Thirty minutes later, Charley Chambers arrived with his friends from the University of Alabama.
They were boys, Sarah thought, even though they were only a couple of years younger than Ed Bitter and his friend. Immature boys. Ed Bitter and his friend thought so, too, for just about as soon as the introductions had been made, he made a signal to his friend, and they left ‘‘to get out of the uniforms.’’ Sarah really hated to see them go.
One of the boys who had come with Ann’s brother said something to her.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Sarah said. ‘‘I was woolgathering.’’
‘‘I said I’m David Bershin,’’ he said.
Sarah smiled at him.
‘‘Sarah Child,’’ she said, giving him her hand. ‘‘I guess that you’re at the University of Alabama, too, David?’’
‘‘Yes, but call me Davey,’’ he said.
‘‘That sounds Irish, not Jewish.’’ She laughed. And so did he. He had a sweet, open laugh.
He was a nice boy, she thought. She knew she should try to like him and not Ed Bitter the sailor. But . . .
‘‘Can I get you a beer?’’ Davey Bershin asked.
‘‘When in Rome,’’ Sarah said. He smiled his sweet, open smile at her and went quickly to the galvanized tub full of ice and beer.
Forty-five minutes later, a single-engine biplane flew over The Lodge at about five hundred feet.
‘‘That’s Daddy,’’ Ann said. ‘‘Let’s go get him.’’
When they went through the house and onto the veranda, Ed Bitter and his friend were about to get into Ed’s Buick. Both were dressed for tennis. Sarah saw that Ed Bitter’s muscular legs were lightly covered with pale hair.
‘‘Where are you going?’’ Ann called to him.
‘‘To get your father,’’ Ed replied.
‘‘We were going to do that,’’ Ann complained.
‘‘This car is here, dummy,’’ Ed said. ‘‘Come along if you want to.’’
‘‘All right,’’ Sarah heard herself say, and started down the veranda steps. Ann and Charity did not follow her.
‘‘That’s all right, you go get him,’’ Ann said. Sarah felt like a fool. She started to turn around, then decided she would look like more of a fool if she stayed.
‘‘I’m interested in airplanes,’’ she said to Dick Canidy.
‘‘Me, too,’’ he said. ‘‘This one is supposed to be special. ’’ He opened the passenger door for her and motioned her inside.
‘‘What’s special about this one?’’
‘‘It’s a stagger-wing Beech with a big, fat Wasp engine,’’ he said. ‘‘Makes it go like the hammers of hell.’’
She had no idea what that meant. Ed Bitter was now beside her on the hot leather seats, his hairy leg beside her smooth one, his knee brushing gently against hers as he pushed on the starter mounted on the accelerator pedal and turned the engine over.
When they reached the airplane three people were standing beside it, two men and a woman. Sarah recognized one of the men as Ann’s father. And besides, Brandon Chambers was very hard to forget, for he was very large—280 pounds—and very present wherever he was, with a bellowing, almost always laughing voice that dominated his hearers more powerfully—though usually more cheerfully—than a great preacher’s. He sailed up to the car and gave his enormous hand to Ed Bitter.
‘‘We have,’’ Ann’s father said significantly, ‘‘just been talking about you, Ed.’’
‘‘Have you?’’ Ed replied.
‘‘Hello, Sarah,’’ Brandon Chambers said. ‘‘It’s nice to see you, honey.’’ And then he looked at Ed’s friend. ‘‘You must be Lieutenant Canidy,’’ he said.