Lately, Ella had been thinking about the time she’d been cruel.

That was the label she put on that moment in her childhood. “The time I was cruel.”

She must have been almost nine. They were on the girl’s playground at St. Nicholas Grammar, and she’d noticed the new student — an off-islander.

Hallie.

Ella wished she could remember what she was thinking. Was she planning to be unkind? She hoped not.

All she could recall was that she’d walked over to her because Hallie was standing alone.

She did remember — and this hurt — that Hallie had smiled.

They had talked about who knows what. Things little girls talk about when they meet.

She could tell Hallie felt nervous and out of place. And she felt good because she, Ella, was not.

This was her, Ella’s home, they were surrounded by her, Ella’s people, and nothing made that clearer than looking into the new girl’s uncertain eyes.

Hallie had gotten confident enough to talk about the things and people that scared her a little.

“My Momma says we can’t go swimming in the waves here like we do on vacation at Myrtle Beach. She says it’s too dangerous. And one of our neighbors told us there’s a maniac on the island who’s not locked up or anything. He went off to a war and I guess he got shot in the head because he came home all crazy. I’m afraid of crazy people.”

She had known who Hallie meant.

Knowing this, she’d smiled at Hallie. And knowing exactly what Hallie was going to say, she’d asked, “Who is this crazy man?”

“He runs that big restaraunt on the main street across from the beach. That place called The Rose.”

How good it felt to pretend to be shocked.

How good it felt to see all the newfound confidence vanish from Hallie’s eyes as her own eyes narrowed, to see the new girl’s horror as Ella hissed, “That is my father!”

To sense that her friends, Ella’s friends, were turning as she shouted at Hallie, “You called my father crazy! You’re mean! I hate you!”

To hear Hallie saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over again sounding like she was about to cry.

She’d actually been proud of herself. That’s what trully killed her about the memory. She’d gone home all smug and happy about being the big strong girl defending her poor, afflicted father’s honor.

But then, late that afternoon, after school when she was upstairs playing in her room, Mom came in.

“Ella,”

“Could you please come downstairs for a moment. I’d like to talk to you.”

Downstairs was where Mom or Pop had “serious talks” with either Ella or Lucas.

Ella knew she was in trouble, but she thought it was about her grades. She’d made a C on her last math test.

“I just got a phonecall from Mrs. Preston. Hallie’s mother. She’s a very nice woman. She put her daughter on the phone and made her apologize to me.

“Mrs. Preston wanted Hallie to apologize to you personally, but I felt Hallie was too upset. Ella, she was crying so hard she could barely talk. Mrs. Preston told me Hallie came home in tears, saying everybody hated her and nobody was going to be her friend because she’d been mean to you. She’s so ashamed she doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow. Could you please tell me what happened? What did she say? What did you say?”

So Ella told her. In general at first.

And Mom, being Mom, asked the questions Ella had hoped she wouldn’t ask, like “…And when she mentioned the crazy man, what did you say?”

And Ella had to tell her.

“Oh, now Ella, that was cruel.”

“I know you love your father. We all do. But you deliberately put Hallie in the wrong.”

“You could have changed the subject, couldn’t you? But you didn’t. And later on, you could have let her know that your father runs The Rose, so she wouldn’t make that mistake, wouldn’t say something she’d regret, something that would get her in trouble. That would have been the right, the Christian thing to do.”

“Instead, you invited her to say more — and don’t try to tell me you didn’t know what she was going to say!

Tomorrow, I would like you to go to school and be nice to Hallie Preston. You need to accept her apology, graciously and kindly. And most of all, you need to assure her that your father is a good, gentle man who would never, never hurt anyone. You don’t have to be friends with Hallie if you don’t want to be, but I won’t have you turning your friends against her. That is unkind, Ella.”

She had never before thought of herself as mean. But she knew her mother was right.

For the first time, she understood what it was to have done something you couldn’t undo. Yes she’d be as good as she could be to Hallie, but she’d still hurt her. On purpose.

It must have shown on her face because Mom had smiled. “Oh sweetheart, we all do wrong…”

“We all do things we wish we hadn’t. It’s part of being human. Hallie was being human, and then you were being human. Humans make mistakes.”

And now, years later, as they sat in a restaurant lounge in Pittsburgh waiting for everyone else to arrive, Blair Baghill was being very, very human.

“…I mean, the woman hasn’t always been completely gaga…”

“When we were kids, she was just a bit barmy. And she wasn’t some fat, slobby pig!”

“It drives Papa a bit mad himself, and I don’t blame him. God, people like my mother make me angry. I mean, Jesus Christ, why can’t they just make a Goddamned effort?”

Blair sighed. “But you shouldn’t have to listen to me kvetch about my mother.”

“Let’s talk about happier things. How do you like the city? The gallery were I work didn’t bore you too much did it? I’m sorry we spent so much time there, but there were some things I had to take care of. We’ll pay a visit to Kaufmann’s before you leave, I promise, just two girls together trying on clothes having fun!”

So that’s what Blair thought of her, was it? “I wasn’t bored, Blair. I enjoyed the gallery.”

They’d met Hamlin Baghill there, the oldest of David’s siblings, a handsome man, with strange eyes.

“Exalted” was the word that came to mind. Darby, his roommate and very good friend, was with him. She’d liked Darby who’d been as calm and pretty as a Persian cat. Blair had tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Do keep her entertained for a bit,” before walking over to talk to some girl in black holding a clipboard.

Darby had smiled at Ella.

“Don’t mind her. I can tell you want to look around,” he’d said. “Check out the pieces they’ve hidden over in that area.” He’d cocked his head to the right. “But save them for last. Otherwise, everything else will be an anticlimax.”

And so she’d wandered happily, looking at the paintings, the statues,

and as he instructed, she’d saved that obscure little corner he indicated for last.

They were wonderful. Lovely. They made her think of champagne.

She kept leaving them to look at other things, then going back. Darby had been right. They made everything else boring.

The third time she went back to look at them, Blair had joined her.

“Oh him?” Blair raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “A local boy who ran off to New York to make money. He’s in advertising. Draws shoes.”

Which brought her back to the present. “Of couse, dear, I keep forgetting you’re interested in being an artist,” Blair was saying. “Really, we must set some time aside for you to draw something for me before you go. I’d love to see it! It’s just I’m so busy, busy, busy these days!”

“All right,” Ella said.

Ella opened her purse, took out her small sketchpad, and opened it to the drawing she’d already decided on. She gave Blair her best wide-eyed, little-ol-me smile as she carefully tore it out. “I like this one,” she said as she handed it over.

Blair looked startled, but then quickly put down her drink and arranged her face into an expression of kindly interest as she took the sketch.

Ella watched her expression change as she looked down at it.

“Oh,” Blair said.

“Well…” Blair took a drag from her cigarette. “You’re a dark horse, aren’t you. You did this from memory?”

“I started it the day after I arrived. Finished it up the next morning.”

“It’s very good.” Blair smiled. “But then, you know that, don’t you? Can I keep this?”

“Of course.”

“Have I made a complete ass of myself?”

“No, no, please don’t think that, Blair… But… could you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Could you please not talk about your mother that way? It makes me very uncomfortable.”

“I realize you have no way of knowing but, my father is… He’s sick in the same way.”

He’s a sweet, sweet man, and I love him very much, Blair. And it’s so horrible for him.

He’s had to go to the hospital too, like your mother.

And for me, words like ‘gaga, and ‘barmy,’ and ‘booby-hatch…'”

“Oh my God!”

“Ella, I am so, so sorry.” She took a sip of her drink. Please believe me, I had no idea!”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Does David know?”

“Yes. I told him the week we started dating. Fact is, everyone on the Island knows about Dad. David probably knew before I said anything about it.”

“And he didn’t warn me, Damn him. He knows how I go on about Mother! You’re right, you know. Those words I keep blathering when I’m on one of my tears…”

“They hurt.”