Chapter 12 #3
pajama shorts with the other.
Chip was talking on the other end of the phone while she reminisced about the first time she met Moira, which was when she and her husband, Jeffrey, began attending Oglethorpe Church about a year before he passed away from a massive heart attack.
They became acquainted in Sunday school and started spending time together outside of church.
The two couples hit it off well, as they had much in common.
Chip and Jeffrey shared a mutual interest in stocks, bonds, golf, and fishing, while Nell and Moira enjoyed discussing their children, exercising, and savoring good Brazilian coffee.
After Jeffrey died, it didn’t take long for Nell to recognize that her newly widowed friend was seeking solace from a bottle
rather than God. On several occasions, Nell gently expressed her concerns, but Moira dismissed them and remained in denial.
It wasn’t until the morning after the Sunday school Christmas party that Nell’s gentle correction escalated into a serious
confrontation, and a wedge was driven between the two. Moira stopped attending church altogether and cut off all communication
with Nell.
“I’m no genius,” Chip’s deep voice said over the line, “but she lashed out at you that way because, yes, she’s had too much
to drink and because she’s trying to justify not attending church anymore. That comment had nothing to do with you and everything
to do with Moira.”
“As soon as I stepped foot into this house, she told me she was just having a drink on the patio before dinner. And, Chip,
she said it in such an arrogant tone, almost like she wanted me to know that what I said to her last Christmas had no influence
on her whatsoever. I almost walked back to the car right then. I should have. I could make up some excuse tomorrow to leave.
I could say—”
“I think you should stick it out unless you think it’s a stumbling block to your sobriety by being there,” Chip interrupted. “Tell me, how did you feel watching them drink during dinner tonight? Did it make you uncomfortable?”
“There’s no temptation, Chip.” Nell shook her head. “Being around these ladies having cocktails is no different from that
book club I go to every few months. One day at a time, right? I succeeded today and I’ll succeed the rest of the weekend.
It’s just that I’m finding it very hard to represent Jesus well by loving Moira. If I’m honest, I can’t stand the sight of
her. Not because she’s got a buzz, but because she’s just so smug.”
“What about the other guests? Getting along with them?” Chip asked.
“Yeah.” Nell cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and pumped a few dollops of lotion into her hand from a bottle
sticking out of her suitcase. “CK and Gemma, Moira’s childhood friends, are here. I got to know them after Jeffrey died. They
are both very kind and seem to be lots of fun. They also seem nearly as annoyed with Moira as I am. Her housekeeper is a younger
woman named Erin, and she is a guest also. I’m not sure what the story is with her and Moira. She’s the one I was talking
to about church when Moira said what she did about making a commission.”
Chip said, “Stick it out and have a good time, Nelly. Maybe the opportunity to make amends with Moira will present itself.
If not, enjoy her friends and the food anyway.”
“I’ll do my best.” Nell massaged the vanilla-scented lotion into her dry skin. “Is everything okay there?”
“Tate and I grilled some steaks and Taylor just texted me a few minutes ago. She’s safe and sound in her dorm watching television.”
“I already know,” Nell replied.
“Quit tracking our every move and relax and go watch a movie. Focus on the positive and not the negative, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll try. Pray for me, okay?”
“Always, Nelly.”
Erin rifled through the duffel bag sitting on top of the white eyelet bedding in the blue toile room, overthinking her choice
of pajamas. She hadn’t expected anyone to see her in them this weekend. All she’d brought to sleep in was a ragged black Pearl
Jam T-shirt and gray cotton shorts that she’d owned for over a decade. She looked at the worn but comfortable clothing in
her hands and considered faking an illness to stay in her room for the evening. How would she look in this garb when everyone
else would probably be dressed in elegant silk gowns with feathery collars and high-heeled slippers?
And then she rolled her eyes at her ridiculous thoughts, remembering how sweet and personable each woman had been to her throughout
the evening. Not one of them had looked her up and down or grimaced at her faded blouse or well-worn shoes. These were mature,
welcoming women, not snobby high schoolers. While she changed into her cozy sleep clothes, she made a promise to let down
her guard. These women didn’t care that she was poor, just like she didn’t care that Gemma was self-deprecating, CK and Nell
both worried incessantly over their kids, and Moira was a lush. They all had obvious hang-ups, and that was okay.
Moira stood beside the brick fireplace in her spacious bedroom, which was decorated in shades of cream and khaki, and poured herself another glass of wine.
The cool autumn wind rustling through the palm trees carried the briny scent of the sea and marsh through the open doors of the balcony.
She was already dressed in her expensive pastel pink pajamas, accessorized with gold hoop earrings, and her blonde hair was neatly pulled back from her face and secured with a gold barrette.
Her makeup remained flawless, and her pedicure was concealed by soft pink slippers topped with a pom of feathers.
She stepped out of the French doors and onto the small balcony with its plank flooring and haint blue ceiling. She rested
her elbows on the wooden railing and admired the early autumn moonlight dancing on the water, casting a gentle glow over the
cluster of chairs beneath her and the tree that had been Jeffrey’s favorite on the property. For months after his death, she
had avoided that spot, but now, during the late afternoons, she found solace there with her cats, who curiously observed the
birds flapping overhead and the redbreasts and crappie splashing in the water. Instead of sitting by the water and resting
her hand in Jeffrey’s on the arm of a wooden chair, she now held a glass.
She pushed the memories of them beneath the live oak out of her mind and focused instead on how relaxed, carefree, and maybe
a little silly she felt at that moment. This was her favorite feeling—one she wished could be permanent. Shifting her gaze
around the dark backyard, she took another sip of golden wine and recalled her comment to Nell at the dinner table.
It was a crude remark—one that would undoubtedly cause Moira’s mother, whose sense of etiquette rivaled that of Emily Post, to turn seven shades of red with embarrassment.
Moira didn’t genuinely believe what she had said about Nell treating her religion like a pyramid scheme.
It was just that Nell’s demeanor seemed so pious, holier-than-thou, rigid, and judgmental.
Although it was a petty comment, Moira felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction when she thought she had managed to cut Nell Rehman down to size.
Speaking of cutting one down to size, Moira was disappointed to hear Gemma still putting herself down—a habit she had developed
from the man who was supposed to honor her, put her on a pedestal, and treat her like a princess. Tyler was aware that Moira
wasn’t fond of him. Almost a decade earlier, they had all attended the wedding of a mutual friend in their hometown. Throughout
that lovely spring day at Lake Conasauga, Moira held her tongue while Tyler continually mocked Gemma about her appearance.
While waiting for the newlyweds to exit the church, Tyler snidely told Gemma not to eat the rice in her hand and winked at
Moira. In response, Moira threw her handful of rice in his face and yelled at him in front of all the guests. It was a loud,
embarrassing scene, and Gemma defended Tyler afterward. She didn’t speak to Moira for several weeks. When they eventually
made amends, Gemma insisted that she didn’t want to hear a single negative word about her husband again. Since that incident,
Moira kept her opinions about the despicable Tyler Gardner to herself.
At that wedding ten years ago, CK had defended Moira the same way she had defended Nell at the dinner table only half an hour
earlier. CK, always the defender, the protector. Judging by the way she talked about her kids and was continually sending
them text messages, it was evident she was maybe a bit too overprotective.
When Moira’s sons, Bradford and Brent, were Silas’s age, it was not uncommon for them to be left home alone while Moira and Jeffrey took weeklong trips to the Caribbean or had overnight stays in Atlanta.
Moira wondered if Celia Kate’s helicopter parenting would lead Silas to go wild once he was out from under his mother’s control.
With that thought, she downed the last of the liquid in her glass.
Moira walked back into her bedroom and placed the empty goblet on the tan bedside table. She then checked her reflection in
the ornate bronze floor-length mirror that leaned against her wall. She adored the silky pajama set she was wearing—a gift
from her beloved. She had chosen the pajamas at a boutique in Beverly Hills and suspected they probably cost more than Erin’s
weekly salary. Then she started to wonder if Erin had felt out of place among the group. Moira would hate to think that any
of her guests were uncomfortable.
Moira had long known, by the car Erin drove and her cracked phone and even her address, that she wasn’t well-to-do. And Moira
had never ridiculed her for that. Mr. and Mrs. Albert Wallace had taught all four of their children to treat everyone equally,
from the CEO to the custodian. So Moira didn’t look down on Erin. But she did wonder if she could help her out.
What this group needed was another round of drinks. A couple of whiskey and sodas would knock Nell down a peg, make Gemma
comfortable in her own skin, calm CK’s anxiety, and help Erin feel included. Steadying herself in her pink slippers, Moira
admired her beauty one more time before leaving her bedroom.