Blackbirds by Garry Ryan Page B

you’ve got three Jerries to your credit,” Ginger said.
    Sharon looked at Linda, who was smiling behind her pint. “We do some chatting in the pub. I was telling the truth, so don’t get all upset with me. It’s just pilot talk.”
    Sharon shook her head and reached for her drink. As she lifted the glass, she thought, It got awfully quiet in here .
    She looked over her glass and saw four and a half pairs of eyes on her. She tipped the glass and heard something clink at the bottom.
    Willy smiled.
    Sharon began to drink.
    â€œBottoms up!” Willy said.
    â€œCheers!” Ginger said.
    Intuition provided Sharon with the most likely answer to their odd behaviour. She continued to drink deeply, slowing as she reached the bottom of the glass and hesitating for effect. She put her glass down, then reached inside her mouth.
    â€œFind something?” Willy asked.
    Sharon pulled out a glass orb, reached across the table, and dropped it into Willy’s glass. “Ever have a prairie oyster?”
    Willy asked, “Prairie what?”
    She reached over, lifted his eyepatch, and stared into his other good eye. She pulled the patch back and then let it snap back against Willy’s forehead.
    â€œOuch!” Willy rubbed his head.
    Laughter erupted in the pub.
    Sharon leaned back in her chair. The laughter ebbed. “When calves are branded in the spring, the young bulls are castrated. The testicles are kept and cooked with butter and onions in a frying pan. Quite tasty, actually. They’re called prairie oysters.”
    Robert thumped Sharon on the back and put another pint in front of her. “Finally! Someone’s got the best of Willy!”
    Linda winked at Sharon.
    Ginger pounded the table with a fingerless hand.
    Pat threw his head back and laughed some more.
    Richard reached over and pulled Willy’s wig off. “Now you’re entirely exposed!”
    An hour later, after Linda had been poured into the wheelchair, Sharon pushed from behind, using the chair for support.
    â€œWhat are your intentions as far as Michael’s concerned?” Linda asked.
    â€œWhat?” Where did that come from? He’s your brother, he’s handsome, and I don’t know how I feel when I’m around him. Although I do look forward to seeing him again.
    â€œI’m the last person you should play coy with. I owe you my life — well, at least my legs. And you owe me the truth.”
    â€œI have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    â€œMichael’s absolutely gaga over you. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
    Sharon stopped pushing and swung Linda around so they could talk face to face.
    Linda leaned back and tried to focus on her friend.
    Sharon went to say something, then began to think about what it felt like when Michael was nearby.
    â€œYou may be a hell of a pilot, but you’re a little thick when it comes to men.” Linda tried to put her hands on the wheels, but the brakes were on. “Where’s a mechanic when you need one?”

CHAPTER 13

    â€œOi, Canada!”
    Sharon turned around. She sat at the canteen at Duxford airfield, north of London. The airfield had been built on this flat stretch of farmland during World War I. Sharon’s most recent delivery, a brandnew Hurricane, was being fitted for combat inside a hangar where mechanics swarmed over it.
    A pilot was raising his coffee cup to her. She recognized him as one of the pilots she’d met at Biggin Hill. His accent was Scottish, his hair the colour of ginger, and he was a foot shorter than Sharon.
    She raised her own coffee in greeting. “How are you, Ginger?”
    He walked over to sit down across from her. “What’re you doin’ here, lassie?”
    â€œI could ask the same of you.” Sharon watched him warily.
    He leaned forward and offered his hand. “My real name is Jock.”
    â€œSharon.” She shook his hand.