Chapter 16 #2
As Kaylee pressed her thumbs into CK’s neck, working out the knots and tension, CK held the phone below the table and stared through the hole in the pillow at the security camera footage displayed on the six-inch screen.
She saw Sean’s truck parked in the driveway, with the boat hitched to it from his morning fishing trip to Lake Conasauga.
Sophie’s bicycle was also in the driveway, but Sophie was nowhere to be seen.
The bicycle was not on its kickstand; it had been carelessly dropped onto the pavement, as if someone had forcefully pulled her off it.
A wave of panic surged through CK. Had Sophie been kidnapped?
No, stop, Celia Kate! she told herself firmly. Everyone is fine. Everything is fine. The kids are fine. Sean is fine. The cat is fine.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising tide of anxiety. She reminded herself that Sean was home, and he would have
called if something was wrong. Sophie was probably just inside, having abandoned her bike in a hurry to sit at the kitchen
table and work on greeting cards.
Kaylee, sensing CK’s tension, paused for a moment. “Is everything okay?” she asked softly.
“Yes, everything’s fine. Just a little distracted is all.”
Kaylee continued the massage with a bit more pressure, hoping to ease Celia Kate’s worries.
CK closed her eyes, trying to let go of the intrusive thoughts. She visualized each muscle relaxing, each knot releasing,
as she repeated her mantra: Everyone is fine. Everything is fine.
The minutes ticked by, and slowly CK felt her body begin to unwind. She focused on the soothing pressure of Kaylee’s hands,
the gentle music playing in the background, and the faint mixture of lavender and chlorine hovering in the air. The tension
in her neck and shoulders eased, and her breathing became more even. She knew she had to trust that everything was okay at
home, to remember that she could not control every part of her family’s life, no matter how much she wanted to.
CK knew what gave birth to her anxiety. It stemmed from the death of her grandmother, Sue, with whom she had been incredibly close.
She vividly remembered the moment Vice Principal Wadley interrupted a sophomore season basketball practice, calling her name with a look of concern on his face.
The image of her sweet mother, sitting in a red plastic chair in her coach’s office with mascara stains on her rosy cheeks, would forever be etched in her mind.
It was in a moment when she felt safe, when her guard was down—except for the defenses she maintained on the court—that tragedy found her.
Five years ago, the most devastating news came to CK in the middle of peaceful sleep. She was startled awake by a phone call
from her frantic father, who told her that her mother was struggling to breathe and that an ambulance was on the way. He urged
CK to come quickly. In an instant, she went from a state of calm to one of panic. Just a few hours later, as she paced the
waiting room of Tunnel Hill Hospital in her pajamas, she learned that her mother, her best friend, had died.
Now, as she lay on the massage table, completely vulnerable, it felt like the perfect time for tragedy to strike again. There
was no way she could be without her phone. There was no way she would ever fully relax this side of heaven.
Erin was thirty-eight years old and had never experienced a massage. Embarrassed, she didn’t dare mention this to anyone,
including the massage therapist. Unsure of what to expect, she entered the dimly lit, serene pool house with a swirl of thoughts
in her mind. Would she be expected to take off all her clothes? What would she talk about during the session, or would there
be complete silence? What should she do with her head and hands? The idea of a stranger touching her made her feel uncomfortable.
After Kaylee explained what to do, Erin lay down on the table, rigid and tense.
“Just take a deep breath and relax,” the young woman advised her. “You’re really tight.”
So this was what it was like to pay someone to pamper you, to help relieve your stress?
Who had extra money for this? Or even for cleaning their house?
Who had extra cash lying around to spend on wants instead of needs?
When she was married to Phillip, they only went on a few weekend trips here and there, but nothing extravagant.
They stayed in two-star hotels, not five.
There was often mold in the ice machine, and she occasionally spotted a roach darting across the stained floor.
She certainly wouldn’t want to use a black light on those covers.
She and Phillip drove used cars and wore secondhand clothes.
If she dared to buy something that Phillip didn’t approve of, she would certainly pay for it.
Now, though, Phillip was doing well for himself. His construction business had grown, and he had been contracted to build
some fast-food restaurants in Savannah. It seemed his new wife wouldn’t be driving around in rusted, beaten-up hatchbacks
or digging in crates at the thrift shop that smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. The very thought of her horrible ex-husband
being rewarded in some way made anger and resentment bubble up within Erin. So she pushed those feelings away and focused
on the moment.
Finally, her body and stress melted under Kaylee’s hands, and Erin pretended she had struck gold too. Look at her! She was
spending a whole weekend on Allyson Island as a guest, not an employee. Massage included.
Kaylee’s soft voice was tinged with concern as she asked, “I’m sorry I have to ask, but I have to know, Ms. Moira, how much
alcohol have you had today? Massage can intensify the effects of intoxication. Are you feeling dizzy at all?”
“Nonsense, Kaylee,” Moira replied, waving her hand dismissively, a tipsy smile spreading across her tanned face.
“I’ve had four or five drinks throughout the day.
It’s nearly four o’clock. I’ve eaten a bowl of nuts, half a pineapple, and a chicken salad croissant.
I’m perfectly fine.” Clumsily and unsteadily, she climbed onto the massage table.
Kaylee felt a tug of reluctance at the back of her mind. She didn’t want to refuse Moira because it was her party after all—she
was the paying client, entitled to the pampering she requested. Sighing quietly, Kaylee decided to keep her technique gentle
and soothing; perhaps Moira would drift off into a deep sleep, unaware that she was receiving an almost nonexistent massage,
with barely any pressure applied.
As Moira placed her head into the cushioned hole of the chair, she felt a bit lightheaded and swimmy. Her stomach twisted
a little, but nothing too serious. She wasn’t drunk, for heaven’s sake, just a little off-balance. She planned to drink plenty
of water when the massage was done. That would certainly help her feel better, along with a hot shower to energize her before
dinner on the boat that evening.
Kaylee pressed into her calf, and Moira thought about the weekend thus far.
It was nice for her home to be filled with laughter again.
She was especially thankful to be reunited with CK and Gemma.
She made a mental note to pull out her wedding album before they left tomorrow afternoon, so they could think back on that beautiful spring weekend when she and Jeffrey exchanged vows.
As she recalled the day at Tunnell Hill First Baptist, she remembered how lovely Gemma and CK had looked in their cornflower-blue bridesmaid dresses with puffy sleeves, a signature of the 1990s.
The thought of revisiting that joyful, sunny day through pictures made her smile at the floor beneath her.
However, with the sweetness came bitterness, similar to what she felt while watching their wedding video.
As the first widow in her friend group, Moira found it painful to listen to others talk about their marriages. Their discussions
only reminded her of what she no longer had. Moira remembered how devastated her mother was after her father passed away.
Mrs. Louise Wallace never remarried, and a shadow of sorrow seemed to follow her throughout her life. Moira feared this might
be her fate as well.
When news of Jeffrey’s death spread throughout the community, texts and social media messages from single men—even some from
married ones—began to appear. They gave their condolences, but there was an underlying tone of interest that made Moira uncomfortable.
The very thought of being romantically involved with anyone other than Jeffrey Allyson repulsed her. Perhaps in time, she
thought, but thus far, she had no interest in dating.
She imagined the conversations her friends might be having about her. “Poor Moira, she seems so depressed. Why didn’t anyone else show up this weekend? Will she ever date again? What about her
drinking? Should we be concerned? What a mess she’s become since Jeffrey died!” She pictured them lounging around the pool, relaxed after their massages and pampering—all courtesy of Moira. They were likely
looking out across the scenic backyard, gossiping about her at that very moment, biting the hand that had fed them all weekend.
And maybe there was some truth to their words. But she didn’t have the energy, concern, or care to address it—not right now.
As Kaylee worked on Moira’s lower back, her skilled hands kneading away the tightness, Moira’s thoughts continued to wander.
The rhythmic pressure and soothing ambience of the room lulled her into a state of drowsiness.
The soft music, the smell of lavender, and the gentle hum of the massage table’s heater created a cocoon of comfort around her.
She felt a deep sense of comfort like this with Jeffrey, whether it was in his arms or simply being in his presence. She remembered
their spontaneous road trips, how they would dance in the kitchen to their favorite songs, and the quiet moments spent in
the Adirondack chairs just enjoying each other’s company. His smile, his embrace, and those cherished memories were a balm
to her soul. However, they also brought a wave of sadness, just as photos and videos and conversations of him did. She missed
him so much that it hurt.
Moira soon felt herself drifting into a deep sleep. Her breathing slowed, and her body relaxed to the point where one of her
arms slid off the edge of the table and dangled toward the floor. In her dream, she and Jeffrey walked hand in hand along
the silt path that curled beside the blackwater, their bare feet leaving soft imprints in the wet sand. The marsh grasses
whispered in the breeze, and overhead, the sky was painted in beautiful shades of twilight—lavender and gold, rose and deep
velvet blue. Jeffrey looked just as she remembered him. He wasn’t older; he was unchanged. Sun-browned skin, wind-tousled
hair, eyes that always seemed to know what she was going to say before she said it.
He squeezed her hand a little tighter, like he could feel the ache she carried. And when he finally turned to look at her,
there was nothing in his expression but love. That quiet, all-encompassing kind that wrapped around her.
“Are you okay, Mo?” he asked softly.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The sad truth was caught in her throat. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and smiled in his warm, familiar way. In that dream, she experienced a sense of peace and contentment that had been absent from her life for two and a half years.