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Queen Selene was always early … the sun was still not quite at setting when her car arrived.  Her driver – Mr. Braxton thought he was seeing things in the dim light, for that handsome young man reminded him somehow of Aaron Slocum-Lofton – hopped right out and went to the back of the car and opened the door, and out stepped Queen Selene -- still a queen, her now-silver and still abundant hair coiffed high upon her head like a crown, her still-trim figure lovely in her deep burgundy gown, set off with tasteful accessories in pearl.  Her voice – “Thank you, Henry!” – still relatively strong as he helped her up onto the curb.  

For her age – she had to be 84, 68 years having passed since November 1951– she was very strong.  Of course she had outlasted her old man.  How he had ever thought he would have her long, Mr. Braxton did not know.  She was too much for Aaron Slocum-Lofton.  Only the strongest would survive … that was her, and also, that was Mr. Braxton.

The time flashed backward, as if Mr. Braxton had caught his plane at the airport and flown straight back in time – and there she was, 16 again, dark-haired, dark-eyed, wearing burgundy and pearls at a dinner party, as precocious then as she was ageless now.  He had thought she was at least 21 or 22 … it was her carriage, and although she moved slower now, and seemed glad enough for Henry's help, the regal carriage had not budged.  In fact, it had only increased.  

At 85, it is as undignified as unwise for a man to break out running, so Mr. Braxton restrained himself, but he was halfway down to the road to meet Mrs. Slocum-Lofton.  The setting sun shone upon her silver hair and skin in such a way that she looked younger than she was.

“You came,” he said, because he could say nothing else.  “You actually came … and you are still so beautiful.”

“Good evening, Bob,” she said, and that soft, deep voice took him back again to their first meeting.  “You also have held up well in the 44 years since I have seen you.”

He had tried to make an attempt to get her attention in the two years after Mr. Slocum-Lofton's death, but she had ended all such attempts from everyone in 1975, and had outlived all but a few of her old suitors.  The fact that he was in her presence, and still healthy enough to take her arm from Henry and actually bear some of her weight – she had never been a small woman, and she still wasn't – was a triumph all by itself.  Only the strongest survived!

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