Chapter 17
After their massages, the women showered and dressed for dinner on the boat. While waiting for Moira to come downstairs, her
birthday party guests gathered on the extra-long tufted sofa in the elegant living room. They chatted about the massages they
had enjoyed earlier that afternoon. Erin, Nell, and Gemma could hardly catch their breath from laughing as Celia Kate recounted
the time she went to a spa right after having a large Mexican lunch and couldn’t control her flatulence.
They frequently checked their watches or phones as they awaited their six o’clock boat boarding time. Nell stood up from the
couch and walked to the mahogany baby grand piano in the corner of the beige-colored room. She sat down and played a mediocre
rendition of “Für Elise.” Gemma followed her and picked up a ginger snap from the tin of Byrd’s Famous Cookies that was sitting
on a table beside the piano. She then glanced at herself in a large beveled mirror hanging above a white antique dresser.
The small belt she had cinched at the waist of her long floral dress nearly disappeared into a crease at her stomach. She
rolled her eyes at her reflection and popped another cookie into her mouth.
“It’s nearly six,” Celia Kate said while standing from the couch. “I’m going to go see what’s keeping Moira.”
“A cat is probably holding her hostage,” Gemma called.
“Or a bottle,” Celia Kate mumbled under her breath.
She climbed the stairs and found Moira in her bathroom, her makeup carefully applied and the soft white robe still wrapped
around her shoulders. Sitting on a beautifully crafted wooden stool at her antique vanity cluttered with beauty products and
brushes, she looked to be lost in thought. Despite the day of relaxation, Moira appeared fatigued and in need of a good sleep.
“What in the world is going on with you?” CK taunted her friend while stepping into the bathroom and crossing her arms over
the chest of her pastel-pink V-neck dress. “We need to be going, don’t we? It’s nearly six.”
Moira cleared her raspy throat and said, “I don’t know what’s wrong.” She glanced down at her hands resting in her lap. “Something
I’ve eaten today just didn’t sit right with me. I think it was the pralines. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t exercised today.
I just don’t feel very well . . .” The last words slipped out in a whisper, accompanied by a weak smile. “See the coffee maker
over there?” She pointed to a sleek machine resting on a separate vanity across the room. “Could you make me a small cup while
I get dressed?”
CK was worried about her friend.
“Of course, Mo,” she replied, turning her attention to the coffee maker. She couldn’t help but notice Jeffrey’s vanity. His
watch, with a dark leather band, rested on the counter, and his toothbrush was neatly placed in its holder. A shaving kit
sat on the other side of the sink, suggesting that Jeffrey had used the bathroom just that morning. This sight left CK feeling
melancholic.
She tried to think what life would be like without Sean, but it was hard to envision such a future.
The very idea stirred a deep sense of loss in her heart, one that felt almost suffocating.
As the painful possibility of living without him began to overwhelm her, she purposefully redirected her attention to the makeup on Moira’s vanity, grasping for anything that could distract her from the agony of that notion.
Moira shuffled into the expansive walk-in closet adjoining the bathroom, the louvered door swinging shut behind her with a
soft whisper. As CK inserted a coffee pod into the machine, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, still shuddering
at the idea of widowhood, and she smoothed down a wayward strand of dark hair that had escaped from her sleek ponytail. “What’s
really going on, Moira?” she called out, uncertain if her friend could hear her through the closet door.
Moira called from inside the closet, her voice muffled by the hanging clothes, “I told you, Celia Kate. The pralines and pineapple
and—”
CK interrupted her, saying, “Nothing to do with the mimosas and mint juleps you’ve been pouring all day?”
Moira heard Celia Kate, but she didn’t respond. A few quiet minutes passed before she stepped out of the closet in a stunning
long-sleeved silk mini dress that hugged her figure, the dark fabric contrasting with her light hair.
“Well?” Celia Kate asked.
“Please don’t start with me about the mimosas. Not now,” she urged as she walked past CK to the brightly lit makeup mirror
and released her long blonde hair from its messy bun and let it cascade down her shoulders. “I’m simply celebrating the last
day of my forties. I just need a little coffee and I’ll be fine, okay?” She sounded annoyed.
CK, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her pink dress, raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t always like this, then?”
“Well, of course not!” Moira exclaimed, irritated, while she ran a brush through her tangled hair. “I’m getting really tired
of these accusations that I’m an alcoholic.”
A moment of silence passed before CK finally asked, “Well, are you?”
“CK.” Moira met her longtime friend’s hazel eyes in the mirror. “I resent that question. Are you as worried about Gemma’s
weight as you are about my drinking?”
“This isn’t about Gemma—” CK began to protest, but Moira stopped her.
“She’s a heart attack waiting to happen, Celia Kate. Can you imagine her triglyceride levels? Her cholesterol? And yet the
only worry I’ve heard from anyone this weekend is about how many glasses of wine I have had.”
“I am worried about Gemma, actually,” CK replied, her tone steady as she watched Moira style her hair. “I know she isn’t healthy
physically. And she’s not that great mentally either, I’m sure. I assume Tyler has been cruel as usual about her most recent
weight gain.”
“Maybe we should organize an intervention while we’re all together?” Moira proposed, her brow furrowed with concern. “We need
to talk to her about her health and the state of her marriage.”
“I want to help her, but I don’t think now is the right time for that, Moira. On your birthday weekend? Really?” CK shook
her head.
“You’re right. But the time is coming when we need to hold her accountable for her choices. We don’t have to be ugly about
it. We can address her overeating in a loving way. I know it will be painful for her to hear, but sometimes the truth is the
hardest pill to swallow.” Moira continued to fiddle with her blonde locks.
CK chuckled at the hypocrisy in Moira’s speech.
Moira failed to grasp why she found it amusing.
“I’ll be waiting downstairs with the rest of your guests, Mo,” CK said as she started to walk out the door. Before leaving,
she glanced at the coffee maker that was sputtering the last few drops of brown liquid. “It looks like your 5:58 p.m. cup
of coffee is ready.”
The aggravated look on CK’s face when she entered the living room must have alerted the others, because Nell called out, “She’s
sobering up again, isn’t she?”
“You know it,” CK replied. “She’ll be down soon. She just has to finish her hair and a cup of coffee.”
“Y’all cut her some slack. It’s her birthday weekend,” Gemma exclaimed while standing by the piano and before popping a praline
into her mouth. “I don’t diet on weekends. I always start on a Monday. And you know what? Moira can stop drinking on Monday
too. You know what Jimmy Buffet says?” She picked up her glass of wine from the piano and finished it off while CK sat on
the couch between Nell and Erin.
“Oh, good Lord, please don’t let her start with the Jimmy Buffett.” CK grabbed Nell’s arm in desperation.
“It’s always a good time for Jimmy Buffet.” Gemma cleared her throat before she started belting out the chorus to “Come Monday.”
Erin laughed. “What’s with the Jimmy Buffet?”
“I know she’s really feeling her oats when she starts the Buffet catalog,” Celia Kate answered.
Gemma continued singing off-key.
CK sighed in annoyance at Gemma’s usual antics while Nell and Erin laughed.
Moments later Moira glided down the wooden staircase, her beauty as striking as ever from afar, but CK saw the signs of exhaustion
etched around her sunken eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “Bradford called again. It’s been a hard weekend for him. He wants to come home, but I won’t
let him crash this party.” Moira forcefully laughed and did a little dance when she reached the bottom of the stairway.
“Oh, Moira, you should let him come home,” Celia Kate urged while standing from the plush couch, knowing Moira was lying.
“We would all love to see him.”
“Oh no, no, he’s perfectly all right.” Moira glared at her and forced a smile. “He just needed to hear his mama’s voice, that’s
all.”
In reality, Moira had not spoken to either of her sons in nearly two weeks. Brent was seven hours away in Nashville, busy
with his first year of college in the premed program. He sent his mom a text every few days, but she missed hearing the sound
of his voice. Bradford lived only four hours away, but he likely wouldn’t surprise her with a weekend visit like most college
kids. In fact, he probably wouldn’t come home to see her until Christmas break, if then.
Moira had always been close to her boys, but after Jeffrey died, their relationship changed.
During heated arguments, they accused her of neglecting them, claiming she was blinded by her own grief and drinking too much.
It was true that she had indulged in a few too many glasses of wine and was late for Brent’s high school graduation the previous May, but that day was difficult for her, knowing Jeffrey wasn’t there to witness his younger son’s accomplishment.
Still, she believed they were being dramatic and that they were grappling with their own grief over losing the man they admired most. She held on to the hope that they would come back around when they were older and wiser.