Free Strings Attached by Nick Nolan Page B

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