Chapter 20 #3
I’m afraid of growing old and looking old, and I’m also afraid of doing it alone.
I’m afraid my boys hate me.
I’m afraid to stop drinking.
I’m afraid the grief will never go away.
What Nell said about happiness and joy being two different things is true for me. I’m certainly not happy most of the time,
but I know I’m not joyful either. I’m just numb and empty and everything feels dark and heavy.
I have lost not only Jeffrey, but also Brent and Bradford. I ache for them and for the way things used to be. I was truly
blessed to have such a caring husband and kind boys. Forgive me, God, for the times I took that for granted. Forgive me, God,
for the moments I ranted and raved, complaining about towels on the floor and lights left on upstairs.
I’m afraid that Bradford won’t come back to Savannah after he graduates from college because he won’t want to be anywhere
near me. And if that happens, what will that mean for the business? Thankfully, there are capable people—Jeffrey’s most trusted
employees—at the helm right now, but Jeffrey and his dad and granddad dedicated so many years to building that company, and
all their hard work could be lost, taken from our family, if Bradford doesn’t step up. If that happens, I would have no one
to blame but myself.
I know my friends meant well with their constant calls and texts after Jeffrey died.
But their concern for me, the grieving widow, just kept reminding me that Jeffrey was gone and eventually, I started to resent it.
That’s why I stopped responding to their messages.
That’s why my sisters-in-law and other friends didn’t show up this weekend.
It’s not about drapes and detailing cars and mums and other ridiculous excuses.
They simply don’t want to be around me anymore.
When I wasn’t ignoring them, I was calling them in the middle of the night with drunk, bold criticisms and opinions, expressing things I probably shouldn’t have.
I’ve lost the respect of so many because of my actions.
It started out so harmless—a glass of wine in my and Jeffrey’s favorite spot under the oak tree, watching the sunset. Then
he was gone, and I found myself alone under that oak. Soon that one glass turned into two, then three, and eventually a whole
bottle. More than once I’ve woken up in the middle of the night in that hard Adirondack chair, surrounded only by cicadas
and bullfrogs. Jeffrey would be so disappointed to see what I have become.
I’m so embarrassed about this weekend. I was hungover and ended up ruining the evening, which has made it clear that I need
to quit. I know that. Still, I have to be honest: I do not want to stop. I enjoy the forgetfulness and the deep sleep that
drinking brings. It feels like medication to me. I don’t know how to go on without it.
I’m not happy, but I fear that I may never be joyful again either.
And without joy, and without Jeffrey and my boys, I don’t know if life is worth living.
Moira’s sorrowful words lingered as her friends quietly wiped away the tears pooling in their eyes, the soft sounds of sniffles
filling the warm room. One of the cats in Moira’s lap stirred awake, meowing in frustration.
“Mo?” Nell’s voice broke the silence.
Moira raised her finger and shook her head slightly to show she wasn’t ready to talk yet.
“I’m not sure what the rules are here, Erin, but I think I have said enough tonight.
We all have. Let’s go to bed, okay? It’s really late and we’re all old .
. . except for Erin,” she said with a firm but gentle tone.
Moira wearily rose from her chair, and as she did, Dove and Pearl jumped to the floor. Nell, CK, Gemma, and Erin also stood
up, and together they made their way up the staircase. When they reached the top of the landing, they exchanged hugs and said
their good nights.
Moira walked slowly down the hallway to her room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows on the eggshell-colored
walls. Once her pets were inside the room with her, she gently closed the door and leaned against it for a moment as she took
a deep breath. Her mind wandered back to earlier that evening when she tossed her cobbler, and the familiar dark, heavy shame
pressed down on her again. The same shame she’d felt each time she’d woken up in the movie theater, her head spinning while
she watched the VHS of her dancing with Jeffrey to Etta James on the parquet dance floor at their wedding reception. The same
shame she felt when she hovered over a trash can in the middle of the night or felt aching in her back from passing out in
the hard Adirondack chair. She shook her head, as if to physically shake the memories away, and walked into her bathroom,
where she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red from crying all night, and her face looked tired and
worn. For once, she didn’t look so beautiful.
In the other bedrooms on Allyson Island, all was quiet except for the noise in the women’s minds. Nell lay in bed, staring
at the ceiling and replaying the events of the long day. She silently spoke to the Lord, laying every burdensome thought at
his feet.
In the shared room of Gemma and CK, CK sat on the edge of the bunk bed, checking the alarm app to make sure her home was armed while also trying to recall the details of each letter.
She had so many questions about Tyler’s affair, but she knew it wasn’t the right time to ask Gemma to confide in her.
Gemma, usually full of humor, lay in the bunk opposite CK, gazing at Tyler’s whereabouts on the location app. He was at Rebecca’s
apartment and had been for hours. Despite her typical joking demeanor, she felt a deep sadness and couldn’t find it in her
broken heart to crack any jokes.
Meanwhile, in the other room, Erin felt safe, unlike at her apartment, but still, she couldn’t rest. She tried to escape the
emotional weight of the night by playing solitaire on her cracked phone. It was past 1:00 a.m. when she received a text from
Savannah Power, warning her that she would lose service if her bill wasn’t paid by Monday.
“‘Come Monday,’” she said, quietly echoing the lyrics Gemma had sung several times that evening.