Free Strings Attached by Nick Nolan

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