“Me too. See you at 1800.”
Jim led the way up to the signal deck, on the roof of the pilothouse and at the base of the gun director. He gave Dan a teasing look over his shoulder. “Calling the captain by his first name, eh?”
“We go a long way back.”
“You’re only four years older than I am.”
“That’s a long way back.” Dan’s eyes glowed with the pride of accomplishment. He’d already made a name for himself with the brass.
Up on the signal deck, Lt. Maurice Shapiro chatted with two sailors. “Hey, Mr. Avery!”
“Hi, Mr. Shapiro.” Normally they called each other Mo and Jim, but not with Dan right behind him. Jim introduced his brother to the communications officer.
“I assume the captain sent you. We’re ten minutes late with our drill.” Mo’s green eyes twinkled, a startling contrast with his olive skin and black hair. “Go ahead and keelhaul me.”
Jim frowned at the water some forty feet below. “Hard to do at port.”
Shapiro clicked his heels and saluted. “I shall commence posthaste.”
“Good. Good,” Jim said in his best Durant imitation. “Posthaste.”
One of the sailors slouched against the flag bag. “Ah, posthaste means fast, don’t it? All we do is drill, drill, drill. When’re we gonna get liberty? We’re tired.”
“I know what you mean.” Jim sent him a smile of commiseration. “We could all use some liberty. Best way to get it is by doing these drills crisp and fast.”
Dan cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the far side of the little deck.
Jim followed and turned to see the drill. He loved watching the sailors string up the colorful signal flags.
“Jim,” Dan said in a low voice. “Don’t let the boys talk like that.”
“Like what?” But a sinking feeling told him the truth. He’d breached etiquette.
“The grumbling. And definitely don’t join in. It’s bad form. Believe me, when you’re out at sea with the gales blowing and the sea heaving, those boys will wish they were back at port running drills—especially when this turns into a shooting war.”
“Only a matter of time, eh?”
Dan’s eyes darkened. “Very soon.”
“All the more reason to give the men some time off. I know I could use some.” The Bunker Hill Monument rose to starboard, with Mary’s cozy apartment at its base. “I’d love a night out dancing.”
“Do you have a girl?” Dan’s voice curled in disapproval.
Jim hadn’t even told Arch about his intentions, in case an innocent slip or a not-so-innocent jest undid his efforts at subtlety. “Four of us. Arch and his girlfriend, Gloria, and my friend Mary Stirling from back home. She works here at the Navy Yard.”
“Stirling?” Dan’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Any relation to Harriet Stirling? She was in my class. Popular girl.”
“Probably. Mary has two older sisters, but she’s quite a bit younger. They aren’t close.”
“This isn’t that silly blonde girl your friend Hugh was dating.”
Jim swallowed hard. “No. In fact, Quintessa is Mary’s best friend.”
“Quintessa.” Dan shook his head. “How could I forget a name like that?”
For Jim, forgetting her came easier every day.
Dan squinted at the signal flags racing up the halyards. “Well, see you don’t get involved.”
