Chapter 19 #2
“It felt good,” Gemma confessed, “but I feel guilty. Mama always says to never say something behind someone’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face.”
“Well, I’d like to tell Tyler to his face what I think of him,” CK said.
Moira said, “I agree with Mama Linda, but I can’t deny that it feels good to hear you take a dig at him.”
“Serves him right for being such a jerk all these years. I’m still in shock that he would step out on you, Gemma. He should
consider himself lucky that someone like you gave him the time of day!” CK’s voice rose and her cheeks flushed hot with anger.
“Okay, okay. Not right now.” Gemma shook her head and Celia Kate reluctantly agreed, with a sigh, to save the conversation
for later.
Moira glanced across the living room at a shiny silver frame on the round table in the corner. It held one of Moira’s favorite
photos of her and Jeffrey: a candid shot taken at a charity cocktail event. In the picture, Moira was laughing hysterically,
her mouth open and her eyes closed. Her head was leaning on Jeffrey’s shoulder as he smiled widely and gazed off-camera.
“Jeffrey aged well too,” she said as her lips tightened.
For Jeffrey’s fiftieth birthday, he requested no party, no big to-do; he only wanted to be with Moira and his boys. They had
dinner at his favorite seafood restaurant, followed by a horse-drawn carriage ride through their beloved Savannah, the city
Jeffrey Allyson knew like the back of his hand. They talked more about their boys’ future and theirs—that yacht, a trip to
Rome. But only two days later, Jeffrey was gone.
Moira’s stare wandered from the photo of happier times to the bar that led into the kitchen, where bottles sat neatly lined up like soldiers. A drink would be nice right now—warm and smooth, something that could gently numb the persistent ache of losing her charming husband too soon.
Without consulting her friends or offering to get them anything, she walked to the bar, fully aware that, just like on graduation
evening, eyes were focused on her, scrutinizing her every move. She didn’t care. This was her home, her party, and she would
do whatever she wanted. She pulled down a clean etched glass and poured herself a drink of syrupy brown liquid: Jack Daniel’s.
It was Jeffrey’s libation choice, though he rarely indulged. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him heavily intoxicated, even
during his fraternity party days. As a college student, he enjoyed having a good time but always kept his wits about him.
He looked out for his friends, making sure they stayed safe and didn’t get too out of control. That was the kind of guy he’d
always been—protective, concerned, generous.
Moira wondered what Jeffrey would say about her drinking habits. She was sure he wouldn’t approve. But he wasn’t here, was
he? If he had been, she wouldn’t be drinking so much. This was his fault. His death was nearly killing her.
She reached for a metal stirring stick, and the cubes clinked against the glass while the warm whiskey got to work melting
them. She took a sip; it burned her throat. She turned to walk back to the couch. Not wanting to see the disapproval on her
friends’ faces, she avoided meeting their eyes with her own. She sprawled out on the couch as if she didn’t care what they
thought—because she truly didn’t.
“So what do you ladies want to talk about now?” she asked.
Gemma spotted a couple of decks of cards in a decorative bowl on the coffee table and suggested a game of rummy.
The others agreed and tossed throw pillows and their blankets onto the floor around the large coffee table and settled down on them.
Dove and Pearl arrived for the card game, kneading their paws into the blankets piled on the rug.
Meanwhile, Gemma kept a watchful eye on the “whiskered demons” while shuffling the cards and dealing them out.
She also gave Erin a quick refresher on how to play the game.
Chatter and laughter filled the room, accompanied by ?80s and ?90s hits playing from a speaker in the entertainment center.
Several times, before the ice cubes had even melted in her glass, Moira returned to the bar in the butler’s pantry for a refill.
Each time she made her way to the liquor cabinet, her friends exchanged concerned glances, but they remained silent and continued
with their card game, even as Moira’s words became slurred and she struggled to remember which card to play.
Without warning, in the middle of the game, Moira turned her head away from the coffee table. The contents of her stomach—a
mix of shrimp and sausage and mudbugs and cobbler—splattered all over her expensive silk pajamas and the khaki couch. The
cats leapt to their paws and darted out of the room. Nell and Erin, who were sitting closest to her, also jumped up in a panic,
while Gemma began to gag at the sight and smell.
Erin and CK rushed to the kitchen to grab towels while Moira moaned and sprawled backward on the floor. She looked up at Nell,
her eyes glassy and her nose running, and said, “I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you?”
Nell replied softly and kindly, “Shh, now. Everything is okay.”
Celia Kate and Erin returned, with Erin immediately shifting into work mode.
She removed the stained couch cushion, along with a damp blanket and throw pillow, holding them away from her body as she headed to the laundry room at the back of the house.
Meanwhile, Gemma was not helping; she was loudly dry heaving in the corner while CK shouted at her to stop being so dramatic.
Gemma shouted back at CK, and Moira, lying on the floor in a drunken stupor, called out, “Not now, you two!”
CK narrowed her eyes at Gemma, who was retching animatedly, and offered to take Moira to her room to get cleaned up.
“I’ll do it,” Nell eagerly offered.
“No, Nell. CK can help me. I’m not in the mood for an intervention right now.” Moira huffed as she sat up from the floor,
wobbling on her elbows, while her messy hair stuck to her forehead.
“I promise, no intervention,” Nell said, bending down to gently grip Moira’s arm and help her to her feet. Meanwhile, CK sprayed
carpet cleaner on the rug and groaned at Gemma, who continued to flail about and make horrible noises.
The French doors in Moira’s bedroom were still open to the balcony, letting the refreshing salty air flow inside. As she and
Nell stepped into the cool room, Moira felt more alert and clear-headed. She gently pulled away from Nell’s grasp and shuffled
into the bathroom. There, she removed her filthy pajamas and tossed them into the hamper before covering herself with a soft
white robe. Still feeling a bit dizzy, she sat down at her bathroom vanity and asked Nell to bring her another pair of pajamas
from the closet.
Before entering the walk-in closet, Nell paused at Jeffrey’s vanity and noticed that his belongings were still neatly arranged
on the countertop. A wave of sadness washed over her as she rummaged through Moira’s pajama drawer, which was filled with
expensive sets and elegant gowns. She pulled out a pair of pajamas similar to the pink ones Moira had been wearing, but in
a soft and buttery pastel purple.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Nell,” Moira insisted, shaking her head and holding up her hand in resistance.
Nell recognized that it wasn’t the right time for a discussion and placed the clean set of clothes on the counter.
As Moira hung her head and massaged her forehead, it became clear to Nell that she was embarrassed by what had happened.
Perhaps vomiting shrimp and sausage at her birthday party in front of her friends was precisely what Moira Allyson needed to realize that her drinking had become out of control.
Moira groggily thanked Nell for her help and asked her to give her some privacy while she cleaned up. When Nell left, Moira
splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth. While looking in the mirror, she suddenly broke down in tears, the
heavy reality of her actions hitting her: she had just vomited in front of her friends, and on her couch and living room floor.
Feeling completely asinine, she sat down on her vanity stool and buried her face in her hands.
Again she wondered what Jeffrey would think, and guilt swept over her, slow and thick. She pictured him standing in the doorway
behind her, watching her like he used to. Only now there would be no soft joke or compliment or smile that wrinkled the corners
of his eyes. He would be disappointed.
Moira pressed her fingertips to her cheek and felt the heat there. She felt the shame bubbling within her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the mirror, to herself, to him.
The tears came again, and she put her elbows on her knees and cradled her face in her hands once more. She stayed like that
while her body shook, not from the alcohol, but from the bondage of it all.
Soon, Dove and Pearl settled onto the top of her bare feet, soft and comforting.
She reached down to pet them before she wiped her eyes with tissue and then splashed cold water onto her face again.
She looked at her reflection and knew she was still in there somewhere.
Beneath the grief and the mess and the blur of everything lost, she was still there.
“I’m going to be better,” she whispered to the woman in the mirror, and to Jeffrey. “I have to be.”
She didn’t know if she believed it. Not yet. But saying it felt like a good start. And saying it brought Jeffrey back into
her thoughts. He wasn’t angry or even disappointed anymore; he was just waiting for her, for the woman he had loved for so
long, to come back.
Nell returned to the living room, where CK and Erin were still busy cleaning up the area. Gemma had stopped making loud noises
and was now quietly standing in the corner, her nose and mouth covered by the collar of her black pajama top.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat a low-country boil again,” Gemma griped.