Fire & Ice

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Journal Entry:

I can't stop thinking about her or the way I felt when I was with her. She makes me so . . . happy. Or is it her happiness rubbing off on me? I'm not really sure, but it scares me a little. Every time I get close to someone, we always have to leave. That would kill me. I've waited so long to be a part of her life.

Today is Saturday. There's absolutely no feasible reason I can come up with to go see her, even though I want to. I guess I should step back and give her some space to absorb everything. It's hard, though. I'm anxious to explore this strange connection between us.

***

"Working on the bike today, I see." Marsha smiled at me, drying her hands on a dishtowel as she leaned against the doorframe leading from the kitchen into the garage.

"Yeah," I replied as I attempted to crank a bolt on the engine tighter. "It would be nice if this stupid piece would cooperate with me, though." My hand slipped off the wrench and my finger slid against a piece of sharp metal. I felt the tear in my skin before I saw the blood. "Damn it!" I grumbled, grabbing the oily rag next to me and holding it against the wound.

Marsha started laughing and I glanced at her with a questioning stare. "Why don't you use your magic? It would be much easier on you from the looks of it."

"For the same reason you're washing the dishes by hand," I replied, nodding toward her dishtowel. "I don't want to die of boredom. Besides, I like staying busy working. You know that."

She nodded. "I do. I simply find it funny you don't use magic to help yourself when things are tough."

Shrugging, I stared back at the bike. "It's a vendetta now. Using magic is like saying I let the bike beat me. It's not going to win."

Marsha continued chuckling, shaking her head. "You and your competitive nature. You'd rather be hurt than give in. It's a shame you can't do sports. It'd probably help you release some of this pent up aggression you're always carrying around."

"Blowing up something usually helps take care of things like that."

"And what exactly have you been blowing up?" She suddenly seemed concerned.

I sighed. "Don't worry. Only some old dead trees out in the middle of nowhere. And before you start the lecture about forest fires; yes, I make sure nothing catches on fire."

She eyed me for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to trust me. "Fine. Just be careful. Are you planning on working on this motorcycle all day?"

"For the most part. I told Bruce I'd try to have it done for him by the end of the month."

"He was so excited when he found out how good you are with bikes. I think he's wanted it to be rebuilt for quite a while. Every time I've seen him, he asks me about it. That's all he ever talks to me about."

I grinned. "I know. I can't believe he had this clunker sitting in his garage for so many years. I have a cool idea for it, but I'll need to get some help."

"Really? What?"

"See this area around the wheels?" I pointed to where the spokes came together. "I was thinking it would be cool to have some custom made metal flames here that would match the flames on the gas tank. It would tie the design together nicely, don't you think?"

She smiled. "You have such a great eye for detail, and yes, I agree. I think Bruce would love it. Where would you find something like that?"

"I want to go to Laramie Jackson's knife shop and see if he can help me design something unique for it." I stood and went to my workbench to deposit my tools, before washing my hands at the basin sink.