Papa was right, of course. When she stopped shouting, stopped arguing about Becky Gold, the other children left her alone. So did Shirley.

Until one Saturday, a month later when Brigitte was sitting on a bench at Reckoner Park.

Shirley came dashing around the corner, and at first acted as if she didn’t see Brigitte. But then she stopped just in front of her, pretended to look around…

Then turned to look at Brigitte.

“Tag,” Shirley said.

Before Rebecca Gold, Shirley would have actually tagged Brigitte, lightly slapping Brigitte’s knee with her hand. Shirley was, Brigitte realized, a little afraid.

Brigitte leapt to her feet and ran.

Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Tagging doesn’t count unless you tap me, silly” She shouted. “What are you waiting for?” Behind her she could hear Shirley laughing.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, friends again, as if nothing had happened at all.

They had been friends ever since.

Good friends. Best friends. Confidantes.

When Shirley fell in love with Peter Redfern, she’d told Brigitte about it over drinks at the Spotswood.

And that was when Brigitte had told Shirley about her meetings with Manny Scardino.

Yes, Shirley had been skeptical, like everybody else, but once she realized Brigitte’s mind was made up, she stood behind her friend. “I think you could both be happy,” she’d said. “So long as you don’t underestimate him. Manny is sharp, and I’ll wager he’s courting you with his eyes wide open. But…”

“But…”

“Don’t mistake what you’re feeling now for passion, for what I feel for Pete.” She’d held up her hands. “No growling, Bridge.”

“You asked what I think and I’m telling you. I’ve lost my head and my body to Peter, do you understand me? It’s like falling. It’s like being drunk. I don’t see that in your eyes when you talk about Manny. It might come later.”

“Just know that I’m on your side. No matter what.”

Shirley Bonney was maid of honor at Brigitte and Manny’s wedding.

And when Brigitte lost Manny, Shirley was there for her.

Brigitte didn’t understand what Shirley had been trying to tell her until she met Bill Quiller. Manny had been gone for five years by then, and Brigitte still missed him, but as she would have missed a good friend — as she would have missed Shirley.

Bill…

Bill took her breath away. He was older, yes, he was balding, but his smile seemed to reach into her and draw out something from a deep place she barely was willing to admit existed.

And he was a truly good man. He never looked at her son with a puzzled frown. On the day they met, he crouched down to talk to Elisha, and even had her little boy looking back up at him, smiling. Bill made friends instantly with Judy, asked about what books she was reading, got her to talk about the science experiment at school that had excited her.

They called him “Dad,” and he was as loving a father to her two children as if they were named Quiller instead of Scardino. Bill understood them, sometimes better than Brigitte did. So often she became frustrated with Judy, who could be inexcusably wool-headed and silly for a girl with her brains.

Bill had the knack of getting Judy to talk with him after she’d had one of her fights with Brigitte. Of smoothing things over, and making Judy laugh. Things were always better afterwards.

And Elisha — Elisha loved and trusted him, which was no small feat. There were times, she had to confess, when her son left her stymied, frustrated into speechlessness. Bill always could step in, get Elisha to make himself clear, or at least, as clear as Elisha could be.

What they had from the beginning had deepened. Bill was no longer balding now but bald. He was an old man, as Manny had been an old man. But she no longer merely loved him. She adored him.

She was such a lucky woman, had come such a long way from where she had begun. A beautiful, tasteful house with a pool, good standing in the community, a successful husband she loved with her whole mind and heart and body… and two children, a brilliant daughter, and a son who, however broken, could be so funny and sweet, so very, very dear to her.

And there was Shirley. They still met at the Rose for lunch every Tuesday. They presided over high teas. They ran Ladies’ Committees. They were truly sister-hearts again, though they were too old to use that schoolyard term.

Mrs. Peter Redfern, President of the Society for Island Pioneers Talks with Mrs. William Quiller during Last Night’s Reception at The Rose

They had grown up. Everyone had. All was forgiven.