Chapter 12 #2
The congregation at Oglethorpe Church had certainly been the hands and feet of Jesus when Jeffrey passed. They covered Moira
with love and compassion by bringing her home-cooked meals and offering heartfelt prayers. Yet despite their support, she
stopped attending the church after Nell displayed typical Christian judgment after the Sunday school Christmas party. Since
she had quit going to Oglethorpe, Moira often recalled the pastor’s words that he regularly repeated from the pulpit: “You’re only as close to Jesus as you choose to be.” After nearly a year without stepping foot in the church or even opening her Bible and talking with the God of the universe,
those words resonated with her now, making her aware that, at this moment, her relationship with Jesus felt distant and cold.
She felt guilty as she imagined her parents, devout churchgoers in their lifetime, disapproving of her choice to turn her
back on her faith. She could almost hear them rolling over in their graves.
Albert and Louise Wallace were known in Tunnel Hill as fine Christian folk, deeply respected for their unwavering faith.
After dinner each evening, while still seated at the table in their grand dining room, Albert read from the King James Bible.
Moira’s maternal grandfather, Dayton, had devoted over fifty years of his life to serving as a pastor in Chattanooga, nurturing the spiritual growth of countless individuals, so she had been raised with strong moral values and a steadfast belief in God.
Still, no matter how much she prayed, she hadn’t felt God’s presence in quite a long time.
There were nights while lying in silence in the spacious king-sized bed that Moira was overwhelmed with loneliness and despair, as if the darkness of widowhood had wrapped itself around her like a heavy blanket.
But on one particularly difficult night this past summer, Moira was lying beneath the cool covers and crying out to God, begging
him not to turn a deaf ear to her—much like a desperate David did in the book of Psalms—and something extraordinary happened.
A flash of light illuminated the pitch-black room. Not a flashlight, not a flicker, but a warm, vibrant glow that she could
not explain. Only for two seconds, maybe three. And with it, a sense of relief, of peace, of being enveloped in love. That
was God. It had to be.
Despite the profound experience, Moira didn’t return to church or even open the Bible. She recognized that pursuing God was
like drinking enough water—she knew it was good for her and essential to her well-being. Still, for no clear reason—perhaps
just laziness, stubbornness, or even anger over having to say goodbye to Jeffrey so soon—she didn’t do it.
She finally muttered, “You’re right, Celia Kate. I’m sorry, Nell.”
“Thank you,” Nell replied quickly and quietly, dipping her spoon back into the cup of velvety chocolate.
“Oglethorpe is a great church. I went there for a few years.” Mo turned to Erin. “The congregation is made up of very loving
people. I really don’t know why I said what I did.”
“Because you’re drunk,” Gemma said, looking Mo directly in the eyes.
CK, who was sitting beside Gemma, nudged her arm and caused a dollop of chocolate to tumble from Gemma’s spoon back into the
glass.
“What?” she said to CK while raising her eyebrows. “She is.”
“Gemma, that’s enough,” CK said, pursing her lips.
“I’m certainly not drunk after just two glasses of wine,” Mo said with a hearty laugh before stifling a burp that bubbled
up her throat.
“Try four, sister,” Gemma corrected her.
“Okay, four then,” Mo conceded with a sigh, her eyes rolling in annoyance. “Can we please drop it now?” She dabbed her mouth
with her napkin in an attempt to compose herself. “If everyone has finished with dinner, it’s time for movie night!” She clapped
her hands together excitedly, eager to shift the focus from church and her alcohol intake and onto the rest of the evening’s
plans.
Gemma and CK grabbed the luggage they had left in the foyer and went up to their shared pink and green room to change out
of their clothes and into pajamas for movie night. Behind the closed door, they quietly gossiped.
“I knew MerryLee wouldn’t come. I mean, it’s not a secret that she’s not a fan of Moira. But what do you think is the real
reason Jenna, Carla, and Tabitha didn’t show? You think Moira said or did something to them? They’ve always been close.” CK
removed the gold hoops from her ears and jingled them in her hand.
Gemma tossed her clothes out of the large pink suitcase and onto the paisley print chair in the corner of the room. “She’s
probably pushed them away, the same way she did with Nell. And me. I never hear from Mo unless I reach out to her first, and
sometimes she doesn’t even reply. It seems you and the maid are the only two people Moira ever talks to anymore.”
“Well, she doesn’t talk to me that much. We just text now and again about our gardens or when one of us is watching Gilmore Girls reruns.” Celia Kate walked to the en suite bathroom, turned on the overhead light, and placed her jewelry on the white marble
vanity.
“I don’t think she’s telling the truth about being busy all the time. She never posts on social media.” Gemma sat on the pink-and-white-plaid
quilt on one of the bottom bunk beds and took off her tall brown boots. “Where are the pictures of her tagged at events and
galas and throwing around Jeffrey’s money? She’s been a socialite for as long as she’s lived here, regularly in the newspaper
and society magazines. I googled her name earlier this evening and the most recent mention of her was when that memorial fountain
in honor of Jeffrey was placed at the country club a few months after he died.”
CK walked out of the bathroom that was decorated in rose-gold accents, then tossed her suitcase onto the opposite bunk and
unzipped it before Gemma continued, “Something isn’t right. I’m going to ask Erin what’s really going on around here.”
It was Gemma’s turn to go into the bathroom, and so she did, with cheetah-print pajamas in her hand. “CK, what if Moira is
in the depths of depression? What if she needs some kind of help?”
“And what if you’re just nosey, Gemma?”
“You’re the nosey one, wondering why her other friends didn’t show up this weekend. And I know I’m nosey. I always have been.
But I’m also genuinely concerned about my friend.”
CK could hear Gemma changing into the satin short-sleeved top and long bottoms in the bathroom. She must have caught a glimpse
of herself in the mirror because CK also heard a snide comment about her stomach. By the time Gemma walked out, Celia Kate
had put on her buttery soft long-sleeved pajamas. Gemma said, “I really like her. That Erin, I mean. I wonder what her story is.”
“Again, you’re being nosey.” CK folded the athletic wear she’d been wearing all day and tucked it neatly into her suitcase.
“Yeah”—Gemma nodded—“but aren’t you curious? She must not have much money. Her clothes, you know?”
CK shot a dissatisfied look at her friend.
“I don’t mean to sound judgmental. Tyler and I certainly went through some lean years. Don’t you remember when I was eating
five packs of ramen a day and still nearly starved to death?”
“Shut up,” CK said without taking her eyes off her suitcase.
“I’m just saying that Erin looks like she’s, well, like she’s poor.”
“So what if she is, Gemma?” CK sat back on the bottom bunk and slipped her feet into a pair of pale purple terry-cloth thong
slippers.
“So nothing. I’m just interested in her. There’s something mysterious about her.” Gemma shrugged and rifled through her crowded
carry-on bag, emerging with her own pair of house shoes, also cheetah print.
CK gasped. “Oh! What about Moira’s comment to Nell about Oglethorpe?”
Gemma responded by shaking her head in disappointment.
CK continued, “I’m no psychiatrist, but it’s obvious that she lashed out at Nell because of her own guilty conscience about
not attending church anymore. When Jeffrey died, that church was good to her and good for her. She knows that. What she said to Nell was completely rude and inappropriate. I wanted to come up out of that chair and
pop her in the jaw.”
“Why did she quit going to church anyway?” Gemma asked.
“She told me she just didn’t belong there anymore. She’s never given me a specific reason, and I didn’t press her about it.”
“And what about downing that much chardonnay and pinot in an hour? Good grief. I wouldn’t be able to stand up straight.
Her tolerance must be awful high,” Gemma remarked.
“When she got so wasted the last time we were here, I didn’t think anything of it.
You know, I simply thought of it as a long-overdue weekend for Mo to let loose.
The three of us have done that plenty of times over the years on our beach trips and at class reunions.
It’s never been an issue. But if she’s drinking a bottle or two all the time, her Check Liver light must be on.
Erin knows for sure. That’s something else for me to ask her.
Is Mo depressed and is she drinking because she’s depressed, which is probably making her more depressed? ”
Gemma continued to talk, but CK tuned her out and grabbed her phone from the chest of drawers. She texted Silas to remind
him to set his alarm bright and early.
Gemma noticed her friend typing on her phone but had already spoken to Carolina earlier and wasn’t at all interested in checking
in with Tyler before bed. He would probably only ask how much she had eaten since leaving the house. Besides, it was Friday
night, and Gemma knew that meant Tyler was most likely busy enjoying himself in downtown Atlanta without her.
In the bedroom across the hall, Nell sat on a tufted white stool at the foot of the sleigh bed covered in a velvety black
comforter. She held the phone to her ear with one hand and picked at a loose thread in the hem of her blue-and-white-striped