Chapter 17 #2
It was fifteen minutes past the scheduled boarding time, but the white catamaran was still waiting at the wooden boat dock
that jutted into the calm black waters behind the Allyson house. The captain, a young man named Kevin who was in his early
twenties, stood in a starched button-down shirt and khaki shorts, ready to assist the women onto the boat. A table for five
was already set on the deck, and delightful aromas wafted up from the galley below, where Antonio was preparing a delicious
meal. The lovely dark-haired Renata led the women to their table while Kevin took his place at the helm.
“Let’s take a selfie!” Moira insisted as they sat at the rectangular wooden table surrounded by white chairs. They huddled
together and smiled brightly. Erin couldn’t help but notice Moira’s expensive leather phone case pointed at her face, which
made her feel self-conscious about her own old device in her hand, marred by water damage and a cracked screen.
Renata offered a cocktail garnished with a wedge of lime, which Moira gladly accepted, and Nell and Celia Kate’s disappointment
was clearly revealed in their expressions.
Not wanting Moira to drink alone, Gemma also asked Renata for a cocktail, and even though she could feel CK’s stare boring
into her, she refused to acknowledge it. The others picked up their glasses of water, and together they clinked their drinks
in a toast to Moira’s fiftieth birthday.
As the Georgia sun lingered on the horizon, it painted a breathtaking display of colors across the evening sky.
The air was warm and pleasant, carrying the scent of marsh grass as Kevin stood at the covered helm and sailed them across the tranquil Ogeechee River.
The gentle sloshing of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack for their journey toward the open waters of the Atlantic, along with the call of seagulls crying out in the distance.
Southern homes adorned with expansive porches and surrounded by lush, meticulously landscaped gardens lined the coastline.
Moira pointed out one particularly large residence featuring an impressive two-story balcony.
“That is where Audria and Raymond McHenry lived before they went bankrupt in the spring,” Moira shared, her voice touched
with a mix of intrigue and amusement.
“Oh? The ex-senator?” CK asked, taking a sip from her glass of water, her eyes wide with interest. “I read about that.”
Moira eagerly launched into a detailed story filled with gossip, painting a vivid picture of the McHenrys’ scandalous lives.
She shared every juicy detail she could remember, from their extravagant parties where the drugs flowed freely to their public
arguments and financial struggles. As she wrapped up her Southern Gothic tale, she concluded, “Long story short, he was cheating
on Audria. But I can’t say I blamed him. I mean, she really let herself go.”
Gemma’s anger bubbled to the surface at Moira’s callous comment. The surge of frustration and hurt made it impossible for
her to contain herself any longer, and she shot back, “Are you suggesting I deserve infidelity just because I have let myself
go, Moira?”
The group glanced at one another in shock and then turned back to Gemma, whose face was rigid with hurt and whose eyes were filled with tears that threatened to fall.
Moira stammered, feeling embarrassed, and tried to apologize, but Gemma interrupted her. “Yes, Tyler is cheating on me, and
no, I don’t want to talk about it—not now or in a week. I didn’t mean to mention it because it really isn’t any of your business.”
She gulped down the remainder of her cocktail and then called out, “Renata! Refill, por favore!”
The Italian beauty appeared from the opposite end of the boat holding another cocktail in her hand. The weight of Gemma’s
words loomed over the group, causing shifting eyes and furrowed brows, while an oblivious Renata checked everyone’s glasses
before returning to her post below deck.
CK leaned forward in her chair, mouth agape, and whisper-yelled, “Gemma, you cannot possibly expect us not to talk about this.”
“Well, we’re not. Not right now.” Gemma nervously chewed on her lip and avoided eye contact with the women staring at her
with bewildered expressions. She held down her olive-green skirt, which threatened to blow upward in the breeze.
The mood shifted dramatically among the friends as they glided from the brackish river into the expansive waters of the Atlantic,
where the waves grew slightly larger and caused the boat to rock gently. The vast ocean stretched out before them, an apparently
endless expanse of deep blue water. The sun hung lower on the horizon, just one dip away from disappearing altogether. The
colors it left behind created a breathtaking display that seemed almost surreal.
Celia Kate, however, paid no attention to the majestic sea and sky.
She was too overwhelmed by the shock of what Gemma had revealed.
Not only was she sickened by what that jerk Tyler had done to her best friend, but she could not believe her dearest friend on earth had not confided in her about something so monumental.
As Erin watched the sun sink lower over the vast Atlantic, her thoughts veered to her husband and his infidelity. She had
discovered Phillip’s cheating less than a year after their wedding. He had met the woman in a small dive bar along the coast,
a place he often visited after work. He didn’t even attempt to hide the affair, and when Erin confronted him, he showed no
compassion or remorse.
The tension on the catamaran deck was so thick it felt as though it could be cut with a knife. The silence grew increasingly
uncomfortable, oppressive, and suffocating with each passing moment. Erin could hardly stand it any longer, so she decided
to speak. All the women, even Gemma, whose cheeks were damp with tears, turned to look at her.
“I was hesitant about coming this weekend. Well, hesitant isn’t the right word, I guess. I flat out did not want to come.”
Erin noticed that Moira looked disappointed at the comment.
“Not because of you, Moira. I was nervous about what to wear,” she said, tugging at the cheap navy T-shirt dress she had owned for years.
“I worried about being seen as the poor girl, the divorcée from the wrong side of the tracks. I was even scared that I didn’t know which fork to use for dinner.
But I’m so glad I came. I can relate to Gemma’s broken marriage.
I understand the constant worry that the other shoe is going to drop, CK.
And, Moira”—she smiled at her employer—“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel that after working for you for a while, I’ve come to understand that you’re seeking some relief, something to help you cope.
That’s likely why you pour your first drink before I leave for the evening. ”
Moira was caught by surprise at Erin’s assumption, and her breath hitched in her throat.
Erin nodded at Moira and continued, “I understand that feeling too. I know what it’s like to seek relief—perhaps even solace—not
in the ways you do, but in the approval of others.” She paused. “We have only been together for twenty-four hours, and I have
already found friendship among women I normally would have assumed were snobs. I’ve realized I’m the judgmental one. So I’m
thankful for this weekend, and I’m grateful for each one of you.”
Her words hung in the air, and before anyone had a chance to respond, Renata returned with an authentic low-country boil,
served on large platters for everyone to share.
The spicy aroma of a hearty meal wafted over the boat. They couldn’t help but laugh at how the rustic dish of shrimp, crawfish,
sausage, potatoes, and corn on the cob contrasted with the elegant atmosphere of the catamaran dinner cruise. It had long
been a Southern tradition to drain the seasoned medley and serve it on a table covered in newspaper. Now it made sense why
the cloth napkins were patterned with newsprint. Antonio had added a fun surprise with that touch.
Laughter and chatter filled the deck once again, the earlier awkwardness fading as they enjoyed their meal. They took turns
serving themselves, steam rising from the platters. The women exchanged stories about low-country boils and other Southern
traditions, their voices blending with the sounds of the ocean and the occasional call of a distant seabird.
Moira felt responsible for Gemma’s earlier reveal, so she reached under the table and tapped her friend’s knee. Their eyes met and Moira mouthed the words, I’m sorry. Gemma nodded and quickly looked down at her plate of steaming food. Moira called for Renata and asked for another glass
of bourbon and soda.
It came back to Moira in flashes: Moira sitting on their pontoon’s deck while the Fourth of July sky began to darken over
Tybee Island. The salt air was still warm from the day, sticky and sweet with sunscreen, and the boat rocked gently in place
as the sun slid away.
Brent and Bradford were middle schoolers back then—gangly, sunburned, full of energy and loud opinions about everything from
fireworks to fried shrimp. They wore matching red, white, and blue swim trunks that Moira had made them put on, but neither
would admit they liked them. Brent leaned over the side of the boat, swearing he’d seen a dolphin. Bradford was up near the
bow, holding both of the white kittens wrapped in a beach towel like swaddled infants.
Moira had settled against Jeffrey, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around her stomach. She remembered how
safe she felt there.
They had eaten hush puppies and shrimp off paper plates, passing tartar sauce back and forth and watching the shore of the
beach become more and more crowded with people. Jeffrey had packed root beers for them all. Brent and Bradford burped competitively
all evening.
Then, just after nine, the sky came to life. Fireworks burst over the dunes and reflected in the Atlantic. The boys had gone
still for the first time all evening, their faces turned up and eyes wide, the light flickering across their dark hair.
Jeffrey leaned in close to his wife, his voice low against her ear, and said, “Best seat in the world.”
Moira remembered that moment clearly—how all four of them stared at the sky while the boat gently rocked, the kittens purring
in their towel. Jeffrey might have been gone, and the boys were distant, but they’d had that night—all four of them. And no
one could take that away.