"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Abigail, I am positive."

"Okay, then I'll take care of it."

The night before the trial, we all checked into the Governor's House Inn on Meeting Street, within walking distance of the courthouse. Huey arranged all the lodging and orchestrated our accommodations. He and Byron had the Kitchen House. Byron was to stay upstairs in one suite and Huey would be downstairs in the other. It had two fireplaces from 1760 and very generous living and sleeping spaces on both floors.

"I'm taking the whole kit and caboodle," he said. "Byron can organize cocktails on the porch and we can discuss the day in private."

Miss Olivia was ensconced in the Wagener Room on the first floor for ease of mobility. Rebecca was registered in the Laurens Room, and I was in the Middleton Suite. Our rooms had lush canopied beds, fireplaces and generous outdoor sitting areas. The Rutledge Suite was reserved for Claudia. You would have thought we were having a wedding instead of a divorce.

"I am so glad I got here!" Claudia said when she opened her door for Rebecca and me.

"I'm so glad you came!" Rebecca said, hugging her friend.

"Well, if I have to be subpoenaed, this is the way to suffer through it!"

"Gosh," I said, walking in and looking around, "one room is as beautiful as the other! Did y'all see the living room and parlor?"

"Charming," Claudia said. "Absolutely charming."

"Yes, it truly is." Rebecca said.

That night we, including Byron, had dinner at McCrady's, and Julian joined us. We talked and ate but even the delicious dinners of baked Chilean sea bass, beef Wellingtons and wild salmon could not diminish the morning's business, which weighed heavily on our minds. We all decided to turn in early. We walked the short distance back to our inn and said good night.

"Try and get some rest," I said to Rebecca.

"Listen, Abigail. No matter what happens tomorrow, I just want you to know how much I appreciate all you've done and are trying to do for me. You've opened my eyes to a lot of things, you know."

"And you've opened mine too."

Even though I balked, Julian decided to drive back to Kiawah Island.

"It's too late, Julian! The road's dark and..."

"Shhh! Save your objections for tomorrow. I want to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in that courtroom!"

"Are you coming too?"

"Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss it!"

We were the first case on the docket and arrived there thirty minutes early, going through security screening, giving a moment's thought to what the world has come to that we need metal detectors everywhere. I had three boxes of papers with me-bank statements, tax returns, credit card statements, printed dialogue from Nat's ventures into teenage chat rooms, receipts from adult novelty stores and the whole gamut of damning detail, including photographs of important occasions in the children's lives where Nat is either missing or, if he's photographed, obviously disgruntled. In addition, I had a historic amount of cards and letters written to Rebecca from Nat and the children over the years, demonstrating their affection for her.

It had always been my habit to arrive early to give my client the opportunity to calm him or herself and get used to the idea of being in a courtroom, which can be extremely intimidating for anyone.

We had subpoenaed Jeff Mahoney, Charlene Johnson, Claudia Kelly, our accountant and our valuator. The population of the courtroom was sparse. There were a few folks of unknown allegiance sitting in the back rows who gave us no notice as we filed in, except one. Tisdale Simms himself. I would have known him anywhere.

I spotted Claudia reading a newspaper. Huey, Byron and Miss Olivia were seated to her right. I dropped the boxes on our table and went back to say hello.

"Early bird gets the worm," Claudia said. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," I said, hoping chance was not my best weapon.

"You go get 'em, Abigail darling!" Huey said and blew me a kiss.

"Abigail!" Miss Olivia said and curled her finger for me to come to her side. I shimmied down the row and put my ear close to her mouth. "Mash that son of a b-i-t-c-h like a grape, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best."

A man touched my arm. "You're Abigail Thurmond?"

"Yes."

"I'm Jeff Mahoney," he said.

"Ah ha!" I said and shook his hand. "Thank you for being here."

"No problem. Glad to help."

Buoyed by their support, I made my way back to the defendant's table with Rebecca. Julian was nowhere in sight, but I guessed he would probably slip in and out. I was sure he had his own agenda for the day.

Nat and Harry Albright arrived, took their places and the games began.

"All rise!"

Judge Adrian Shelby came through the door, and I was relieved to see that her judge's robes had feminine detail. This would bode well for her opinion of Rebecca, who was dressed like the consummate Junior Leaguer. Judge Shelby wore a lace scarf at her throat to which she had attached a beautiful cameo. Julian had told me all about her. This judge was a lady, reputed for her genteel manner and her steel spine. She did not suffer fools, arrogance in counsel or witnesses, or any of the games played to sway her opinion. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Virginia and she earned her JD at Harvard Law School. If you screwed with Judge Shelby, you rued the day you did. I could feel Nat and Harry squirming without even looking.

"Thank you for your respect to the court," she said. "Please be seated. Just as a reminder, all cell phones are to be turned off-not that you'd get great reception anyway. All right then. Is the plaintiff ready?"

"Yes, your honor, we are," Albright said.

"And the defendant?"

"Yes, your honor, we are."

"Are there any preliminary matters to bring to the court's attention before we begin?"

"No, your honor," Albright said.

I looked around to see if Charlene was there, and she was not. "Uh, excuse me your honor, one of my witnesses seems to be absent."

"The name of the witness please?"

"Charlene Johnson."

Judge Shelby went through the list of subpoenaed witnesses and found her name. There was documentation that Charlene had been served and was supposed to be there. Judge Shelby sighed and arched her eyebrow.

"Do you know where Miss Johnson might be found at this hour of the day?"

"At her place of business. Perhaps."

"Which is?"

"Simms Autoworld out on Highway 17 South."

She flipped through the papers a little more. "She is employed by your client, Mr. Albright?"

"Yes, she is," Albright said.

"She is the paramour of Mr. Simms," I said.

Judge Shelby shot me a look, which at first seemed like rockets from hell would rain down all over me, and then her face softened. She turned to the deputy sheriff standing in the area of the bench.

"Well, let's just see if one of Charleston's finest can bring her in. I just hate it when we invite someone to a party and they don't show up. Let's go get her. Now."

The deputy nodded and spoke into his two-way radio. Another officer appeared, took Charlene's name and address from the judge and left. Charlene was about to have a bad day. The story of her being arrested and taken away in handcuffs would do very little to elevate her social status among her new neighbors on Tradd Street.

Judge Shelby spoke again. "Can we get this underway until Ms. Johnson joins us?"

Harry Albright stood and gave a brief opening statement that was so foul it made me wonder how he could live with himself.

"Your honor, my client Nathaniel Simms, a leader in this community, is a fine man. As everyone knows, Simm's Autoworld has spearheaded more charitable events than any other privately owned corporation in Charleston. His generosity is renowned. He is loved and respected throughout the community by people from all walks of life. And yet sadly, there is no joy to be found in his own home. The atmosphere has deteriorated to one of walking on eggshells to avoid the rage of his wife. His wife is cold and withholds affection. In addition she has become a drunk, a drug addict and a harpy. Their relationship has become so intolerable and eroded to such a point that he feels compelled to seek divorce, permanent custody of their two children and seeks to repair the children's self-esteem and general mental health by keeping them in their own home. Thank you." Harry Albright sighed dramatically, shot me a look and took his seat.

I stood and positioned myself in front of the judge, made eye contact with her and then turned back to Harry and Nat.

"Your honor? I think it was Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof who, through the genius of Tennessee Williams, coined the phrase bull and mendacity. If you lived to be one hundred and twenty-seven years old, you would never meet a finer lady than Rebecca Simms. She is neither a drunk nor a drug addict. She is no more a harpy than the average mother who tries to get her children to perform normal, age-appropriate household chores. No, your honor, my colleague's description of Rebecca Simms is bull and mendacity, which we can easily prove." I turned back to Judge Shelby. "It is her husband, Nat Simms, who is the scoundrel here. He is an adulterer. He is verbally and physically abusive. He is intimidating and threatening, but perhaps the most heinous in his long list of sinful acts is the way he has misused his God-given talent for selling by manipulating the affections of their children to turn them against their own mother. My client wants this divorce as much or more than Nathaniel Simms does, but she deserves custody of her children, her home and a fair settlement. Thank you."

I gave Harry Albright a cold stare and took my seat.

Albright called his first witness. Nat. The judge swore Nat in and he took the stand. They went through the preliminary business of Nat identifying himself, his residence and so on, and then Harry's horns popped into view. Beelzebub had arrived.

"Mr. Simms, can you please explain to the court why you are suing your wife, Rebecca Simms, for divorce? And why you are seeking custody of the children on the grounds of habitual drunkenness including the use of narcotics?"

"Oh, my God, it's just so sad," Nat said. "Rebecca was ruining the lives of our children as she ruint her own self. Every day I would come home from work and find her lying on the couch, passed out while the children were running wild, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. Dishes was piled up in the sink and the whole house was a pigsty. Then I come to find out that she's taking these pills..."

"I'd like to enter this pill bottle into evidence," Harry Albright said.

The clerk took the bottle, filed and marked it.

"Let the record show that this bottle of one hundred and twenty dosages of twenty-milligram strength Prozac was prescribed to Rebecca Simms from an online pharmaceutical company out of Miami, Florida."

The court reporter clicked away, entering Harry Albright's description into the transcript. Big deal, I thought. Half the women in this country take something so they don't go postal with assholes like you.

"Now, Mr. Simms, tell the court. How was your wife's relationship with your children?"

"It was just terrible! She was always nagging them to do this and that! Those poor kids couldn't ever just be kids, you know what I mean?"

"No, please explain."

"She had them on these schedules that were so booked up that they couldn't ever play with the neighborhood kids. First off, they had school, then they had soccer and piano, basketball and ballet, gymnastics and Mandarin..."

"Mandarin? Do you mean they were learning the Mandarin dialect of Chinese?"

"Yeah, she was always trying to stuff their heads with all kinds of foolishness. And nag, nag, nag. Make up your beds! Put your dishes in the dishwasher! Do your homework! Take a shower! Brush your teeth! Where are you going? Nag, nag, nag. They just couldn't take it no more. We were all just miserable with all the haranguing and carrying on. Just miserable."

"And so, tell us, Mr. Simms, how did you come to gain temporary custody of your children?"

"They begged me to let them stay with me and to get rid of their mother."

"And how were their feelings documented?"

"They went to see their guidance counselor who helped them write letters to the family court seeking relief from her. I had already told them that I was going to divorce their mother so as they could have a happy home. Oh, God..." At this point Nat choked up and began to cry, shoulders shaking and the whole nine yards.

Albright handed him a tissue and said, "No further questions at this time. Your witness."

Albright had written, directed and together with Nat delivered one of the most practiced, phony dramatic scenes of sentimental crud I had been forced to endure in many a moon. I stood and approached the witness stand with the stone face of a sphinx.

"Mr. Simms? Are you able to continue?"

"Yes." Sniff!

"Would you like a moment to compose yourself?"

"No. I'm okay."

"Okay, then. Mr. Simms? How would you describe the first ten years of your marriage? Were they happy ones?"

"Yes. Very happy. I mean, we fought and all, like most people do, but overall they were good years." Nat blew his nose loudly and took another tissue from the box nearby.

"The first fifteen?"

"Um, that's hard to remember exactly..."

"Please answer the question to the best of your recollection."

"Pretty good, I guess."

"You were in love with each other?"

"Yes. We were."

"Good. So these drug and alcohol problems really just surfaced in the last two years?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Did you ever try to get help for your wife? I mean, get her into a substance abuse program? Seek some psychiatric medical help for the problems that led her to use Prozac in the first place?"

"Um, no," Nat said, in a mumble.