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17
Finn
The last few days have not been easy.
I’ve done my best to show kindness to Emma, but all the while, the guilt has been overwhelming. I feel even worse once I discover how Emma ended up with Nick. Sylvie took me to the side and told me the entire story. I’ll admit that—while on the sidewalk that evening, I was far too busy trying to defend and protect her—afterward, it did irk me how on Earth Emma and Nick had ended up in Cherry Valley. Of course, she would never have accepted that lift in the first place if she had known what kind of guy he really was. And whose fault is that?
Yes. Mine!
When Jackson and Bree came over the day after the incident, I wanted to get Jackson on his own. I needed to talk to someone, to purge my soul, and to rid myself of the relentless battering my mind continued to rain down on me. But Bree stayed close by his side, and there was no opportunity for me to even signal him to get away.
It took a few days for Emma to come out of her funk, and when she did, I was there to try to keep her entertained and distracted. In fact, I haven’t really left her on her own since it happened. I don’t know why. She’s a grown adult who can look after herself. It’s likely because I feel responsible, and if she was going to have a delayed reaction to Nick’s verbal and nearly physical altercation, I wanted to be there to hold her together.
We were working in the garden earlier today when her phone rang. As soon as she answered in Italian, I knew the call was from her new job. An opportunity arose for me to redeem myself, and I grabbed it with both hands. I would have offered to take her to Albany, anyway; I just wanted to be with her. Besides, I was hardly going to let her go all the way to a city she’s never visited by herself.
I’m waiting in the truck for her to finish up when she climbs in with a smile on her face like a cat who got the cream. Clearly, everything went well in the gallery.
“Well. After all that excitement,” I say, “I think we need a treat.”
“A treat?” she says, sounding both surprised and intrigued.
“Yes. Definitely,” I reply, now merging into traffic after leaving the junction. “And I know just the place.”
I know Albany very well. I’ve spent a lot of time coming to and from the city over the years. Not so much since I moved to Washington, of course, but nothing has really changed. All the streets are exactly where I left them, as are the grocery stores, cafés, and ice cream parlors. It’s the latter I’m heading to first.
Marconi’s Ice Cream Parlor is a few blocks up ahead, and when I see a gap by the curb, I pull the truck into the space.
“Wait here,” I instruct as I jump out of the truck.
A few minutes later, I return with two small tubs of ice cream. I can see Emma’s eyes light up with delight through the windshield. Once in the truck, I hand her the tubs. “Hold on to them for me, will you?”
“I haven’t had ice cream in ages,” she says, beaming with delight.
As she says it, I nod in agreement, for as I’m thinking about it, neither have I. Pulling the truck back out into the traffic, I head towards the river.
“Where are we going now?” Emma asks, her eyes flicking all over the place as she tries to take in her surroundings.
“You’ll see,” I reply.
“You sound like my dad,” she says whimsically.
Strangely, we have never spoken much about her father. I’m nearly scared to bring the subject up, given her lack of enthusiasm the last time she spoke about him. But that was then, when I didn’t realize how much I wanted her in my life. Now that I do, I want to know everything about her.
“Where is your father?” I ask. I’ve already figured out that it’s just been her and her mother for a while.
“My dad lives in a town where I used to live, where I grew up. I don’t really see him. Well,” she says, sounding as though she’s going back on her words. “He chose not to have anything to do with us, actually.”
“Us?” I say, now hauling the truck across the roadway and down a small street.
“My sister and me,” Emma says.
“You have a sister?” I sound surprised because I am. I’m almost certain she hasn’t mentioned a sibling in any of our conversations before.
“I do. She’s a nurse at a busy hospital in London.”
While that all sounds interesting, I want to go back to her father. I didn’t know the man, but he was a fool for not wanting someone like Emma in his life. That being said, I didn’t know the circumstances, but I was curious.
“What happened with your dad and mom?” I say, as I travel over the Dunn Memorial Bridge and cross the Hudson River.
