Chapter 11 #2
“Oh, spill the beans!” Gemma eagerly leaned forward, her eyes shining with the idea of juicy gossip. She was ready to devour every word.
“What in the world about that sweet lady could make you nervous?” asked CK. “And the prayers that woman prayed? My goodness,
they brought me to tears every time.”
“I was brought to tears by the food she kept bringing over,” Gemma added. “What was that cheesy concoction? Pepper jack hash
brown casserole? Lord, have mercy.” She shook her bouncy brown hair at the satisfying recollection.
“Yes, she’s a good person, and a good cook”—Moira darted her eyes at Gemma—“but she’s a little goody-goody for my taste. She’s
super religious, and the last time we saw one another, she lectured me, a grown woman, about drinking. I just don’t want you
all to feel uncomfortable around her because she’s a teetotaler.”
“What are we, seventeen, Mo? Is this an after-school special where we’re going to bully her for not sneaking into the liquor
cabinet with us?” CK laughed and playfully rolled her eyes while she leaned back into the wicker. “Mo, I honestly don’t care
if another adult drinks or not.”
“I know all that, girls,” Mo rushed to clarify, “but she just rubs me the wrong way. She seems so judgmental. She’s a buzzkill.”
“Then why did you invite her?” Gemma asked.
“I don’t really know. She was a good friend to me when Jeffrey died, and we— I just didn’t think it through, I guess. I was
surprised she accepted the invitation.” Moira took another drink. “I just don’t want any of you to feel like you can’t loosen
up around her.”
Gemma let out a hearty laugh and swirled her glass. “You get a little too loose at times, Mo.”
“I resent that,” Moira shot back defensively while Erin watched the interaction with wide, amused eyes.
Suddenly CK and Gemma burst into a duet, singing the chorus of a Pat Benatar hit. After finishing, Gemma turned to Erin, her
expression animated as she remembered, “Two summers ago, we spent the weekend here with Mo. We woke up at 3:00 a.m. to Moira
drunker than a skunk, and she was singing completely off-key through the intercom. I was nearly startled from my sleep straight
into the arms of Jesus.”
Mo giggled and dangled her crossed leg back and forth. “I thought that was a fun night.”
“Getting you back to bed was no fun,” CK added. “You ruined my house shoes.” She looked at Erin and continued, “Mo was in
mid-sentence, and the spinach and artichoke dip she had made came up—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Moira interrupted, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. She finished the last gulp of wine while
the sun dipped lower in the sky and cast a golden glow over them.
Erin wasn’t surprised by the conversation because Moira was often on her second or third drink of the evening when Erin finished
her work. She was unsure what happened after she was gone, with Moira alone in the house, but some mornings Moira would still
be sprawled out in bed, dead to the world, when she arrived. On other occasions, the usually immaculate home would show signs
of a long night: broken glass littering the floor or even a wastebasket filled with the contents of Moira’s stomach. She and
her employer never discussed it, and Erin never intended to.
The loud chime of the doorbell echoed through the open French doors leading to the cobblestone porch where they were sitting.
“Well, that must be Judgy McJudgerson,” Moira groaned.
“She’s a perfectly lovely woman, Mo. Be nice,” CK replied.
The bell rang once more, and Erin felt a strong urge to jump up and answer it. Moira seemed to sense this as she quickly said,
“Stay put. I’ll get the door.” With that, she disappeared, leaving the three women sitting on the patio in the September breeze.
In the foyer, Nell and Moira stood face-to-face for the first time since an inebriated Moira had hiccupped into a red cup
with Christmas trees on it and thanked Nell and Chip for bringing brownies to the party. Their reunion now was somewhat awkward
as they exchanged a quick formal hug, and Nell told Moira she appreciated the invitation.
“I was a little bit surprised, to be honest. I mean, after our last conversation.” Nell cleared her throat and set her white
suitcase at her feet.
“Water under the bridge,” Moira said dismissively, waving her hand as if to brush the past aside. Then, with a raised eyebrow
and a tone dripping with condescension, she added that the other guests were on the porch enjoying cocktails before dinner
and asked, “Is that all right with you?”
Nell held back the impulse to walk out, get into her sedan, and drive back home. Instead she replied, “Are you asking me if
it’s all right because you’re concerned for my well-being or because you’re concerned for your well-being?”
“I don’t quite—” Moira began.
“Are you worried that I might be tempted to drink, or are you worried that I would judge you for drinking and make you feel uncomfortable in some way? So my well-being or yours?”
Moira narrowed her eyes at the woman in her foyer who, like Job’s friends, had sat in silence with Moira as she mourned Jeffrey
during the first year after his passing. However, unlike Job’s friends, when Nell finally spoke to Moira, she offered encouraging
words Moira needed to hear. Their friendship deepened during that dark time and remained strong over the next two years. Even
when Nell gently suggested that Moira might be drinking too much, Moira didn’t take offense. It wasn’t until Moira decided
to serve wine at the Christmas party that Nell’s attitude turned judgmental and critical.
Even though she knew that Nell had struggled with alcohol addiction in the past, Moira thought it was innocent enough to serve
cabernet sauvignon to the Sunday school class. She simply wanted a glass of wine to help her cope as she navigated the holidays
without her husband, and since it was her house, she felt entitled to serve it. The grown-ups at the party had every right
to turn it down, and many did without a fuss.
So what if Moira had a few too many glasses? So did Nikki, Charley, and Dana, and they were good Christian women. While they
didn’t join Mo on the coffee table to sing “Santa Baby,” what harm was there in cutting loose? After all, if anyone deserved
to have a good time, it was a widow who would wake up on Christmas morning in an empty bed.
The day after the lively party, Nell called Moira.
Words like sin and accountability were thrown around in a harsh and hostile tone.
The way Nell scolded her, you’d have thought Moira had robbed a liquor store at gunpoint on her way to volunteer at vacation Bible school.
After ten minutes of being berated like a child, Moira angrily slammed her phone to the table and poured herself a whiskey and club soda.
She vowed then to cut that critical Nell Rehman out of her life, even if that meant not returning to the church that had been so good to her.
Surely Nell knew that Mo was going to serve alcohol during her birthday weekend. Antonio would oversee pairing the right wines
with the meals, and mimosas would be provided for brunch while champagne was set to accompany massages. Besides that, there
was a fully stocked bar in the butler’s pantry, which would be open to her friends throughout the weekend. If Nell chose to
be overly condescending and judgmental about it, she was free to leave. After all, it was Mo’s house, Mo’s party, and her
husband was dead.
Moira smiled. “Let’s just try to have a good time, okay?”
“Of course,” Nell said with a nod.
Back on the porch, Gemma was peering at Erin over her half-full glass before she asked, “So, Erin, do you live in town? You
have kids?”
Erin nodded. “My son and I live in town about twenty minutes west of here.”
“Oh, how old is your son?” CK asked and mentally reminded herself to text Silas to set his alarm for the morning. If she didn’t
make sure he was awake, he was liable to sleep until noon, and he needed to log on to the college website as soon as the applications
became available.
“My boy, PJ, will be turning twenty in a few months and is currently taking classes at the technical college,” Erin replied, feeling slightly embarrassed that her child was not attending an SEC school.
“That is smart,” Gemma said, nodding in approval. “My daughter is a senior in high school this year, and she wants to go to
a four-year university for a degree in fashion design. Honestly, can you imagine spending fifteen thousand dollars a semester
on that? I wish she’d think about something more practical. We really need more skilled trade workers in our society than
we need fashion designers. I can always find cute clothes, but the last dental assistant I met was so rough that my gums bled
for three days!”
CK chimed in. “I absolutely agree. My oldest son, Silas, wants to study graphic design. He’s only a junior in high school,
but he’s already built a fantastic website for his little sister, Sophie, who makes greeting cards. I’ve often wondered if
he even needs a formal degree to succeed in that field. It seems like he’s learning a lot on his own just by tinkering around
on the computer.”
“You just don’t want him to leave home and go to school,” Gemma teased CK and then looked at Erin. “She can’t cut the cord.”
Celia Kate rolled her eyes, even though she couldn’t deny that she had resisted the overwhelming urge to call home at least
fifteen times since arriving at Mo’s house. She had sent a group text to Silas and Sean to tell them that she had made it
to Savannah safely, and neither had replied. Had they not responded because they were busy prying the dead cat out of a coyote’s
mouth or because the house had burned to the ground with them trapped inside?
Curious, Gemma asked Erin, “So how do you know Mo? She didn’t mention it.”