A Weekend on Allyson Island
Chapter 1
Celia Kate Stokes flipped through the pile of mail that her youngest child, Tucker, had brought inside and dumped on the kitchen
counter, which was already cluttered with books, papers, pencils, and artwork. One envelope stood out among the bills and
junk mail. Even before checking the return address, she recognized who the sender was by the elegant black envelope adorned
with gold trim. Something as sophisticated as this must have come from Mrs. Moira Allyson.
She ran her thumb beneath the shiny seal and pulled out the matte-black invitation. A slip of vellum paper fell to her hardwood
floor, sticky with syrup from the morning pancakes and glitter from Sophie’s latest art project. She settled onto the leather
barstool at the counter and reached for her cell phone. As CK ran her fingers through her light brown hair, Gemma Gardner’s
loud Southern drawl belted out a “Hey!” after the third ring.
“Have you been to your mailbox this morning?” CK asked while reaching for her Golden Girls mug of tepid coffee and pressing
it to her thin lips.
“Are you talking about Mo’s invitation? I grabbed it out of the mailbox on the way to work this morning and just opened it.
Are you able to go?” Gemma asked.
Celia Kate shrugged while organizing stacks of construction paper on the counter.
A weekend at Moira’s beautiful waterfront home on the Georgia coast sounded relaxing, but the thought of leaving her family to fend for themselves for three long days left her feeling a bit skittish. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“I would love to get away for a few days. School has only been in session for a month, and Carolina’s senior year is already
stressing me out. There’s so much to do, not to mention how expensive it all is. I’ll have to sell a kidney to afford the
yearbook photos. My high-maintenance daughter is asking for a photo shoot at Swan House. Who does my kid think she is? Princess
Di?” There was nervous tension in Gemma’s voice. “What about you? Can you cut the cord and pull yourself away from your children
for an entire weekend?”
CK rolled her eyes at her best friend’s remark. “I didn’t know it was a crime to care for your children’s needs.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gemma sighed. “So when is the last time you even talked to Mo? It’s been over a month for me.”
CK took another sip of coffee and then replied, “She texted me a few weeks ago about her garden. She wanted to know if it
was too late in the season to transplant a hydrangea. There was no mention of her birthday or a party, though. We only chatted
for a few minutes. She must be keeping busy.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Gemma said. “I’ve been meaning to check in with her, but between work and Carolina’s demands,
I just haven’t found the time. I’m a terrible friend, I guess. I’m surprised I even received an invitation.”
“That isn’t true.” CK looked out her kitchen window at the grove of magnolia trees in her side yard, their waxy green leaves swaying in the wind. “You know we can go months at a time without speaking to Moira and pick right back up where we left off.”
Gemma, in her rich-woman impersonation, said, “It’s sure to be an extravagant affair, darling. I imagine we’ll have European
facials and mud baths, and we’ll be sent home with Louis Vuitton goody bags filled with caviar.” Then she shifted back to
her normal voice. “I could definitely use a spa weekend. Mo always serves the best food too. Do you remember those fancy hors
d’oeuvres at her Christmas party a few years ago?” Gemma sighed. “I haven’t looked at a snail the same way since.”
Celia Kate grimaced. “I can do without the snails, but I could use some pampering. I’ll have to check with Sean and see if
he can handle the kids all weekend.”
“You don’t have three toddlers, Celia Kate. Sean can handle the kids.”
CK couldn’t stand the sight of the glitter and crumbs scattered on the hardwood floor any longer, so she stood from the barstool
and headed to the utility closet to fetch the dust mop. “I wonder who else she’s invited.”
“I don’t know, probably her sorority sisters. Maybe her sisters-in-law,” Gemma continued. “Hopefully not MerryLee, though.
That windbag never shuts up. I’m still traumatized by that girls’ trip we took a few years ago. Remember? She started talking
the minute we left Savannah and didn’t stop until we pulled into the rental on Hilton Head. I literally fell to my knees and
kissed the ground when I got out of the car. I’ll need more than snails to get through a weekend with Chatty Cathy. I’ll need
vodka. And lots of it.”
CK laughed while she swept the glitter and debris on the kitchen floor into a little pile. “I’ll talk to Sean and get back to you. If we do go, I’ll drive. I want to get there in one piece. On our last road trip together, you got a speeding ticket on the way to Biloxi and on the way back.”
“If you ain’t fast, you’re last,” Gemma said, then hung up.
CK placed her phone on the farmhouse kitchen table, emptied the glitter and crumbs into the trash can, and sighed in relief
at the sight of clean floors.
“Hey, Mama, think I could get a snack? Reading about the Spanish Inquisition and torture and executions really works up an
appetite,” her oldest child, Silas, asked while walking into the room.
She placed the broom and dustpan back into the closet, turned with a warm smile to her towering sixteen-year-old son, who
stood at six three, and offered him a choice between peanut butter and jelly or homemade chicken salad. He asked for chicken
salad and a couple of chocolate chip cookies. She got busy fulfilling her boy’s order.
The ceiling fan turned slowly above the sleigh bed, its gentle whirring the only sound breaking the thick silence of the night.
Outside, the crickets had fallen quiet. Tunnel Hill, Georgia, had shut down hours earlier, tucked in behind porch lights and
locked doors. But CK lay wide-eyed in the dark, one hand on her chest and the other gripping the corner of the quilt her grandmother
Sue had made decades ago.
Sean’s breathing was soft and even—annoyingly steady, if she was honest. He could fall asleep in the middle of a thunderstorm or with the TV still blaring.
CK had never understood how he managed it.
He doesn’t worry because I do it for both of us, she thought, not unkindly, just truthfully.
That was how their marriage had always worked.
But tonight the silence clawed at her, and she hated it. It brought with it too many bad memories. It was the kind of quiet
that hung in the air before the phone rang, before everything changed. Tragedy didn’t shout; it whispered. It crept in like
fog.
Her thoughts were quick and chaotic, always landing back where they usually did these days: Silas. He’s sixteen going on what? Six?
He was smart and sweet and funny in a dry, clever way. But he was also so irresponsible. He had failed driver’s ed. He’d lost
two phones and the birthday money his uncle had given him. And Lord help Celia Kate, she had let him get away with too much.
She’d babied, softened, coddled him much too often.
She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to ease the tension. What if he never matured? Would he end up living in
their basement, waiting for her to bring him leftovers, until he was thirty? And worse—would it be her fault?
Sean shifted, mumbling and turning his face toward her. He was still asleep and still at peace. The man could sleep through
a tornado. And, mercy, she sure did love him. But sometimes she wanted to shake him awake and yell, “Help me worry! Help me
fix this!” But she knew he’d just pull her close and say, “He’s a kid, CK. He’ll figure it out. Just give him time.” Or maybe
he’d say, “It’s your fault he is like he is.”
Time will work it out. That’s what everyone always said. Time didn’t hold her boy accountable. And time didn’t fix everything. She had learned that the hard way—from people who never came back, from losses she still carried like stones in her chest.
The blue numbers on the digital clock blinked. It was 1:54 a.m. now. She stared at the ceiling, arms crossed, heartbeat loud
in her ears. Stillness and quiet would never mean peace for her.
It would always be the moment before everything changed.