While Mavis’s mother chattered away in the front seat, telling Mrs. Tully about taking French cooking lessons at the YWCA with her cousin Elmira, who was in a Toyota commercial, Mavis told Rose about all the places they’d lived.
“And one time, we lived in a condo in Atlanta that had a Jacuzzi in the bathroom,” she said. “But the landlord got mad ’cause we had a dog.”
“What’d you do?” Rose asked.
“Gave the dog to my uncle Jerry.”
“Oh.”
“Once we lived with this crazy lady named Trixie who saved everything,” Mavis said. “Like used paper cups and empty soup cans.”
“Really?”
“And one time we lived over a Chinese restaurant, and I got free fortune cookies.”
Rose’s eyes grew wide. “How many places have you lived?”
“A bunch. But I might go live with my dad someday.”
“Where does he live?”
“In Tennessee with his mother.” She leaned toward Rose and added, “She’s kind of mean, so that’s a problem.”
“Your grandmother?”
Mavis nodded. “I was supposed to stay there all summer last year, but she made me leave early.”
Mavis was surprised to see Rose suddenly look a little sad. It was their very first day together as best friends, and already Rose felt bad about Mavis’s mean grandmother. That was a good sign.
As the Tullys’ car made its way up the interstate, Mavis ran her hand over the soft leather seats. Then she took off her flip-flops and wiggled her toes in the thick black carpet under her feet. There wasn’t a speck of dust or a single crumb on that carpet. When Mavis’s mother drove her boyfriend Mickey’s car, the floor was always littered with moldy french fries and dirty napkins and gravel from the driveway. But then, when the transmission had gone, her mother had left the car on the side of the road, which made Mickey mad as all get-out. He and her mother had hollered at each other, and two days later Mavis was packing her duffel bag again.
Before long, Mrs. Tully turned off the interstate and zigged and zagged until they reached a wrought-iron gate across the road and a sign that read MAGNOLIA ESTATES.
“This is where you live?” Mavis asked Rose.
Rose nodded.
“Why is there a gate?”
But Rose didn’t answer. She was waving to a gray-haired, whiskery-faced man in a small brick gatehouse.
“Who’s that?” Mavis asked.
“Mr. Duffy.” Rose kept waving out the back window of the car as they drove into Magnolia Estates. “He’s really sad,” she said.
“How come?”
“His dog died.”
Rose looked down at her hands in her lap, and Mavis thought she was going to cry.
“What happened?”
Rose looked up. “What do you mean?”
“What happened to his dog?”
“She just got old.” Rose let out a little sigh. “Mr. Duffy used to do magic tricks and play his kazoo and stuff. But he doesn’t anymore. He never even wants to play checkers.”
“Then we’ll cheer him up,” Mavis said.
“I’ve been trying.”
“What’ve you tried?”
“Well, I took him some blackberries. And I showed him a new card trick from a magic book I got at school.”
Mavis let out a little pfft. “You gotta do more than that.”
“Like what?”
“I’ll think of something.” Mavis poked Rose’s arm and added, “Trust me.”