Page 45 of The Master

That sounded a lot like what Roberta had said when we’d first gotten to her place, but since we hadn’t come here for any specific news, Ashlee’s answer now was more polite than the one she’d given her mom.

“Something to drink would be great.” She managed a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Iced tea if you have it. Water if you don’t.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, following Finley into the kitchen after a nod from Ashlee told me she would be all right alone for a couple minutes.

“Anything new on the legal front?” he asked.

“Just some basic stuff.” I took down three glasses from the cabinet next to the fridge. “Jailene is trying to get restraining orders on all three women, and she wants me to keep staying away from the media.”

“She knows what she’s talking about.” Finley filled two glasses with iced tea and put lemon in one of them. “I hope you and Ashlee aren’t spending all your time worrying over this stuff.”

When I didn’t immediately come back with a joke about the two of us being too busy doing other things, Finley frowned.

“What’s going on, Nate?”

I picked up my glass and Ashlee’s before responding. “Ashlee’s just got some stuff going on. It’s not my place to say anything else.”

Finley nodded his understanding, just like I’d known he would, and we headed back into the living room. Ashlee hadn’t sat down yet. Instead, she was standing in front of Finley’s fireplace, looking at the pictures on his mantle.

“Is this you and your mom?” she asked, pointing to one of the pictures.

“It is,” Finley said, moving to stand next to her. “I’m probably about twelve, thirteen there.”

He’d been a gawky teenager back then, still awkward and lanky, not yet the good-looking guy who’d gotten me off the street. His mom had been a beautiful woman, and as I looked at the picture, I again saw the resemblance between her and Ashlee.

“She passed a few years ago,” Finley continued.

“Was she sick?” Ashlee asked, concern in the question.

I understood her worry. With her mother having had cancer, an illness from her father’s side too would cause anyone anxiety.

“Not with anything you need to worry about,” he answered. “She’d been born with a heart defect. A fluke. Her doctors always told her that she shouldn’t have kids. That her heart couldn’t handle the strain.” He lightly touched the picture. “She’d told me more than once that the moment she found out she was pregnant with me, she was happier than she’d ever been.”

I’d heard this before, from Penelope herself. In the years between meeting Finley and Penelope’s death, the three of us had spent a decent amount of time together.

“It was just the two of you?” Ashlee asked, finally taking a seat on the couch. “No dad or siblings?”

“I knew my father.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “He and my mom never married, but he provided for us both. Even included me in his will. Pissed my sister off to no end. Half-sister, I mean.”

This was only the second time I’d heard him mention a sister, and it made me think how little I knew about his father and that side of his family. With a start, I realized that I didn’t even know his father’s last name. In fact, the only thing I knew was that his money came from his father’s side.

“You aren’t close to her then?” Ashlee asked.

“No, not at all.” He sat down across from Ashlee, his posture stiffer than it had been a few seconds ago. “We’ve always known about each other, but…” he shook his head, “she’s not the kind of person I like being around.”

It didn’t sound strange, not exactly, but something about the way he held himself, the way he seemed to be speaking so much more carefully than usual, made me wonder if I was imagining things, or if Finley was purposefully hiding something from Ashlee…or from me.

Thirty

Ashlee

Talking with my father– I still wasn’t used to saying those words – had helped calm the chaos inside me. Nate’s decision to bring me here had been a good one. Finley was the type of person who exuded tranquility. I’d never heard him raise his voice or speak harshly to anyone, but it was even more than that. He had an ease about him that soothed me, and learning about that side of my family was the perfect distraction.

“Was your mom from here too?” I asked.

“Born and raised in the Bronx,” he said with a smile. “One of four girls. Pap died a couple years before Mom, and Grammy moved to Florida with Aunt Matilda after that.”

I had a great-grandmother who was still alive. And at least one great-aunt. The subject of Finley’s half-sister might have been a sensitive one, but there didn’t seem to be the same animosity toward his mom’s side of the family.

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