Strings Attached (25 page)

“So I made his life miserable. I screamed at him and laughed at him and tried to wreck any bit of good feeling he ever had for me. I even stole some of Katharine’s jewelry once to buy coke with, mostly because I needed it, but also to make myself look even worse. But he still wouldn’t let me go; he wanted to keep you near him. He said he wouldn’t divorce me unless I gave you up for good.”

“So you held me for ransom.”

“I’m not proud of what I did, Jeremy. But let me finish. One night your uncle made me an offer. He said they just finished that big lake house and I could live there with you in the meantime, and he would work on getting it so I could divorce Jonathan and keep you, and he could supply me with anything I needed. But I had to trust him and do everything like he told me.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like I had to get Johnny up there, and Bill had a photographer hide, and I tried to get your father to hit me so we could prove to a judge that he was violent.”

“And did he?”

“Sort of. Anyone else would’ve given me four black eyes.” She nodded slowly. “But he…only grabbed me hard. Just then, the photographer snapped a picture, and I could see in Jonathan’s eyes that he was more hurt than anything else. Then he took off out of the driveway going about 90. From what I understand, it was—” her voice caught “—only about 15 minutes later that he…you know…he went over the side.”

Amazed, Jeremy saw tears filling her eyes and two snot slugs peeking from her nostrils. He’d seen her cry too many times before as a sort of
do this for poor me
manipulation, or a
you don’t know how hard all of this is on me
routine. This, however, looked wholly different. Genuine, even. He looked at the wreck she was with her wrong fancy clothes and clown-wig hair, her papery yellow skin and bloated belly. Had he ever seen anyone so sorrowful in his life? “I can see why someone might
think
his death was sort of your fault,” he said gently, “but it really sounds like it wasn’t. He shouldn’t have been going so fast.”

“But that’s not all, honey. It happened a month before your father turned twenty-one.”

“So?”

“After his birthday, his part of the Tyler Trust would be his, including the parts of the businesses that Bill controlled.”

“And?”

“So Jonathan hated Bill, and Bill hated him back. They fought all the time about the way things were managed, and I even heard Jonathan accuse him of stealing money. Right to his face.”

“Embezzlement?”

“And running drugs besides. My old connection here in town slipped up once when I couldn’t pay. He told me I should go see Mr. Mortson from now on—that he could get it cheaper and faster. So one night during a fight, I threw that in Johnny’s face. But he didn’t believe me at first.”

This was too much even for his mother to fabricate. “But how could Bill have been involved in all that? Wouldn’t Katharine have found out?”

“I can’t tell you what Katharine knows or doesn’t,” she replied mysteriously. “All I can tell you is that Bill does all the money stuff. The point is that your father was trying to get some solid information to go to the police, in case he needed to.”

“Why wouldn’t he have just gone to Katharine first?”

“I think at the time he wasn’t sure of her involvement, and even if he found out she was caught up in all of this, he’d probably already decided not to blow the whistle—he loved her that much. All I know is that your father was getting close to his birthday and closer to the truth, and Bill knew he would lose everything if the FBI found out about the drugs. Then your uncle has me do this whole photographer thing, and the next thing I know, they’re dragging his car back up five thousand feet of mountain because Katharine wants to make sure I hadn’t sliced the brake lines.”

“It still could have been an accident.”

“But he was a really great driver, just like he was a great swimmer. And he had a real level head. Remember what I said about him not hitting me when I was trying to get him to? And he never drank or did drugs, and the weather was clear that night. I remember like it was yesterday.”

“So what do you think happened?”

“I think someone pushed him off that road, or he swerved to avoid something. Believe me,” she laughed, “I wouldn’t put it past Bill to tie up his own mother and set her in the middle of the highway if it meant more money in his wallet.”

“But you can’t prove it.”

“I know. But after Jonathan’s accident, I went to Bill and said I knew about the drugs and the embezzling and the accident really being a murder. I just bluffed my way through my whole theory and told him I would go to the police unless he paid me off. Which he did.”

“He let you blackmail him?”

“In a way. But I didn’t have proof, and he knew it. He said he just didn’t want anyone poking around because
no big corporation was run by the book,
and he also said I had a colorful imagination—that’s how he put it. But he did say if I talked to the police then he was sure it would come out about my coke habit, which he couldn’t have known about except from Ari, who was my connection. They were communicating, see? And if the court found out about my addiction, they would take you away and I wouldn’t have anything—no child, no support, maybe even some jail time. He even said the authorities might think I had something to do with the accident, since I was the last one to see him alive.”

“You’re telling me things I can’t believe,” he said, shaking his head.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I doubt it.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of Katharine’s suit. “So now do you see? You’ve got to get away until it’s safe. And in the meantime, I can talk to him like I want to make another deal with him to keep quiet.”

“Why did you let me come here in the first place if you knew all of this?”

“First of all, the real reason why I fought so hard to get out of rehab early, besides hating every second of it, was to make sure you were OK. I couldn’t wait until March, because that’s when you turn eighteen and I might be too late to help you. And second, I didn’t have a choice. The state placed you here. Plus, they had me on some heavy meds to get through the DTs, and that shit makes you feel really good.” She nodded. “Besides, what was I going to tell your social worker? That the Tylers are drug dealers and probably murderers?”

“Why don’t you just tell all this to the police? You’re not doing coke anymore, are you?”

“Of course not. That’s when I started drinking, to get off the coke. And believe me, I found out real quick that booze is a lot harder to give up than blow. And maybe I’ll still go to the police someday soon, but I’m afraid of what’ll happen. I mean, I think there’s still this whole zero tolerance thing about property owned by drug dealers. They could take everything away from your family. Then we’d all be screwed.”

Jeremy checked his watch. “I’ve gotta get moving soon, to go pick up some friends.”

“That’s good. It’ll give me a chance to talk to him, alone.”

“Will you be OK?”

“There’s not much he can take from me, Jeremy, except you. And he certainly wouldn’t try to kill me, because I’m not important enough to threaten him. I’m not, as they say on TV, a ‘credible witness’ in court. But I’m happy you’re worried about me.”

They sighed in unison.

“Mom, there’s one more thing I need to tell you…”

She looked up and was stunned by his poise, by his emerging grandeur, as he stood tall against the wind with the setting sun casting a tangerine halo behind his rumpled hair. She saw that her son was a man now, and like it or not, he’d proved just now to be an independent spirit governed by free will and bursting with hopes and dreams and determination that both awed and amazed her. Like a bone that heals stronger once broken, she figured the years living with her had somehow made him more perfect, even more imposing than his father. She thought of how Mary might have felt beholding the grown Jesus, although she figured she was more the Mary Magdalene type.

How could she have produced this noble creature with his finely molded features, those amazing brown eyes—the mirrors of Jonathan’s—so deeply expressive of the pain he’d endured because of her, yet miraculously devoid of bitterness. Those eyes, they shined with something like…love.

Love, love at last. Exactly what she hadn’t known she’d been looking for all along. What all the money in the world would never buy her. How stupid she’d been! She ached suddenly to take back every drink that had stolen moments away from him, as well as every other reckless and self-serving act that dotted the landscape of their collective history like a thousand steaming piles of shit.

“Honey, Jeremy, son. You don’t have to tell me right now. We both have important things to do tonight. We can talk about it later.” He was probably going to tell her how much he loved that girlfriend he’d mentioned earlier and that he was thinking of asking her to marry him. But she was too exhausted for the ensuing conversation, and besides, she needed to get back to the guesthouse for her smokes and a snack. “I think we’re already out of time for now. You go on ahead; it’ll take me a while to climb back up.”

And he thought he saw in her face that she knew already what he wanted to say, and for the first time in his life, he was certain that she accepted him and loved him exactly as he was. His heart nearly exploded with joy as he leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close, warming the windblown side of his face with her tears. They held each other for a moment, and then she released her son and watched as he bounded through the sand toward the stairway.

Upon reaching the top, Jeremy turned and waved at the diminutive woman below. And as he watched her waving enthusiastically back, he missed seeing the furtive figure that moved from the guesthouse across the flagstone path to the main house.

His stomach growled. He needed to grab a bite and then get moving.

He trotted through the kitchen, where he snatched two slices of cold pizza from the refrigerator. He was nearly to the top of the stairs when the gravel-grind of Bill’s voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Did your mother and you have a nice chat?”

He turned around slowly. “Yeah, Uncle Bill. We worked a lot of things out—between us.” He began moving upward again.

“That’s wonderful, Jeremy. Family comes first, as I always say.”

“Yep. Me too. Well, see you later.” He started upward again.

“Just a moment, son. What was it that you were saying earlier about your grades improving?”

“Oh.” Was that what this was all about? “I picked up a transcript today for USC.”

“Why don’t you bring it down and share it with your aunt and me? She’s been bragging for months about your academic prowess, but I don’t believe we’ve ever seen your actual grades.” He smiled in his lipless way. “We’ll be waiting in the drawing room.”

“But I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to be somewhere by eight.”

“I’m sure it will only take a minute. Your aunt has been waiting for this for months.”

“OK.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back down in a sec.”

He jogged down the long hallway to his room. Why did his uncle care so much about his transcripts all of a sudden? He only had a few minutes to spare, so he couldn’t even shower or figure out what he would wear or anything.

Fuck!

He stuffed both slices of pizza in his mouth at once while snatching the thickly taped envelope from the top of his desk, then threw open his closet door and pulled his father’s jacket off the hanger. He figured it would be the perfect garment for his “outing” to the Frat House, seeing as it was a letterman’s jacket and it had
TYLER
spelled out clearly across the shoulders. Besides, Aunt Katharine hadn’t seen it on him yet, so maybe it would help defuse the shock of learning what his actual grades were, along with the realization that he had been stretching the truth to her all along. What a night to deal with this!

He scampered down the stairs and then padded apprehensively into the elegant parlor where the Christmas tree still shimmered in the corner.

His aunt’s face broke into a huge, goofy grin upon seeing him in the jacket. His uncle’s face registered cold shock.

“I gotta go soon, but here are my transcripts, Aunt Katharine. Uncle Bill said you guys wanted to see them right away.” He held out the package.

Bill snatched it from him and handed it over to his wife.

“Jeremy, how remarkably that jacket fits you!” she noted happily while unsealing the envelope. “I can’t tell you what it does for me to see you wearing it.”

“Neither can I,” his uncle added quietly.

“I love it. Thanks so much for saving it for me.”

“As if I could ever have done anything else,” she murmured, then unfolded the thick papers. “Now let’s see what we have here, dear one, then we’ll send you on your way.” She carefully scanned the first page, then the second and third, and then went back to the first. “Jeremy,
darling!
Why didn’t you tell me?”

Something was wrong. She looked altogether too happy for a C average.

“Bill, just look at these grades!” she exclaimed, handing the stack over to him.

“I can explain,” Jeremy began.

“I’ll say,” Bill interrupted. “Why with these, you could go to any Ivy League school in the nation! And look at those SAT scores!
The ninety-eighth percentile!
” He stepped toward the young man and clapped him on the back. “We knew you were being modest, but this exceeds even our wildest hopes. Doesn’t it, dear?”

“I must agree that it does,” Katharine chirped. “But I don’t want you to think that we ever doubted your word.”

“Of course not,” the old man added, sending him a friendly wink. “A Tyler is always to be trusted.”

“Can I see that?” Jeremy asked cautiously, hand outstretched.

“Of course. I should think you’d even want to frame it,” Bill nearly bellowed, handing it over.

He blinked unbelievingly. Here was a list of all the classes he had taken since middle school, and next to each was an A, or an A-, even an A+. He scanned up and down the lines for the ones he remembered for sure. His D in Algebra was an A. His C-in American Literature was an A. Even his tenth-grade D in Government was an A.