Free His Other Wife by Deborah Bradford Page B

but she decided that girls’ moms must have different sorts of conversations with their offspring
     than mothers of sons.
    But Laura’s mother was already on to a different subject. “Can you tell me something about that camping party that’s going
     on tonight?”
    Oh. I see. Now Hilary realized why the woman had approached her in the first place.
    “Laura says your boys are going.”
    “Your boys” meaning all of Seth’s friends. Hilary loved them, but she didn’t want to be held responsible for all of them. “As far as I know.”
    “You’ve given Seth your permission?”
    Hilary knew where the woman was going with this; moms all did the same thing. She was checking up, comparing stories. “Yes,
     I have. They’re responsible kids. They know how to take care of each other. I asked plenty of questions, believe me.”
    “Laura’s been begging me to let her go. I’ve given her a tentative ‘yes,’ but I still have my doubts.”
    Hilary reminded her, “These kids will be at college in no time, without any parents around to set rules.”
    “Yes, but a big group like that? I’m worried it could get out of hand.”
    “Maybe I’m wrong, Abigail, but I trust them. I think it’s better to let them have a little freedom now so they don’t run off
     and go wild later.” Abigail was still dubious, Hilary could tell. But this was Hilary’s “raising-Seth” philosophy, and so
     far it had worked. “I mean, every kid is different,” Hilary clarified. “It’s important to know what each one of them can handle.
     But Seth’s told me about your daughter. Laura sounds like she’s got her head screwed on straight.”
    “Yes. Yes, of course she does.” Abigail still sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Hilary couldn’t help but be
     proud, handing out advice. Advice was something she would always give freely.

    Groups of graduates still posed for pictures, their arms braided across one another’s shoulders. People had gathered beside
     their cars after the ceremony, but no one was in a hurry to drive home. Some were still finishing up after the picnic. Others
     sat and visited in folding chairs or gathered beneath the shade trees.
    On the blacktop beside the football field, Seth and Ben played a pickup game of basketball. The two boys — one big, one small — were
     taking it to the rim as Hilary watched. Seth stopped dribbling at one point and coached, “Like this. Here’s what you do. Shoot
     your passes chest high.”
    Ben caught the ball right in the breadbasket. “Will you teach me how to do a behind-the-back?”
    “Only after you tell me you’ve been working on your jump shot,” Seth said.
    They hadn’t been playing very long before Eric stopped them. He said something to Seth that Hilary couldn’t hear.
    Hilary saw Seth looking around to wave her over. He looked a little sheepish as he called, “They want to give me my graduation
     present or something. Dad says they want everyone to see.”
    Two days ago, Hilary had given Seth a wristwatch that she’d ordered engraved with this quote adapted from Thoreau: Live the life you have imagined. The gift satisfied Hilary in ways that she couldn’t explain. It would last a long time. It was practical; he wouldn’t be
     late to class with this on his wrist. (At least, Hilary hoped not. If he was , it would be through no fault of his mother’s!)
    Pam and Eric hadn’t asked for ideas and Hilary had no clue what they might be giving her son. She couldn’t help but be a little
     skeptical of their motives, as they called everyone over and made a big production.
    Then Eric dangled a set of keys and placed them in Seth’s hand. That was when Hilary’s heart felt like it was being squeezed
     inside a trash compactor.
    “Here are the keys to your graduation present.”
    “Dad?” Seth’s voice was weak. His confused gaze traveled from the keys in his palm to his father’s face.
    “Go ahead.” Eric cuffed his son solidly on