornness and hard work.”
Hearing that—fuck, it felt good. So good, he couldn’t breathe for a moment.
His father blinked at her. “He’s very talented, of course. As I’ve often told him, he should have been winning awards well before his role onGods of the Gates.”
Dadhadfrequently said that over the years. Peter would have been flattered, only the comment always sounded less like outrage on his behalf and more an implication that awards might justify his career choice.
His father best understood concrete accomplishments. Blue ribbons. Varsity letters. Diplomas. Certificates. Race times. Expensive homes. And yes, paychecks and statuettes, which was why the role of Cyprian had finally reconciled him to Peter’s career. Somewhat.
The significance of years and years of steady work in Hollywood beforeGods of the Gates, the joy of excelling at a craft he loved... things like that were difficult for his dad to grasp, and thus difficult to praise. And Peter knew—heknew—he could have made everything easier on his father. Could have tried harder to explain himself and the details of his career and itscontextin a way Dad might comprehend more easily.
But his parents had been married for a decade and a half when they separated, and despite all those years, despite choosing each other and committing to a life together in front of a minister and dozens of guests, his father had never understood the woman he’d wed, and he’d never understood why she left. If she—his fuckingwife—hadn’t managed to make herself known in all that time, what chance did Peter have?
There was a fundamental disconnect somewhere, and it was no one’s fault. He got that now, in a way he hadn’t even a decade earlier. Just as he could now study his father and see very clearly that Daniel Reedton had never really recovered from losing his beloved Patty.
That slight rounding of his shoulders didn’t appear in photos until after she’d packed her bags and moved to an apartment across town. It only got worse after she died, once his father knewshe couldn’t ever come back. Same with those bags beneath his eyes and the deep lines across his forehead. Same with that awfullostexpression whenever he stopped talking long enough for the memories to surface, or when he unexpectedly encountered a photo or heard the name of the woman he’d courted and married at the age of twenty-three.
The woman who’d left him at thirty-eight.
The woman who’d died at forty.
He’d loved her. He hadn’t understood her, but he’d loved her.
Just as he loved Peter. Sincerely. Without an ounce of comprehension but plenty of pain.
“Yes, Peter should have shelves full of awards dating back to the beginning of his career. He deserved them.” Maria held his father’s tired blue eyes, her voice gentle but firm. “But in some ways, what he accomplished before being cast inGods of the Gates, before receiving his first statuette, is more extraordinary than any award he could earn. I hope you realize that.”