Read Online Pawleys Island-lowcountry 5 by Dorothea Benton Frank - Free Book Online Page B

moving to the light.”
    “What in the world are you talking about?” Rebecca was either politely stonewalling us, getting down to the dirt, or she had a fascination with the other side.
    “Well,” said Miss Olivia, moving closer to Rebecca, fully ready to reveal the goods on Alice, “she was a young woman in love with a fellow from the wrong side of the tracks…”
    “He was the son of a merchant—not a rag picker, Mother.”
    “Don’t interrupt me, son, or I’ll go get a switch! Anyway, as I was saying, her family wanted her to marry the son of another plantation owner so they could join the properties.”
    “It’s always about money,” I said and gave Huey a little jab in the ribs.
    “Quite,” he said.
    Miss Olivia cut her eyes at us and continued. “Well, the story goes that she took this young man’s ring, caught a terrible fever and had to be brought home from school to recuperate. She was very ill and her brother spotted the ring around her neck on a chain or a ribbon or some such thing that kept it near her heart. He snatched it away and threw it in the Waccamaw, and Alice has been coming back ever since, looking for her ring. Isn’t that the saddest story in the world?”
    Huey played four violins with his fingers and Miss Olivia reached over and slapped his hand. Huey and I smiled along with Miss Olivia, but Rebecca was somber.
    “What’s wrong, honey?” I said.
    “It’s not the saddest story in the world. Mine’s worse, don’t you think?”
    By this time, Rebecca was working on her third glass of wine, Miss Olivia had knocked back her third sherry and Huey had drained his third bourbon. The tide turned and the elephant was on the table for inspection.
    “How old are your children?” Huey asked.
    “My daughter, Samantha, is almost fifteen and my son, Evan, is almost thirteen.”
    “And they’re in camp in Maine?” I said.
    “Yes. Sami’s at Arcadia and Evan’s at Pinehurst. The camps are very close to each other. They’ve been going for years.”
    Rebecca’s voice became quiet, and she looked at the river like she might like to be in it, drifting along with its current to a better life in a faraway place. Either I was going to speak now or let it go for another night. You know me. I spoke.
    “Who was the judge?” I said.
    “Campbell. Avery Campbell,” Rebecca said. “Look, I really don’t want to sit up here and monopolize the night talking about my problems. There’s nothing to be done about it anyway.”
    “Dear,” Miss Olivia said and reached out to Rebecca and covered her hand with her own, “I just don’t understand. Why in the world would a judge allow this to happen?”
    “Because it was what my children wanted,” Rebecca said. “They wanted to live with their father.”
    “And because he’s a lazy judge who prefers a clean desk over a long hearing. Let me explain it, Rebecca,” I said. “Miss Olivia? I know this is going to sound crazy, but here it is. In this state of ours a child can be heard by the courts at age thirteen.”
    “Thirteen! That’s outrageous!” Huey said. “When I was thirteen I didn’t know what socks to wear!”
    “Well, sometimes the law protects children and sometimes it doesn’t. The closer the child is to eighteen, the more the court will listen to their preference for custodial parent. All Rebecca’s husband would have had to do was to get the children to sign papers saying why they wanted to live with their father and why they didn’t want to live with Rebecca. The stronger their complaint, the more the court listens. Especially if both children express a desire for one parent over the other—well, that’s how it is.”
    “That’s horrible,” Miss Olivia said.
    “And there was a statement from the children’s guidance counselor saying that the children constantly complained to her about their home life. About me, basically.”
    “Oh great. The larger problem is that it should be against the law for one spouse to