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“I read Pop Syad’s letters and his will.”
“Finally,” she said, raising her face and making a gesture toward the sky. She turned to me once more. “Does his crazy overprotectiveness make sense?”
“That’s why I’m here. According to that first letter, my mother started drinking when she was fifteen.”
I stated it as fact, but it came out more as a question, and Cynthia answered it as such.
“I guess so. That was before my time, of course, but Mr. Syad didn’t know what to do about it. That’s why he left such a big chunk of money to those rehabilitation facilities.”
“The one I went to received five million dollars.”
She nodded, her face set in solemn lines. “That’s part of why Cam sent you there. He called Steve, who called me to see if I knew of a good place. I guess the ones Cam’s friends had gone to were nice, catering to whims, but didn’t always stick.”
I shivered as I remembered how I’d felt after the bottle of Whistlepig earlier this week. In some ways, waking up from a blackout with my bed mere feet away had felt worse than drying out in the facility. Maybe that was the whole point: the pain kept me from repeating the stupidity, but I had to be sober enough to feel the pain.
“Do you know why Mom started drinking?”
Cynthia took a deep drink of her tea as she stared out over the grounds. Her large cottage sat on about twenty-five forested acres, though the acre or so surrounding the house was cleared and groomed into Syad Estate garden perfection. This had been one of my grandfather’s homes, and Cynthia’s favorite, which was why Pop Syad left it to her.
“Probably for the same reason you used. She’d just lost her mother, she’d been very sheltered, and the modeling career was demanding.” Cynthia sighed as she settled the glass against her slightly rounded belly. “Your mother was beautiful, Nash. So lovely and fun, but she was insecure. She never felt like she belonged in that world. Then she met Brad, and he made those insecurities much worse. Your grandfather was against the marriage from the beginning—everyone could see Brad Porter was a junkyard dog. But he flattered Carolina in the ways she needed it. He also got her in the family way within a couple of months—otherwise I believe Mr. Syad would have been successful in parting the two. But the trust fund opened with Lev’s birth, and that’s when the situation devolved.”
She took a sip of her tea. I did the same, mostly because I didn’t know what to say.
“Your mother shared the Syad stubborn streak, so I could be wrong. Or that could be why she stuck it out with Brad even when she knew he was screwing everything and anyone he could sweet-talk into it. Your mother might have used sex to deflect from her other issues, but make no mistake: Brad cheated first and often.”
“Brad made it sound like she had many affairs, like she had a sex addiction.”
“Doesn’t that help him sleep at night,” she muttered.
“But that doesn’t explain Pop Syad’s need to control my mother, then me, through his will.”
She sighed. “He worried you’d turn out like her.”
“I almost did.”
She waited.
And the light dawned. “That’s why he left so much of his money in a trust to my heir via Aya Aldringham.”
“He made that change after he saw you with her. Well, he’d planned to do so from the time you called that very first day she arrived. Remember? You asked Steve to deal with some snot-faced little shit, and then called Mr. Syad that evening to ensure the brat never returned to Holyoke.”
I smirked, pleased with her description of Lord Prescott. Yeah, I still hated that guy.
“Anyway, Irwan Didri, Aya’s Jeddi, kept us up to date on your relationship until his death. Then Aya’s mother took over the task.”
“And I was calm, grounded with Aya.”
“It was like watching two perfect pieces click into place. You two balanced each other. She was quiet, bookish, enjoyed being home. You were loud, brash… Full of life. A performer from the day you were born. But you were also filled with the same self-doubt your mother struggled with. You need Aya to give you the confidence to believe in you. Not the music you create, but in your self-worth.”
“Yeah, I do. And Pop Syad saw that, too.”
“He was a Draconian old coot. I miss him.” She raised her eyebrows. “Now what’s this I heard from Steve? Did you push Aya away again?” She shook her head. “You kids sure make a happy-ever-after hard. For hell’s sake. You love her.”
I nodded. “She’s everything.”
Cynthia’s index finger waggled an inch from my nose. “Then fix it.”
“I plan to. That’s why I’m here. To understand. To…well, it sounds stupid, but to let go.”
