Chapter 22
splattered striped overalls and stretched his long arms overhead. In his late sixties, Rober possessed a unique charm that
set him apart. He wore flip-flops year-round, and his shaggy white hair cascaded over his forehead, matching the wildness
of his equally unruly beard.
Rober’s business, Monet on the Move, was quite popular in the area, and he was well-known in Savannah not only for his artistic
talents but also for his warm and inviting spirit. Through his work, he found a renewed sense of purpose after the loss of
his beloved wife and fellow artist, Gertie. He carried her memory with him to every gig in town and infused it into every
brushstroke. Before Gertie passed away, the eccentric duo had spent their lives in the workshop behind their home in the swamp,
creating beautiful abstract art that adorned residences along the Georgia coast.
One notable piece, a large blue and white seascape painting, hung on Jeffrey’s office wall in the Allyson home—the same office that had remained untouched and sealed off since his death, with his pens and papers still scattered on the mahogany desk, just as they were the last time he sat there.
Rober was also responsible for the oversized watercolor of Moira’s feathered friend, the great heron, which decorated the wall of the pool house.
“Moira, my love!” Rober called as he entered the courtyard garden on Allyson Island. The space was filled with lush greenery,
vines, and ivy, complemented by the sultry and sweet smell of creamy-colored gardenias. A fountain stood at the center of
the garden, surrounded by brick pavers and a bed of thriving hosta plants. “Are those gardenias I see blooming in late September?
This truly is paradise!”
“Let me help you,” Moira said, reaching out to take a stack of twelve-by-sixteen blank canvases from Rober’s tanned, wrinkled
hands.
“Happy birthday, dear woman!” He placed a satchel of paints down on a wrought iron bench and greeted Moira with a kiss on
the cheek. “I assume these are your lovely friends?” He looked at each woman standing nearby and offered them warm smiles.
“I hope you all are wearing your subpar clothing, yes?” He eyed their casual outfits. “Still, I have smocks. Moira, be a dear.”
He pointed to a frayed army duffel bag that he had dropped onto the soft green grass.
The women fastened the clean but paint-stained smocks over their clothes while Rober set up easels in a semicircle around
the picturesque garden and explained that they would all be painting the same subject in their own unique interpretation:
the grand old three-tiered fountain.
Moira had almost stayed home that humid Saturday morning they found the fountain, probably fifteen years before, but Jeffrey
lured her out with the promise of antiques and a café au lait from the little shop downtown that she loved. They found the
fountain at the back of the estate sale, half swallowed by unruly wisteria.
It was three levels of weathered limestone, streaked with rust and green moss clinging to the nicks and grooves.
It stood nearly six feet tall, topped with a cupid that looked more sorrowful than sweet, with its eyes downcast and one hand resting on an urn from which water poured.
Moira thought it looked like it had come straight from Bonaventure Cemetery, and she froze the moment she saw it.
Jeffrey grinned at her, knowing how much she loved it.
They had walked slowly around the fountain while Moira ran her fingers over the chipped edge of the bottom bowl.
It took two men, a dolly, and a borrowed trailer to get it home. They placed it right in the center of the courtyard, beneath
the crepe myrtle that turned the air pink in the summertime. Jeffrey even ran the plumbing himself, and after buying a book
on plumbing at the hardware store, breaking two pipes, and swearing a blue streak, he finally brought the fountain bubbling
to life.
The first night it ran, they dragged their kids and their lawn chairs out and sat under the stars to listen to the water spill
from tier to tier in a steady rhythm. Brent and Bradford pressed their ears to the stone base like they were listening to
the ocean in a conch shell.
“It sounds like old Savannah,” Moira murmured.
Jeffrey agreed and placed his warm hand on hers. “It is old Savannah, Mo. It just happens to be in our backyard.”
Gemma was at her easel, fiddling with the smock tightly knotted at her waist, as she frowned at the blank canvas. “I can’t
even draw a straight line,” she muttered quietly, her gaze wandering to the intricate designs of the water feature.
On the other end of the semicircle, Erin was transforming her canvas with bold, confident strokes of her brush. Each movement was skilled, capturing the way the Sunday-morning light danced on the water flowing from one limestone tier to another.
Nell noticed Erin’s talent, leaned in, and said, “Hey, that is really good.”
“Yes, very good,” Rober said, joining the conversation. “I see what you’re trying to capture here. You have a nice eye.” He
pinched his chin between his first finger and thumb as he analyzed her easel.
“CK’s son could help you set up an online shop like he did for his sister. Extra cash would be good, wouldn’t it?” Nell continued
after Rober shuffled across the garden to look at Celia Kate’s work.
Erin shrugged and said, “Extra cash is always good. I’ll think about it.”
Moira, who was at the easel next to Erin, overheard their conversation. The pool house caught her eye and an idea began to
form in her mind. Without taking the time to consider the pros and cons, she turned to Erin and asked, “What would you think
about moving into the pool house? There would be no rent and no electricity bills, free room and board.”
Everyone in the garden ceased their conversations and paused their paint strokes. The only sound that filled the air was the
gentle trickling of water. Even Rober, who was beginning his own painting of the fountain, turned his head to Moira to listen
in.
Erin stared at Moira, shocked and confused. “Moira, that is—that is too much. I mean, why would you do that?”
“Why not?” Moira asked. “I have an extra bedroom, an extra house, just sitting there not being used. That’s a shame.”
“I couldn’t,” Erin replied, shaking her head firmly before she turned her gaze back to the canvas of color.
“Why not, Erin? It would be—” Moira began, but Rober interrupted.
“Ladies? I would hate for our time together to end and you still weren’t done with your art. Focus on the task at hand, s’il vous plait!”
Moira, in a hushed tone, like a child who’d just been scolded by an elementary school teacher, said to Erin, “We’ll talk more
on this later.” And she shifted her eyes back to the grand fountain.
For the next half hour, the women worked in silence, broken only by the calming sound of water trickling from tier to tier.
Rober moved slowly among them, offering whispered directions and encouragement. When he gave Gemma a vague compliment, saying,
“Nice technique,” she replied, “Rober, you are a lovely man, but you’re also a liar. We both know this looks more like a first
grader’s version of a crashed spaceship than an elegant water feature.”
Rober’s hearty laugh filled the garden and spilled over the box hedge border as he shouted, “I like you!” He patted her on
the back and added, “However, I would say this is more akin to the work of a kindergartner.”
When the time was up, the women gathered together, holding their unique canvases, while Rober snapped multiple pictures with
his antique camera, framing them against the backdrop of the impressive fountain. After capturing the final shot, the hippie
artist shook each woman’s hand firmly and leaned in to kiss Moira lightly on the cheek. He then busied himself loading his
van with supplies, wearing a contented smile and humming to himself.
He waved out the window as his van disappeared down the shaded cobblestone driveway, and the sound of another vehicle approaching could be heard.
Antonio’s catering van soon appeared and parked in the spot Rober had just vacated.
He excitedly hopped out of the vehicle and greeted Moira with a warm embrace, his bright white teeth gleaming against his tanned face as he wished her a happy birthday.
“What’s for lunch, Antonio?” Gemma asked, her “Elementary Spaceship, on canvas” tucked under her arm.
“It’s a surprise, Mrs. Gemma, but I promise it’s molto bene!” he exclaimed, waving his hands around wildly with excitement as he and Renata entered the kitchen.
“Why don’t we get our things together while they prepare lunch?” CK suggested, looking at Gemma.
“That’s a good idea,” she replied. “That way we can hit the road as soon as we’re done eating. Mo, where’s your burn pile?”
Gemma asked, holding up her painting.
The group laughed.
“You can just leave it in your room. I’ll find a place to hang it around here,” Mo promised.
“It would look good hanging in a garbage can,” Gemma joked as she entered the French doors at the back of the house, followed
by CK and Nell.
“Erin, wait.” Moira gently tugged at her arm. “Let’s go look at the pool house.”
“I just don’t know if that’s a good idea, Moira,” Erin replied. “PJ and I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Would I have offered it if I thought it would be an imposition? Now, come on,” she said, pulling on Erin’s soft gray Coastal
Cleaning Co. T-shirt.
They walked along the soft green grass, passing the pool and the courtyard where they had just painted, and approached the quaint building that resembled a beachside cottage.
As they stepped onto the smooth slate floors, they were greeted by the smell of essential oils that Kaylee had diffused during the spa treatments the day before.
“Now, you know there’s only one bedroom.” Moira pointed to the double doors on the far wall. “But this couch”—she tapped on
one of the velvety tan cushions in the main living area—“folds out into a bed. And it’s not one of those uncomfortable sofa
beds with the rod in your back all night. MerryLee slept on it and couldn’t even gripe about it the next day. My crabby sister-in-law
not complaining about something . . . well, that is a miracle in itself! Would it be okay for PJ?”
Erin looked around at the luxury surrounding her: the beautifully decorated space, the view of the calm water, and the enormous
oak tree hanging over a row of wooden Adirondack chairs visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Suddenly, she turned
to Moira, and tears started streaming down her cheeks without warning. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around her boss,
who quickly pulled her into a comforting embrace. In that moment, Erin was overwhelmed by gratitude and found herself speechless.
As Moira held her vulnerable friend, she was reminded of cradling her own boys during thunderstorms and comforting them when
nightmares woke them from deep sleep. She realized she should have held them like this when their father passed away. No one
is ever too old or too strong to be held.
“Is this a yes?” Mo laughed and pulled away before she wiped the tears from Erin’s face in a motherly way. “You’re free to come and go as you please. You won’t be any bother to me. You make this place your home, a space for you and your boy.”
Erin cleared the knot from her throat and struggled to form words. “Moira, I just can’t thank you enough. I won’t have to
sleep with one eye open like I do at the apartment. There were three break-ins last week.”
“Unless you’re scared of herons, I think you’ll sleep just fine out here. And you can thank me by quitting your job at Family
Pantry.” Mo squeezed Erin’s thin shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t know if I can do that,” Erin replied and shook her head. Then she wiped her damp cheeks again.
“Why would you stay there? What’s your take-home pay? Enough for the rent? Well, you don’t have rent anymore. You can’t continue
to work there. It’s too dangerous.”
Erin gasped. “Moira, I know you offered to let PJ and me stay here for free, but I won’t let you do that. We don’t take handouts.
We never have. We will pay our way.”
Moira paused for a moment before suggesting, “Okay, then. PJ can help me out around here. My boys aren’t here to do it, and
the boat dock has some boards that need to be replaced. Now that I’m an old widow, I could really use some help keeping the
ivy vine and wisteria under control—pulling weeds and working the gardens and that kind of thing. I was going to hire someone
to pressure wash the house and drive next spring. He could do that too.” She smiled.
“Whatever you need around here, Moira. He’d earn his keep.
He’s always been a hard worker.” Erin sniffled and then glanced out the window.
While staring at the oak leaves swaying in the marsh breeze, she thought out loud, “This would help me save enough to catch up on PJ’s payments for school.
I could get the car fixed. Pay what I owe the dentist and—” She stopped when the tears began to fall again.
“I know you’re appreciative, Erin, but it’s my honor to do this for you,” Moira replied as they hugged once more.
Erin was truly grateful for Moira’s kindness. However, she realized that by accepting the offer, she would also be doing Moira
a favor. Her and PJ’s full-time presence on Allyson Island would help ease the loneliness that had been weighing on Moira
since Jeffrey passed away.