“I know that. I just need some time to process, that’s all.”
“And as your friend, I’m obligated to remind you that not every process has to end in forgiveness.”
Inside, the house was eerily silent.
“Where is everyone?” Peter asked.
“Hello?” Jonathan called out.
“Out here,” Maeve called from the living room. “I’m going to get out of the way and give you all a minute,” Peter whispered loudly as he headed for the steps, warmly squeezing Jonathan’s arm.
Maeve was sitting alone at the center of one of the red couches, looking wound like a coil. “Did you pick up the money?” she asked, with a forced smile.
Jonathan nodded. “Twenty thousand,” he said. “The rest will have to get wired on Monday.”
“Great, so we can go then?” Maeve stood. “I mean, we should, right? Leave town. Considering everything that’s happened.”
“We still need to actually get the money to them,” Jonathan said. “They’re calling Peter soon, hopefully.”
“Oh.” Maeve brought a manicured hand to her lips. “I see.”
“Maeve, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Where are Derrick and Keith?”
Jonathan looked around. “They’re back, right?”
Maeve nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “Yeah, they’re back.”
“Maeve, come on,” I pressed. “You look about to crawl out of your skin.”
“Keith is trying to get out of going to rehab.”
Jonathan waved a hand. “No, no, we talked about it. He’ll go somewhere. He just doesn’t want it to be Bright Horizons.”
Maeve shook her head. “I don’t think so. I just went up to check on him, and he’s saying that he needs to go see Finch instead.”
“Back in the city?” I asked.
“Keith said that Finch texted. He’s still in Kaaterskill.”
The way my conversation with Finch had ended that morning, the possible explanations for his sticking around all seemed very bad. He’d barged into my room without knocking. Luckily, I was already up and dressed, making the bed.
“What happened?” I asked, motioning to his cut lip. But before he could even answer, I gestured for him to keep his voice down. The last thing I needed was anyone catching us having some private conversation.
“Derrick. Told you he’s a psycho,” Finch whispered. He waved the phone in his hand toward the door. “Anyway, I’m taking off. Let’s go.”
He said it so matter-of-factly as he turned back for the door. Like it was a foregone conclusion.
“What are you talking about?” I’d asked.
“Grab your stuff.”
“You must be— no,” I’d said. “Absolutely not. Why would I do that?”
When Finch finally looked at me, there was that familiar, mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Come, or I’ll fire Keith. How about that?”
“You’re extorting me?”
He winked. “Let’s call it forceful courting.”
“Get out, Finch,” I said, and laughed, angrily. “I’m serious. Get the hell out of my room. Right now.”
“Sure thing.” Finch’s eyes went cold. “But Keith will regret this. I’m not joking about firing him.”
“Oh, please, you already fired him,” I said. “I know you did. I saw your new contract. So you can drop this, whatever you think you’re doing.”
He didn’t look surprised that I knew— like he’d already surmised as much. “Yeah, I fired Keith because he’s such a fucking drug addict that his money problems derailed my show at the Serpentine Gallery in London. You know what a show like that means?” He shook his head in disgust. “But I wonder what Keith will say when he finds out you knew all this time that I’d already fired him, and you didn’t tell him.”
“Go to hell, Finch.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, as he headed for the door. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. The choices you make, sometimes the fallout can be . . . far-reaching.”
A minute later I heard the front door downstairs bang shut behind him.
I looked up at the ceiling now and thought of Keith upstairs, still desperately trying to keep Finch happy. I’d made it so much worse by not telling Keith right away about Finch and me, and Finch and him. But I could still come clean now.
“There’s no point in Keith waiting on Finch,” I said, starting for the stairs. “I’ll go talk to him.”