Chapter 15
Moira stood at the kitchen counter, blowing into her mug of steaming black coffee and gazing out the window at the dark sky
that threatened rain. Her Jeffrey loved rain. When storms rolled through the marsh, he spent his time on the back porch, watching
the clouds and breathing in the damp, clean air.
In fact, Moira and Jeffrey met on a dreary night at a fraternity party at the University of Georgia. Moira wanted to stay
inside, away from the water and humidity that made her hair frizz. However, that night during the fall semester of ?92, her
roommate, Carla, convinced her to go out. Carla said they needed to “do something stupid and glittery,” which meant putting
on a crop top, applying too much eyeliner, and pretending, if only for a few hours, that the ache in Moira’s chest didn’t
exist. That ache was there because her father had died of lung cancer only three months earlier.
The party was loud, crowded, and chaotic, and nearly everyone held a red Solo cup filled with cheap beer. Someone had rigged
up Christmas lights over the kegs, and the speakers blasted Alice in Chains. Moira stood near the stairs, arms crossed, trying
to decide how long she had to stay before leaving wouldn’t seem rude.
That was when she saw Jeffrey Allyson.
He was wearing a worn Bulldogs T-shirt and was huddled in the kitchen with a couple of guys she didn’t recognize, laughing easily and loudly.
He was tall, dark-haired, and radiated a confidence that was not cocky but warm and magnetic.
His dark eyes were filled with humor and something deeper beneath the surface, something that, almost painfully, reminded her of her father.
He saw her watching and tipped his head like he knew he’d caught her thinking about him, and he walked right over.
“You look miserable,” he said, smiling. “You want a drink or a door?”
Moira blinked and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. “What?”
“I’m fluent in freshman, and you have the look of someone who is already regretting life choices.”
She cracked the faintest smile. “You’re not wrong.”
“Come on,” he said, already turning. “It’s stopped raining, and it’s quieter out here.”
He led her out back, down the creaking steps to a little porch overlooking a patchy yard. It was much quieter and cooler.
The cicadas were still buzzing, and someone was throwing a football in the dark.
They sat in mismatched lawn chairs and talked for hours about music, classes, and where she was from. He shared stories about
fishing inshore near Tybee every summer with his father and how he could tie a fly with his eyes closed. When she mentioned
that her dad had passed away that summer, her voice trembled. Jeffrey didn’t flinch or rush in with awkward sympathy. Instead,
he looked at her with something quiet and certain in his face and said, “I would have loved to shake the hand of the man who
raised you.”
That was the moment she fell in love with him.
He reminded her of her father in ways she hadn’t realized she was longing for—tall, steady, funny, and always ready with a story or a sarcastic remark.
He had the same ability to make her feel seen and important, as if she were the sun in the room.
In some ways, he picked up where her dad had left off, almost without knowing it.
He didn’t replace him, but, like Albert Wallace, he made Moira feel spoiled, cherished, and reassured.
By the time they parted that night, she had his flannel around her shoulders and his number inked in messy script on her forearm. She didn’t sleep for a minute.
Jeffrey graduated the following spring, but he and Moira dated exclusively throughout the rest of her years at the University
of Georgia. Although Moira received her BS in business, she never intended to use it. The only degree she truly desired was
an MRS. Despite her intelligence and potential for success in the business world, Moira’s primary ambition was to marry into
wealth and live a life of leisure. She wanted nothing more than to dedicate herself to her Jeffrey, raise their children,
and manage the household, a choice she made without a single regret.
After they married, Moira’s diploma was displayed along with Jeffrey's achievements and degrees on the office wall in the
charming blue antique row house they shared in Savannah’s historic Chatham Square. Jeffrey’s years at UGA were worth it only
because he met Moira there while frivolously spending his father’s money, hanging out with his fraternity brothers, and failing
classes. As James Allyson’s only child, Jeffrey didn’t need to worry about grades and degrees because he was always destined
to assume control of his family’s asphalt shingle factory. Just as Moira was blessed with striking beauty from the good genes
of her mother, Jeffrey inherited business savvy from his father.
After eight years of marriage, the Allyson family, now including two toddlers, moved from their row house to the eight-thousand-square-foot home they designed on a coastal sanctuary that perfectly represented low-country living.
The energetic and handsome brown-haired Allyson boys, Brent and Bradford, grew up fishing and sailing from Tybee Island to
Skidaway Island and back. Even as her children became older and more independent, Moira was often busy with various charities,
clubs, and community functions, and she was always expected to look radiant on Jeffrey’s arm at his business events. Although
they were wealthy enough to afford a chef and a gardener, Moira loved cooking elaborate meals and tending to the acres of
flower beds on their property. Her unused degree hung on the wall, and that was okay because she had her boys and she had
her Jeffrey.
Bradford was the first to leave home to pursue yet another useless degree at UGA. Jeffrey had already decided that his oldest
son would eventually take over the family’s shingle company. Brent had different aspirations: he was accepted into Vanderbilt
University’s premed program. Moira wasn’t surprised by his choice. Given Brent’s childhood, when he cared for ospreys with
broken wings and watched ER while other kids were glued to Clifford the Big Red Dog, it was clear he was destined to dedicate himself to helping others. The younger dark-haired Allyson boy often joked that
he wasn’t meant to work with shingles unless they were the chicken pox variety.
While sipping her hot coffee, Moira continued to stare out the window at the spot beneath the live oak by the water’s edge,
the place she and Jeffrey cherished. With their children nearly grown, Moira and Jeffrey deeply valued their time together.
They spent hours under that tree, discussing their future or simply enjoying moments of comfortable silence.
The thoughts of her beloved were interrupted when her friends came into view, walking alongside the narrow tributary at the east side of the plush yard.
Erin was laughing at something Nell was saying, and Moira was happy to see her relaxed and enjoying herself, even if it meant a friendship was blossoming between her and the captain of the pleasure police.
Moira felt a sting of guilt for her unfair thought about Nell and turned her attention to Gemma and CK, who were quietly following behind with stoic expressions.
Because of their silence, Moira assumed they had been arguing and wondered what the issue was this time.
The hot shower and headache powder she had taken still hadn’t alleviated the pounding in her head. As her friends approached
the house, she rubbed her temples and walked over to the mirrored backsplash in the bar area off the kitchen to check her
appearance. She was wearing a black button-down cover-up over her classic black one-piece bathing suit, which featured ruffled
trim along the V-neck. Her makeup was light, but it concealed the puffiness beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her hair was casually
pulled back into a loose ponytail. She puckered her lips, glistening with gloss, and turned around just in time to see her
friends entering through the kitchen door. She blocked out the sharp pain in her head and greeted them with a big smile.
“Girls, please forgive me for not joining you all this morning,” she said, gripping her coffee mug tightly. The large diamond
wedding ring she still wore clinked softly against the ceramic handle.
“Is everything okay with Bradford?” CK asked as she pulled off her windbreaker and set it on the counter. “Erin said he was
having a lovers’ quarrel?”
Moira nodded, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand.
“Oh yes. Just typical Bradford drama this morning. If it’s not one thing, then it’s another with that boy,” she replied with a hint of exasperation in her tone.
She could feel the awkwardness between her and Erin, who knew she was lying, so she quickly changed the conversation while glancing out the window to the overcast sky.
“I certainly hope our day isn’t ruined by rain. ”
“I checked the radar earlier,” Gemma chimed in. “It looks like we might get a light sprinkle within the next hour or so, but
it should clear up by lunchtime.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Moira said, relieved. “The massage therapist, Kaylee, will be here right at noon to set up. She’s
young, but she’s the best at what she does. You girls will love her.”
As she spoke, Moira’s wedding ring caught the gray light from the kitchen window, sending small glimmers dancing across the
kitchen.
CK reached over and turned Moira’s left hand toward her. “I had forgotten how stunning your ring is,” she remarked, her eyes
wide with admiration.
“Nearly three years and I just can’t bring myself to take it off yet,” Moira replied, her fingers brushing over the shimmering
solitaire, lost for a moment in the memories tied to it. “That’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“That isn’t crazy at all, Mo. You leave it on as long as you like,” Celia Kate answered. “Jeffrey certainly had wonderful
taste, didn’t he?”