Beto went back to the set the next day, waited until she was done shooting, and asked her out to dinner. “The day after that, I did the same thing. Every day, for three weeks. It was supposed to be a weekend trip, but I couldn’t leave her.”
“What about Nelson?”
“Who?”
“The boyfriend.”
“Oh. What about him?” He shrugged. “I’m sure she let him down easy. I asked her to marry me a few months later.”
Beto’s version differed from Sofia’s. Listening to his dad, it was more like some soul mate, love-at-first sight connection that anyone would have been happy to tell over and over. But Sofia downplayed everything that came before they were engaged.
“So when did things…”
Beto frowned. “When did things what?”
“You know, change between you two?”
“What change? I love your mother.”
Nathan laughed. “Yeah, but you two fought a lot when I was in the house, about everything. Especially—”
“Especially what?”
Nathan was too stunned to speak. Years of earsplitting shouting matches about Beto’s affairs came tumbling back. As a kid, he used to hide in his closet with his fists in his ears and a ball of fury lodged in his throat. Now that same lump kept him mute as Beto reddened with rising anger.
“Spit it out.” Beto set his drink on one of Rachel’s pictures. Nathan moved it to the side. “I see how you look at me. Is that why you hate me? Because you think I don’t deserve your mother?”
“I never said that.”
“You’ve always been a shitty liar. When you even bother to try. It can be a kindness, you know. Not throwing a man’s mistakes in his face whenever you get the chance.”
Nathan stood, grabbed both empty glasses, and headed to the kitchen. “Only you could turn lying into a virtue.”
Beto stood. “You always do this. Pick a fight and play innocent.”
“I didn’t pick this fight. You’re the one who came here, to what? Make yourself feel better? Check me off some list?” Nathan had almost fallen for it too. No matter how hard he tried not to be that gullible kid who wanted his father’s approval, Beto would pull it out of him every time. And it hurt. He was so sick of this feeling.
Beto flung his hands at Nathan’s chest. “So now I can’t reach out to my son?”
“For what? Your last play to get into heaven?”
Beto grimaced like he’d been punched. Until now, Nathan had never thought of his anger as destructive. Not when it got him into trouble at school. Not when he broke that chair and had to pry splinters from his hand. Not when he decided to leave home. To him, it was survival, not some bitter, spiteful choice that left his family in pieces. But in that moment, seeing his father practically stumble back, Nathan finally realized the damage he could cause. That he could cut deep enough to leave a scar.
“That wasn’t…” Nathan trailed off, floundering. “I—”
“You goddamn brat! You’re still holding grudges about shit that happened years ago? Grow up!”
Grow up. Do better. Don’t you fucking cry because some little shit hurt your feelings. A hundred old humiliations came back to Nathan all at once: that he was weak, that he was worthless. Nathan slammed his glass into the sink so hard it cracked. “Get out.”
Beto waved a hand. “There you go, quitting when things get hard. That’s not a solution.”
“I’m not a fucking problem. So stop trying to fix me.”
“Fix you?” Beto gestured frantically between them. “I’m trying to fix us! Everything I’ve ever done has been so you could become the man I know you could be. Is that wrong? Did wanting the best for you make me a bad father?”
Nathan heard the desperation in Beto’s voice and realized what his father really wanted. Absolution. He was a dying man, chasing down his sins, wondering if there was still time to be forgiven. But Beto had taught him how to hate himself. Those lessons were embedded so deep that Nathan was terrified he could never unlearn them. It wasn’t the kind of damage you healed with bygones over drinks. Nathan couldn’t give him that.
“No,” Nathan said. “That’s not what made you a bad father.”
Beto stopped pacing. The anger fueling him was gone, like a someone had yanked out the cord. “You told me once that I talked at you, not to you.” His lips twitched into a sad smile. “But you’ve always been a moving target, Nathaniel. I could never seem to…” He shook his head. “I’m gonna go.”
Beto walked to the door and paused with one hand on the doorknob. He finally looked at the drawing desk. “Abuelita used to call you her light. A bighearted little joker who could find something beautiful in any shadow.” He blinked, eyes shimmering. “But things have been so dark for this family, for so long. I think that when you gave up on us, we lost our light.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rachel didn’t hear from Nathan until Friday morning, the day of their MoMA trip. She told herself that he was probably busy with the latest publicity push for the gala, which was less than a month away. But after three days of silence, she was convinced that her attempt to slow the runaway train of their relationship had derailed it instead. Matt was avoiding her with another round of rural campaign stops that would last until Monday. He’d barely been gone five minutes before Nathan’s car pulled up to the curb.
“It’s a long drive,” she said, adopting an airy tone as she slid into the passenger seat. She was determined to hide how much his silence had upset her. The trip would take four hours if they were lucky. Stewing in tension the entire time would be miserable. “We should take turns.”
“I don’t mind driving,” Nathan said absently.
“Is something wrong?”
He paused as he pulled onto the road. “It’s not you,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s not us.” He fell silent, clearly debating whether to tell her the rest. “I think I need to talk to someone. Like a professional.” He paused. “Beto is dying.”
“What?” It burst out before she could stop it. Nathan gave her a pained look, like he didn’t want to repeat it. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t give a shit if he dies.” His voice cracked and she touched his shoulder.
“Yes, you do.”
Nathan didn’t argue. He swallowed hard and twisted his hands on the steering wheel. “He’s got six months, maybe. They’re not sure.” Rachel rubbed his arm. His muscles were rigid, coiled into a useless armor. “He came by my place last night. We got into it. He’s always been disappointed in me. Like I’ve failed at being his son.”
Nathan told her stories about his childhood, casting Beto as a neglectful tyrant whose rare acts of kindness only left Nathan frustrated and confused. But Rachel was slowly becoming fluent in the man sitting beside her. He rushed through softer memories because they made the thought of losing Beto hurt more, while focusing on the pain kept him numb.
“I’ve been so angry with him all my life.” He met her eyes. “But I don’t want to live like that anymore.”
“Do you think you can forgive him?”
“Maybe.” Nathan swallowed hard. “But I don’t know how.”