Peter sighed and returned to his chair. “You say you saw Tom four years ago?”
“Mm-hm.” Johnny gave a little birdlike bob with his head.
Peter looked up abruptly. “Tell me something, Johnny. Was he happy?” The question was sharp and unexpected. For the first time Johnny seemed uncertain of his answer. “Or did he miss the theater?”
Johnny groped his way over to his chair and sank down. There was a troubled expression on his face. “Yes,” he said in a very quiet voice. “He missed the stage.” He looked over at Peggy and Peter. “You two,” he said, “you’ve been working in the theater for how long? Two years? Four years? Five years? Well, Tom Agate spent thirty years of his life on stage. It was everything he knew—and almost everything he loved.”
“Almost everything?” The question came almost automatically, before Peggy had a chance to think about it. Johnny looked at her oddly. It was the first time she had spoken during the interview.
“Don’t ask me any more,” he said. “Just leave Tom alone.”
Peter shook his head stubbornly. “Why don’t you help us give Tom a chance to find happiness again?”
“By coming back to the theater?”
“Yes.”
“He’d never do it. I told you that.”