Chapter 15 #2
“And he was as handsome as they come,” Gemma added with a grin. “Really dashing, you know? Like one of those classic actors
from the ?50s. I always thought he would look great in a fedora. Cary Grant–type charm.”
Nell added, “I didn’t know him nearly as long as you ladies did, but I was always amazed at how well he remembered names.
When someone visited church, he knew them the next time he saw them, right down to their spouse’s and kids’ names.
He always made people feel welcomed, known. He certainly was personable.”
“I asked him about that one time,” CK said. “Sean and I and our kids went with him and Moira and their boys to Edisto Island
one weekend, and I was so impressed with how he remembered all of the staff’s names at the resort where we stayed. He told
me it was an old Dale Carnegie trick.”
Moira smiled. “He was constantly turning names into pictures.” She imitated her husband’s deep voice as she said, “His name
is Alfred. That reminds me of Alfredo sauce. So every time I see him, I picture him in a kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans,
stirring Alfredo sauce. That’s him. That’s Alfred.”
They laughed as Gemma and CK shared another story about the generous donation Jeffrey made to Tunnel Hill High School after
a fire destroyed several classrooms. He contributed to the school simply because it was attended by the love of his life.
He was a kind and giving person with a big heart.
Moira felt warm and soothed at the compliments about her one true love, but then a wave of sadness crossed her face.
“Mo, did we say something to—” CK started.
“No,” Moira replied quickly, though her smile remained dim. “It’s nice to hear all these good things about Jeffrey, but I
can only take so much before it gets a bit overwhelming. It’s bittersweet, you know?” She gave CK’s hand a gentle pat. “Anyway,
how about you all change into your bathing suits, and we’ll meet by the pool?”
Gemma was in the bathroom that she and CK were sharing for the weekend, and she was trying on the last of three bathing suits she had bought online. She wasn’t happy with how she looked in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and let out a frustrated huff as she turned from side to side.
“I should have starved myself last week,” she whispered to herself.
Gemma was on a diet more than not. Keto seemed the most effective, as she swapped mashed potatoes for cauliflower and eliminated
every slice of bread and grain of rice. She sometimes shed ten or twenty pounds, even forty before COVID-19. She knew Tyler
loved her more when she was thinner. He treated her differently, often splurging on flowers and jewelry (but never candy).
However, she gained it all back during the pandemic while bored and confined to the house. She turned to food, feeling stressed
with work and frustrated by Tyler’s passive-aggressive remarks.
Eating was her coping mechanism; she didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her that. In fact, she was so worried about having
to wear a bathing suit on her trip to Allyson Island that she made the quick drive to her parents’ house in Alpharetta for
a pan of her mother’s blonde brownies.
“This thing looks like it is painted on!” Gemma yelled through the bathroom door to CK, who was sprawled on the bed, keeping
an eye on the live camera feed from her house. Chipper Jones was prancing around the backyard as she watched anxiously, fearing
that a rabid raccoon might claw his eyes out or a starved coyote might jump out from the woods beside the trampoline and grab
him.
Gemma flung the bathroom door open, panted, and marched over to her open suitcase on the paisley chaise lounge in the corner of the room. Celia Kate paid her no mind and was determined not to take her eyes off the stealthy cat that was stalking something in the flower bed by the well spigot.
“Hello? Are you ignoring me?” Gemma groaned as she rummaged through her suitcase. “Are you going to hold a grudge against
me for the rest of the weekend because of our little argument this morning?”
“No,” CK replied matter-of-factly without taking her eyes off the live footage of her backyard. “What are you going on about?”
“I’m wearing this ridiculous swim dress—literally a dress that hangs down to my knees—and it still doesn’t provide enough
coverage,” Gemma exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips as she turned to CK. “Look at me! I’m just one backstroke away from
having a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction.”
CK rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh. “The swimsuit looks fine,” she said while quickly glancing at the black tankini
top and the pink and white stripes on the skirt.
“What kind of a moron designs a swimsuit this large with horizontal stripes?” Gemma complained as CK turned her attention
back to her phone screen. “Are you listening to me or are you still watching your house?”
Celia Kate nodded and said, “I’m doing both.”
Gemma continued digging through the pile of clothing. “Well, what have you concluded from your surveillance? Is the house
still standing?”
CK got up from the bed and slid on her blue rubber flip-flops that perfectly matched the blue and white seersucker cover-up she was wearing.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Silas told me that he logged in right on time this morning and finished the application without any problems. Sophie is at a friend’s house, and Sean took Tucker golfing.
Chipper Jones is chasing a mouse in the flower bed. Everything is great.”
“Why do you sound kind of annoyed then?” Gemma asked while retrieving a long black linen cover-up from her suitcase. She stretched
and pulled it over her dark head.
CK let out a deep sigh. “I’m just mad at myself for always worrying over nothing.”
“You certainly don’t have to worry about cellulite, do you?” Gemma eyed her tall, thin friend. Her physique proved that she
was once an athlete, even after having three kids.
“I have cellulite,” CK said before pinching a small fold of skin on her outer thigh.
Gemma laughed, shaking her head. “Well, if that’s what you call cellulite, then I must have what they call cell-u-lot. I can’t
even look at you,” she playfully teased before she tossed her orange and yellow towel over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
When CK and Gemma arrived at the pool, Moira was already lounging in one of eight matching teak pool chairs next to the rectangle
of aquamarine water. The sky was still a blanket of gray, but a glimmer of brightness appeared in the far west, which relieved
Moira.
Gemma, however, was hoping it would storm so they could go back inside, change into sweatpants, wrap themselves in blankets,
pig out, and watch Dawson’s Creek reruns.
“You just missed my friend Harry, the great blue heron. He visits me all the time,” Moira exclaimed. “He was right over there.” She pointed to a rock formation and a cascading fountain at the deep end of the pool, surrounded by several small palmetto trees.
“What do those devil cats think about your bird buddy? I bet they’d love to get their homicidal paws on him,” Gemma said before
tossing the towel on the lounger next to Moira. She felt self-conscious when her thin friend looked up at her from beneath
expensive square sunglasses.
“Dove and Pearl are lovers, not fighters.” Moira chuckled.
“Still, I bet they’d love a heron sandwich,” Gemma said.
“I saw several big seabirds on our walk this morning,” CK said. “It’s so beautiful out here, Mo. You must smile as soon as
you wake up each day because you live in paradise.” CK sat on her matching wooden lounger and squeezed some sunscreen into
her palm. She rubbed the white lotion into her dark-complected arms and then gestured at the stunning flower beds and terra-cotta
pots in the backyard, which were bursting with color from the annuals. “Paradise.”
“Do you have a gardener to help with all of this?” Gemma asked as she leaned back cautiously in her chair, hoping it would
support her weight without creaking or groaning.
“Nope,” Moira replied with a proud grin. “You girls know I love gardening. I can’t imagine paying someone to do something
I enjoy so much.”
“What about that hydrangea you asked me about a few weeks ago? Did you transplant it? Or are you going to wait?”
“I took your advice and I’m going to wait until winter. But it has outgrown its space in the front garden. It’s crowding out
my weigela.”
Before reclining back into her chair, CK made a point to do her usual check that her phone’s ringtone was set to a loud volume, just in case anyone from home decided to call. She placed the device next to her leg on the comfortable lounger, where she could easily reach it.
“Mo, CK and Erin said that Mrs. Joanie retired,” Gemma said. “I had no idea. She was with you for how long?”
“Oh yes,” Moira said with disappointment. “Joanie moved down to Fort Lauderdale to be closer to her kids and grandkids. She
had been with me and Jeffrey since the boys were little. I still talk to her on the phone every few weeks. She isn’t in the
best health.” Moira leaned over to pick up a clear glass that shimmered with a bright orange liquid. She took a sip from the
elegant fluted glass, savoring the refreshing taste. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did you girls want a mimosa?” she asked, glancing between
them with a friendly smile.
“No, thanks. I don’t usually have champagne before lunch,” CK answered with a touch of sarcasm and raised one eyebrow above
her tortoiseshell sunglasses.
“You know what? I will take one,” Gemma said with a bit of mischief. “It’s the weekend, after all.”
Moira hopped up from her chair, moving smoothly to the covered porch where a pitcher of mimosas was sitting on the outside
bar, surrounded by several clear, sparkling glasses.
CK gave Gemma a stern look. “What are you doing? We just talked last night about how much Moira is drinking. Besides, Nell
is a recovering alcoholic.”