The Courthouse, Santa Barbara, 1996
“Isn’t Maddie’s writing splendid? I going to add more of the story, I think.” Kate and James were seated on an elaborate wooden bench in the corridor of the Santa Barbara County Courthouse. They were waiting to confer with the judge, who would sign the papers to dissolve the family trust. Kate had, with a certain amount of mischievous malice, been reading the latest work on their book to James, who looked as if he were in severe pain.
“Yes. Remember, she’s a professional,” said James. “So we were once named Cecils, eh?”
“Yup. Aunt Bette told me about it, and I decided that we should put it in the story,” explained Kate.
“So we do have exalted relatives after all. I remember watching something on PBS about the Cecils and some old strange-looking Queen …”
“Elizabeth Tudor. She was a great queen, James! Anyway, Maddie and I just tossed this exalted lineage thing in to make you happy.”
“But they were bastards,” he replied. “Noble bastards were a dime a dozen.”
“True. They still are, and they’re all around us today. A never-ending supply! Most of them aren’t even noble,” muttered Kate, staring at the elaborate wooden ceiling, and remembering other hours spent in this very building.
The courthouse was one of the loveliest and most photographed spots in Santa Barbara. It was built in the form of a massive pseudo-Iberian castle, with red tile roofs and colorful Moorish tile decoration throughout. The structure enclosed a large and pleasantly landscaped courtyard that often hosted outdoor concerts and weddings. At night, carefully designed lighting showed the elegant architecture to advantage. It was a sumptuously beautiful building in which terrible things such as murders, thefts, beatings, child abuse, and rape were described, discussed, and judged. Kate had watched judicial rulings that, to her, doomed thousands of plants and animals in the name of greed.
“Katie, do you know that some fellow at the Calico Ghost Town once spit a wad of tobacco over forty-nine feet?” asked James suddenly.
“No, I didn’t. Now what made you think of that?”
“It is just about as relevant to our lives as all of that stuff that you keep wasting your time looking up in old books,” replied James.
“You’ll never understand,” muttered Kate.
“Probably not,” said James, glancing at his watch impatiently.
“How is Eleanor?” Kate asked after a long silence.
“Well. She shot a 72 at Birnham Wood the other day,” replied James with a yawn.
“Must have been a highlight of her life,” said Kate sourly.
“Yeah,” he answered. “God, but this is hard. I feel as if we’re burying Dad again.”
She put her hand on his arm for a moment. “I know.”
“I feel as if … as if I should have done something—I mean, kept the money safe,” admitted James, rising from the bench to pace back and forth on the waxed tile floors.
“There wasn’t much you could have done, James. Dad didn’t set it up right. He specified investments that went wrong. You couldn’t read the future. Besides, Maddie and I should have paid more attention to the trust. We just let you take all of the responsibility. We don’t blame you.”
James paused in his pacing. “Well, I blame myself. You girls might need money someday.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t ask you for a loan,” said Kate with a smile. “Cheer up—Mad and I are going to make lots of money with our sleazy romance novel. Ah—there is the judge. Let’s go.”