Then, after meeting her real Mr. Right, Louise moved back to south Georgia. Her husband went to work on her dad’s farm. I offered to visit but she laughed and said she wouldn’t wish a trip to Albany on anyone. And it did seem like an awfully long way to drive. I told her to call when she came to Atlanta and she said she would, but didn’t. None of this has ever hurt my feelings, as I know Louise isn’t much for keeping up with people. Louise isn’t that woman (who we all know) with a huge far-flung network of friends that she calls on their birthdays.
Besides that, I got busy with my career, then marriage, then children, and didn’t keep up very well with people either. Our relationship dwindled to Christmas cards, baby announcements, and baby gifts. When my daughter Chloe was born, she sent a pink lovey that is silky on one side and soft on the other. Chloe uses it as a blanket for her dolls now. When my son Whit arrived, she sent a crisp cotton daygown with a train smocked on the chest.
So back to the other night when my husband handed me the phone.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey Caroline,” came the slow drawl across the line, as casual and easy as if we’d talked yesterday. Louise and her husband were spending a weekend in Atlanta to celebrate his birthday, she said, and she was wondering if she could stop by the next morning. I was thrilled.
She arrived with more presents for the kids—a giant puzzle that took up the entire floor and a toy ambulance with a loud, relentless siren. “Thanks, Louise,” I said sarcastically as the siren hummed at ear-piercing volume. She laughed. It had taken us about five seconds to get back to our no-bullshit friendship.
“Sit down,” I told her, and she did, and we talked and laughed for two hours. I think we could have done it for another two except she had to meet her husband for lunch and my kids got home from their Daddy outing.
