He also liked women. An impressive series of girlfriends and wives had moved through the place over the years. Her mother had been dead for less than seven months when the first woman showed up with her suitcase. One bag with all her stuff, that was all her father had allowed.
Emery had almost no memory of that woman. She was probably very nice, just like the rest of them, but being a young girl barely out of second grade Emery hadn’t taken the idea of a new woman in the house particularly well. Her father threatened her with boarding school. She never went, but he blamed her for that breakup and the many that followed anyway.
The two stepmothers didn’t stick around long. They came in one after the other, and knowing her father they probably overlapped in some way. He was clear he found fidelity to be an outdated notion. With each new partner, the woman’s age dropped. The last one—Marilee—moved out about a month ago and had been exactly one year younger than Emery, almost to the day.
But that wasn’t her issue with her father. Emery long ago stopped judging or even attempting to understand the revolving door on her father’s bedroom. The women were of a type—blond, young and very pretty. Most tried to be friends with her. One or two tried to be more.
To his credit, he somehow managed to win over really charming women. Emery just didn’t know what they ever saw in him because they deserved better. Every one of them.
Her father wasn’t a nice man. Smart and highly respected, yes. Loving and warm—absolutely not. He was the demanding scholarly type. His expectation for Emery was that she’d model her life after his.
No thank you.
His requirements were very clear and drummed into her from an early age. Nothing that required her to beg for money or perform. Law was out because he found the career path beneath a member of the Finn family. He didn’t think she had the aptitude for medicine, and he was right. Nothing silly. Certainly nothing in the fine arts. When she tried out for the school play as a junior his head nearly shot off.
No, her charge was to find an appropriate academic field and excel. She did the opposite. Not much of a book learner and totally disinterested in the idea of pursuing the years of study needed to earn a PhD, Emery disappointed him. But then, that was nothing new. She’d had a lifetime of practice. She’d always worn the wrong clothes. Had the wrong friends. Had the nerve to act like a teenager.
And he focused much of his anger back then at Tiffany. He’d hated that she didn’t always listen when he told her to do something and how she frequently talked back. She acted like a normal teen in most ways, a little rebellious and maybe a bit more mouthy. She wasn’t impressed with him, and he couldn’t comprehend that.
She also had the nerve to be spontaneous and look just like her mom, the sister-in-law he despised. Little did he know Tiffany smoked and liked to sneak out of the house at night and head to the park to sit on the swings. Those things would have driven him to fury.
Maybe if he had eased up back then things would have ended differently. Emery winced at the thought as she hung her bag on the hook over the shelf that now held her shoes. She knew the logic was flawed and the accusation unfair, but that night years ago she’d been delayed in sneaking out to meet Tiffany because her dad had made her sit in his study and memorize an epic poem by Ezra Pound. Complete torture, in general, and almost the end of the world for a twelve-year-old. It was punishment for some mundane household failure and it meant she was not outside as planned when Tiffany disappeared.
She should probably be grateful that she wasn’t there when it happened. Instead, she blamed him for keeping her from possibly saving Tiffany that night.
She heard footsteps then he rounded the wall of the kitchen and looked at her. Studied her navy pantsuit with his usual look of disgust. “You’re late.”
“And hello to you, Dad.” She didn’t hug him because that never felt right. She settled for going up on tiptoe and kissing his check. Since he was well over six feet and not the type to lean down and make the process easier it took some stretching on her part. She backed away as soon as the task was over. “What are we having?”
“Roast chicken.” He delivered the answer then walked back into the galley-style kitchen, clearly intending for her to follow.
She did, not only because it was her daughterly duty, but because she loved food. The scent of garlic and rosemary filled the small space. In addition to having waiting lists for his class and articles published in journals, her father was an excellent cook. She had no idea what it was about his teaching style that had students lining up to hear him speak. Him lecturing qualified as her nightmare.
But she did know where the cooking skills came from. He took several classes, along with wine tasting seminars, because he hated not being an expert in all things culinary when he thought it paired well with his philosophical pursuits. Emery really didn’t get the logic of that either.
She leaned her back against the counter and watched him search for the proper utensil to lift the potatoes and carrots out of the roast pan. “Smells good.”