Page 35 of Savior
Since that day I was attacked in my Reiki room by Jack’s lackey, my clients are no longer permitted to wait for me upstairs. I’m a few minutes late to the Ametrine Cauldron, having woken up feeling queasy again this morning. I had first attributed the nauseous feeling to nerves over my parents visiting, but this reoccurring feeling hasn’t really subsided in the time since their visit. And it’s been days since the party at the Jokers’ club house. Now I’m wondering if I’m coming down with something.
Walking into the witch shop through the back door, the smell of Nag Champa incense, which has never bothered me before, suddenly has me feeling like I could throw up as I choke back a gag. Dropping my car keys into my purse, I shove it into my cubby hole in the break room and make my way through the purple curtain. One of my regulars is conversing with Laura at her desk in the main show room. I apologize to them both for my tardiness, and compensate the client with a longer session to make up for it. They leave satisfied, and I managed not to throw up on them.
“You don’t look so great, Vanna.” Ethan remarks, while the three of us are sitting outside on the back screened porch. They’re looking at me as I sit with both of my elbows on either side of the wicker arm rests, rubbing my temples. “You got a migraine or something?”
“I haven’t really felt great in a while.” I admit.
“You look exhausted. Are you still having nightmares?” Laura asks, pushing her sunglasses up into her magenta hair.
“None that I remember.” I reply, grateful those have finally subsided. My nightmares had been pretty vivid and terrifying, even weeks after everything Dean and I endured in the cabin.
“Did you eat breakfast this morning?” she presses.
I shake my head wearily. “I almost never eat breakfast. I’m used to it.” Truth be told, I’ve been skipping lunch a bit often as well. Now that my mother is aware of the eventual wedding, I’m a little stressed about the dress. She will want to be involved in the wedding plans, and I know there’s basically no pleasing her. I’m not looking forward to the snide comments about dress sizes and what’s too tight for someone like me to wear. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
“Why don’t you call your primary care doctor and see when they can get you in for a checkup?” Laura gently insists. “Take the first available appointment.”
“Yeah, if you are coming down with something, we don’t want a repeat of last year when we all got sick and had to close the shop for two weeks.” Ethan chuckles, stroking his rust-colored goatee. He’s right. I’ve inconvenienced Laura’s business quite a lot these last months as it is, with all of the Jack drama. The last thing she needs is for me to pass on my germs to them. “There’s a walk-in clinic right on Boatyard Boulevard, too.” Ethan adds. “If you get a Reiki walk-in, I’ll just talk them into scheduling an appointment with you for another time.”
“Would that make you both feel better?” I can’t help a weak chuckle of my own now, as they both simultaneously nod in response to my question. “Fine.” I concede. “Let me call my primary and see when she can get me in. If it isn’t soon, I’ll just go over to the clinic.”
“Good.” Ethan nods. “I mean, unless you think you’re pregnant.”
Laura’s eyes widen as she excitedly turns from Ethan to stare at me.
“I’m not.” I respond immediately, before she starts bouncing in her seat and insisting that we ask her tarot cards for clarity. “It’s impossible.”
“Birth control isn’t onehundred percent effective, Vanna.” Ethan goes on.
“Just take my word for it. I can’t be.”
Laura’s excited expression slides into one of slight concern, but I know she won’t outright ask me about something so personal. Especially not in front of Ethan.
Ethan, however, isn’t quite so subtle. “Is Dean snipped?” He asks, making a scissor motion with his two fingers.
“Ethan!” Laura scolds him. He sassily rolls his eyes at her and awaits my response.
A vasectomy is a choice, and I imagine it might carry less shame for a man, than fessing up to infertility. I’m not going to expose Dean like that regardless, though. Not to anyone, especially knowing how much pain he still carries inside over it. It’s a little fib, but it would explain the situation and prevent any further questions on the topic.
For Dean, I lie... “Yeah. He is.”
When I enter the shop this morning, Derek, my junior mechanic, informs me that the trike kit for a customer’s bike has been delivered. A Harley Davidson Road King, owned by an old, lone biker I’ve known since I was a kid. The man has to be in his seventies now, and ain’t ready to give up the biker life. The trike conversion will help stabilize the motorcycle for him and make his life easier. No biker ever wants to see the day when they’re forced to give up the freedom of flying down the open road on a motorcycle.
As I hit the switch to raise his bike up on the lift, I can’t help smiling at the airbrushed quote on the tank…
Ride the wind… Race the rain… Chase the sunset…
My thoughts drift to Vanna in a white veil, blowing in the wind behind her as she clings to my back atop Serene. My heart thumps with excitement, knowing I’ll be doing just that with her, for the rest of my life.
“Man, I kinda feel bad about this conversion.” Derek says, coming to stand beside me after unpacking the kit on a shop blanket beside the lift. He rubs the dark skin of his arm as he shakes his head at the job before us.
“Don’t.” I reply. “Admire his tenacity. And take a little pride in the fact that he’s entrusted us to do this. The old man has never let anyone work on his bikes since I’ve known him. Not even my uncle or father.”
We spend the next few hours removing the saddle bags and mufflers, taking off the break over bar and busting the shock bolts loose. We remove the calipers, and I instruct Derek to leave them hooked up until we’re ready to install the brake lines to the new calipers on the rear end. I show him how to remove the shocks and inform him we’re going to use longer bolts for the installation of the kit, and that since there’s oil in the shocks, we leave them attached and hanging. I also show him how to bang the spacers out of the bearings to use on the swing arm so it fits properly around the transmission. We hook up the break lines to the new calipers and bleed the brakes, mount the fenders to the bracket, then mount the fenders to the trike kit, and the bike, is ready to become a trike.
“Take the weight off the shocks so you can loosen them again.” I instruct him, then we drop the sides of the lift so we can mount the bracket and fenders. “Always double check the manual for the torque specs.” I remind him. Once that’s done, we swap out the calipers, reconnect the brake lines and the shocks, mount the exhaust bracket, then reconnect the exhaust pipes, mounting them to the bracket.
“Now take a step back and make sure the exhaust pipes are even and the fenders line up properly.” I say, pointing to the back of the bike. Derek backs up and crouches, making sure everything looks right. “The S-benders are supposed to be straight and parallel.” I say, pointing to show him that we have them in the correct position. “What do you think about the process so far?”
