When Mavis retired, Annabelle came to visit, and that was something of a surprise. Mavis hadn’t seen her in ages. Not since she herself had left Piney fifty odd years ago. Of course, she had heard from her, twice, both times when Mavis herself was in the hospital. Annabelle had been real thoughtful of her then, but Mavis had brushed her off. Told her there was no need for her to come.

Later, when she was confined to the house recovering, she’d wished she had Annabelle for company, but she didn’t call her. Kept a stiff upper lip instead. A few gallstones and stomach ulcers, perforated or not, were no reason to be a baby. So Annabelle didn’t come either time, and now, all of a sudden, here she was. The morning after Mavis’s retirement dinner. Not that Mavis had called and told her she was retiring and invited her to the dinner. Oh, no, nothing like that. It wasn’t the sort of thing at all to which she would have invited Annabelle, had she thought to do so, which, of course, she hadn’t. The dinner was a dress-up affair at The Club, which sits atop Red Mountain and overlooks downtown Birmingham. It was hosted by Harrison P. Clarke II, Mavis’s boss and owner of Harrison P. Clarke & Son Fine Jewelry, Inc., and his wife, Bitsy, not that Bitsy had anything to do with it besides ordering flowers and writing out place cards. Harrison saw to the arrangements and did his best to make an occasion of it. Made a speech, a toast really, and presented Mavis with an engraved watch, 9a Movado, quite nice actually, and the guests all applauded. Well, the staff did. They were the guests. The four employees besides Mavis, three clerks and Joseph, the custodian. Mavis was --- had been --- combination clerk and bookkeeper herself for forty years. Second in command, manager when Harrison wasn’t there, although he’d never officially given her a title.

Anyway, that had been the farewell party, followed by a lonesome drive to her dark house in Homewood, all the time trying to keep an unwieldy arrangement of gladioli and carnations from turning over on the floorboard of the car. Mavis hadn’t wanted the flowers to start with, but Bitsy wouldn’t have it but that she take the damn centerpiece home with her. Tried to give her the leftover cake too, but here Mavis drew the line. Bitsy could damn well take the cake home herself and feed it to Harrison. She didn’t have to act like Lady Bountiful feeding the poor and foist it off on Mavis.

So retirement was here. Work was over and done with. No looking back. No regrets, no second thoughts. No longer was Mavis a fixture, a reliable source of advice and assistance to customers and the boss’s right hand, at Harrison Clarke Fine Jewelry. She was just Mavis Horton, retiree. She’d learn to live with it.

Then, the very next morning, Annabelle appeared. Out of the blue. Not that she wasn’t welcome. Of course, she was. Maybe. Actually, Mavis didn’t know whether she was welcome or not. She didn’t have a chance to think about it. She’d never expected to see her again. Never thought about seeing her again. Who would, after all these years? And suddenly there she was. Standing on the porch with her suitcase. Mavis opened the screen door. “Annabelle? What are you doing here?”

Mavis would have known her anywhere. Annabelle was sixty-five now, about to turn sixty-six, as was Mavis herself. Still she knew her. They looked enough alike to be twins, except Annabelle was, and always had been, pretty. Mavis didn’t consider herself pretty, and never had. Plus Annabelle had always known how to make the most of what she had, even when they were pre-schoolers, playing dress up in the clothes Mavis’s mother had left behind. Mavis chose the more sedate outfits, ones her mother might have worn to church had she gone, but Annabelle always jumped right in and picked the bright print dresses and high heels with ankle straps. Anklestrap shoes had been the very thing in the 1940s.

Now Annabelle was standing on the porch in a bright red coat and high-heeled black boots. In spite of a few wrinkles, she looked much the same. She still had fluffy blond hair, an impish smile, and those blue eyes that could look right through Mavis, which is what they were doing now.

There was no need to say much. Mavis set Annabelle’s suitcase in the house, put on her own coat, and they went on a walk around the block, just as they had when they were little girls. They would take walks together all over town. Piney was a little town, not even a county seat, and, in those days, nobody worried about strangers or traffic or terrorists’ attacks. Children were turned loose, and everybody looked after them and told them when it was time to go home to supper. Sometimes when Grandma Horton would call out the kitchen door, “Mavis, come in and set the table,” Annabelle would answer. “Mavis isn’t here right now,” she’d say, and Grandma would say, “All right, Annabelle, then you come in and set the table,” and Annabelle would. She knew how Mavis hated setting the table. Then often Annabelle would set a place for herself and stay for supper.

So now they walked around the block as if nothing had happened and half a century hadn’t gone by.

“Nice neighborhood,” Annabelle said.

“You think so?” Mavis seemed uncertain.

“Sure. You going to stay here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know my neighbors.”

“How come?”

“Too busy. Working, you know. Five, sometimes six days a week. I mean I know the couple next door to speak to. Well, their little boy anyway. And others up and down the street wave.”

“I like it here,” Annabelle announced.

“You do?”

“Nice trees, pretty houses, not too big. Fenced backyards.

Close to the grocery store.”

“Well, yes,” Mavis agreed.

“You could live a life here.”

“I suppose.” Mavis looked around as if, in the dozen years she had lived here, she had never seen the street before.

“I like it better than that apartment you used to have on Southside.”

“You never came to see me in the apartment.”

“I know. It was too crowded. Here you’ve got plenty of room. You could get a dog.” Annabelle gave her a sideways look. “You’ve got a place for one.”

“A dog? Really, Annie, I don’t think so. I’ve never had a dog. I don’t think I like them. All that barking, and getting up to let them in and out all the time. And that jumping up and down. No, no, a dog is definitely out.”

“Look at it this way,” Annabelle said. “We could take turns letting it in and out. And, when we take walks, we’d have an excuse. And people wouldn’t think we were talking to ourselves. Besides, you’ve always wanted a dog and you know it.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. You most certainly have. You are just too
scared to admit it.”

“Scared? Now why would I be scared?”

“Because of that stray puppy that bit you when we were four years old. We were playing in the side yard, remember? House. You were the mommy and I was the daddy, and you tried to pick up this dirty little dog and put him in the baby carriage. You dropped him, and he bit you on the foot.”

“Oh yes.”

“You still have the scar on your big toe.”

“True.” Mavis thought this over.

They walked in silence to the corner.

As they neared the house, Annabelle said, “Do you remember the day we met?”

“No,” Mavis answered abruptly. “We’ve always known
each other.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Well, I don’t remember when we met.”

“I do.” Annabelle smiled.

“Well, aren’t you Miss Know-It-All!”

Mavis walked so fast the rest of the way home Annabelle had to hurry to keep up with her. When she reached the house, Mavis stopped on the front steps and looked over her shoulder.

“What do you call them? Those little fluffy white dogs that jump up and down when they’re happy?”

“Bichons. Bichon Frises.”

“That’s it. One won that dog show on TV a few years back. Cutest thing I ever saw.”

“See, I told you you wanted a dog,” Annabelle said.

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Mavis said and unlocked the door. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in. We’re going to have some coffee.”

Excerpted from When Southern Girls Grow Old © Copyright 2012 by Elizabeth Doak Sherman. Reprinted with permission by BookSurge Publishing. All rights reserved.