Strings Attached (6 page)

“I assumed guardianship of your father in 1973, when he was just six years old, under much the same circumstances as yours. But let me go back even further, so you might know the entire story.

“Jonathan’s parents, my brother John and his wife Donna, had divorced rather suddenly. Their separation came as a shock to the family, as we all knew how much he loved his wife and how happy he seemed after having begun his own little family with her. After the divorce, little Jonathan went to live with his mother in Lakewood or Bellflower or some other dreary little suburb, while John remained here with us.

“As I mentioned, it was the early ’70s, and my brother was called, as were so many young men, to fight in Vietnam. Naturally, we were sick with anxiety, and our father schemed and pulled strings and plotted for him to stay here, or at the very least to be shielded from combat if he had to serve. But none of us predicted that he would himself decide to go to that godforsaken country and fight that hideous war, which at that time was winding down into a humiliating defeat for our soldiers.

“You see, my brother had just lost his family and was understandably discouraged. And being a headstrong and honorable Tyler male, he believed it was his duty to go there and battle the Communists. To our dismay, there was no reasoning with him otherwise. He was killed in a helicopter crash only two weeks after his arrival in Saigon. But as heavily as we grieved, at least we had the comfort of knowing he hadn’t become one of those unfortunate POWs or MIAs rotting forgotten in those jails, while our politicians made deals with their lying diplomats.

“The last time I saw Jonathan’s mother was at my brother’s memorial service. You could tell she blamed herself for his death; she knew, as did we all, that if she hadn’t divorced him, he’d never have volunteered to fight overseas. Donna looked physically ill that day, as if every fiber of her being was woven with regret. And poor little Jonathan, just old enough to comprehend that his beloved daddy was never coming back. It was enough to break your heart just seeing him standing bravely in his little navy suit, saluting his father’s flag-draped casket.”

“So why do you think she blamed herself?” asked Jeremy.

“There had been rumors, of course. Still, no one was certain what had destroyed their marriage so suddenly. If she’d been unfaithful to him, which I believe she had, he was too much the gentleman to make that information known, even to his immediate family. Whatever had been the cause of their divorce died with him, and then a short time later with her.”

“She died too?”

“The coroner ruled it an accidental death, but I believe it was suicide. She ingested more than a few Valium and, if memory serves, a fifth of Southern Comfort. She was only twenty-seven at the time, as had been my brother. Your father was only four. A four-year-old orphan from a broken home.

“Of course, I volunteered to be Jonathan’s guardian. And I’ll tell you right now that there was no more heart-wrenching sight than your father as a boy, wandering around the house by himself, never playing or laughing or running—at least not for the first few years or so that he was with me.

“It wasn’t until he reached twelve or thirteen that he began to heal and come out of his shell, at that time in life when most boys are retreating into one. Eventually, he pursued sports and other extracurricular activities. In fact, he won a few state ribbons for swimming and later debate.

“Your father grew into one of the most handsome young men in the area. We Tylers are Irish, but Donna had been Italian, and the mixture of the two bloodlines was quite spectacular. Jonathan was clearly what is referred to as ‘the best and the brightest.’ Bill and I were certain that he was headed on the straight and narrow road to a brilliant, fulfilling life.” She turned her head, looked out to sea, and then sighed heavily. Then she turned back to him and removed her sunglasses, and Jeremy saw that her eyes were actually copper-colored. “In 1987, your father was a senior at Ballena Beach High, and with his athletic ability as well as having earned excellent marks all through school, we were expecting he would have his choice of the finest colleges and universities in the country, if not the world. He’d been approached by Harvard, Yale, Stanford, even Oxford.”

“This must be the part where my mom comes in,” said Jeremy.

“A clever assumption, dear boy,” she replied with a sad laugh. “You’ll please forgive me for saying so, but your mother was what I will euphemistically refer to as
common.
And please know that I do not refer to her family’s unfortunate socioeconomic status. To be blunt, she scratched her way into Jonathan’s social circle by using her floozy looks and by being a colossal manipulator. From what I recall, the more respectable girls would have nothing to do with her because they knew if they looked cross-eyed at her she would steal their boyfriends or worse, just for sport. She eventually clawed her way to the position of head cheerleader or drill-team captain or some other such nonsense, which unfortunately put her in close proximity to your father at all the school functions, including his illustrious swim meets.”

“She was a drill-team captain?” Jeremy asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes, and to be honest, she was quite a knockout. I remember overhearing some boys describing her as a
stone fox,
whatever the devil that meant, although I quickly came to understand the
stone
part. With her bleached blonde hair she looked just like that girl from, what was that insipid television show? Yes,
Dynasty.
Heather Something-or-other. Only more impressive. In the early ’80s, every young woman in Ballena Beach looked as if she was impersonating that actress; only with your mother, it looked as if Heather Whatever was impersonating her.

“I’ll never forget seeing her for the first time at the high school swimming championships, after Jonathan had placed first in the butterfly competition. We had unwittingly sat next to her in the front row of the bleachers, down by the pool’s edge. I didn’t know at the time who she was, but I took one look at her and thought,
That girl is trouble.
Imagine my horror when Jonathan rose from the water in his black swimsuit, all glistening muscles and white teeth, and this squealing bimbo ran to him and pressed her breasts against his half-naked body.

“The rest is history. Of course, she ‘accidentally’ became pregnant by him; and even though every girl in the country was routinely running off for abortions, Tiffany remembered suddenly that she was Catholic and had no choice other than to have the baby. And predictably, Jonathan offered to marry her.

“Of course, I knew the only reason she wanted the baby was because it would be her ticket out of the trailer park, which it was, literally; her family actually lived in a mobile home if you can believe the cliché. She and Jonathan married shortly after the end of the school year and took up residence in the guesthouse at the rear of our property. Naturally, they were miserable.

“You were born in March following their graduation. But if I had been opposed to her having decided to keep you, after you were born I was equally relieved she’d made the decision she had. You were the most agreeable and beautiful baby, so calm and quiet, never a trouble to anyone. Everyone loved you; even I began thinking myself a grandmother.”

His aunt paused for a moment, deep in thought, staring intently out to sea, the faint breeze tousling her hair. Suddenly the waitress appeared, and with a flourish placed the wrong dishes before them.

“Enjoy!” the girl piped.

“The other way, dear,” she corrected. “And a better Chardonnay this time.” She tapped the crystal rim. “Or better yet, a glass of that lovely Viognier that Maurice keeps in back.”

Jeremy watched with interest as his aunt’s tongue loosened with each sip of wine, and he began to feel afraid of what he might hear next. He stabbed at his salmon steak; she ignored her salad. A fly landed on the rim of her plate, and she waved it away absently.

“As I’m certain you know, your parents were ill-suited as a couple, and they grew visibly more unhappy with each passing week. Your mother left one night, taking you with her, claiming that Jonathan had hit her during a disagreement, which, of course, he had not. She even called the police and tried to press charges.

“We assumed that divorce was imminent, and I consulted with the family lawyers and a private investigator about deeming her unfit to care for you. After all, you are Jonathan’s son and would eventually inherit a substantial share of the Tyler holdings.

“Of course, your mother’s family got involved in the dispute; they all had a nose for other people’s money. In any case, both parties began building cases for when the time came for custody to be determined.”

“But why would my mother’s family want to keep me?”

“Jeremy, dear, has no one told you that on your eighteenth birthday your trust becomes available to you?”

“What trust?”

“
What trust?
Good Lord, that woman! She’s kept you in the dark about everything, hasn’t she?”

“I guess…”

“I’ll explain the Tyler Trust to you with the assistance of the family attorneys at a later time. Suffice to say that this coming March you will be a wealthy young man. But please allow me to finish my story.”

The waitress returned to deliver Katharine’s wine and to refill his tea. Jeremy watched his aunt skewer a plump pink shrimp with her fork, swirl it in some dressing, and pop it in her mouth without a sound, chewing noiselessly while dabbing at the corners of her mouth with the end of the napkin that she kept anchored on her lap with her other hand. And suddenly, he felt far away, as if he were watching this event on television.
A wealthy young man,
she had just said.
A wealthy young man.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Overcooked,” she remarked, then threw back a swig of her freshened wine.

“As I was saying, the divorce proceedings began, and the custody battle ensued. Because your father had gallantly opposed a prenuptial, your mother was entitled to half his assets. Fortunately, your father’s financial advisors had invested his share of the trust well before the marriage, and the dissolution of these numerous investments would have taken considerable time. Our attorneys astutely suggested your mother might be happier with a cash settlement, which could be dispensed immediately.

“Of course, she opted for the payoff, which at the time was in the neighborhood of $200,000. Little had she known that if she’d waited three months for even a partial dissolution, she would have been set for the rest of her life—although with the way she ran through money, she would’ve eventually become destitute. It was like she was determined to make a shambles out of her life.

“And with the property having been settled, the only battle left was over the custody of you, my dear. Our private investigator had dredged up some interesting facts about your mother—about her indiscretions and such, which I won’t embarrass you with. There even seemed to be some question as to whether or not you were Jonathan’s son, but one look at you told your lineage better than a blood test. You had just turned two and were the spitting image of your father at the same age, just as you are now at seventeen.

“Our attorneys felt that they had the case against your mother sewn up tight, and the final court date to grant custody was set.

“What happened next was terrible; it took me years to stop blaming myself. I should have demanded that he not go see her that night, and I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I did not.”

“The accident?” asked Jeremy.

“Yes,
the accident,
only it wasn’t. On the Friday night before the court date, your father went up to our chalet in Lake Estrella to try to work things out one last time with Tiffany. And don’t ask me why, because his life finally seemed to be in order; he’d been accepted to Harvard and was dating this beautiful girl from a good family that lived down the road in Castellamare, Kimberly Van-Something. And it looked as if the courts would agree that I should raise you as I had Jonathan, at least until he could finish college and set himself up professionally. For the first time since throwing his life away on a girl who was so beneath him, the vision we’d had for Jonathan’s life appeared to be materializing.

“There were no witnesses to the crash. It was late, and he’d just left Tiffany after visiting with her. The police concluded that his mishap was unfortunate, but rather routine for that infamous stretch of road. He had, the report stated, lost control around a curve and had gone over the edge of the mountainside, having narrowly missed the stretch of guardrail that might have saved his life. Your father was killed instantly, of course. Only…” her voice caught suddenly, her composure shattered by a burst of emotion. “…only I used to lie awake at night imagining what thoughts must have gone through his head as the car went over the side. Poor Jonathan, orphaned as a boy and then sailing over the edge into blackness to his own death. Dying all alone on that mountainside. It just devastates me even now to think of it!”

Jeremy looked away as she used the ends of her napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes then blow her nose. He fidgeted in his chair, gathering the courage to ask the question he dreaded hearing the answer to.

“So what makes you think his death…was my mother’s fault?”

Moments passed before she answered. “Your father kept that car, that black Porsche, in
perfect
order, and he was an exceptional driver. In fact, I sent him to driving school. It was the only way I’d let him drive something so powerful. And the weather was clear—no rain, no fog, no snow.”

“So then what happened?”

“Of course, a deer might’ve jumped in front of him, and it would’ve been in keeping with his nature to avoid hitting a defenseless animal. The police offered that as a probable cause, because there were no tire tracks of another vehicle or any other evidence that pointed to his having had contact with another car. It’s just my intuition, and the timing of it all, that tells me he was murdered. That and the look on your mother’s face at Jonathan’s memorial.”