CHAPTER#08

The best part, however, was the garage beneath. Half of the garage consisted of a personal gym and some storage for old car parts. The other half was a beautiful tool bench that had been custom fitted against the wall, full of every tool the widow's husband had ever used. In the middle of the car port was an old motorcycle that Dana was restoring for a road trip in the summer. It had been over a year since she had traveled.

Since Alex.

Opening the fridge, she pulled out a bottle of Dr. Pepper. Twisting the cap off, she sipped it, savoring the cool, sweet fizzing sensation down the back of her tongue. She pulled all the tips from delivering pizzas out of her jacket pocket, then organized them by denomination. She counted them for the fifth time, then rolled them up and stuck them in her dresser drawer. She opened her bank's app on her phone, frowning. At the current rate, she would be able to fix her bike, but not take the trip itself.

"Fuck." Sighing, she set the phone down on her nightstand. A small wooden desk overlooked the bay, her mechanical engineering text open to the same page it had been over a week ago. Problem 53, half finished on the paper next to it, begged her to come complete it, to finish the assignment and turn it in for partial credit, something, anything. Staring down at the figures on the page, her mathematical analysis of the Carnot Cycle blurred through the moisture in her eyes. Wiping away the tear before it could form, Dana sat down at her desk, lifting her pencil to finish the problem.

She couldn't focus. Her eyes relaxed, moving over the bay, settling on the bike below.

Leaving her desk behind, Dana was soon in the bay, staring at the old bike. She had finished repainting the frame after removing the engine, black and red just like it used to be. The floor was methodically covered in bike parts - she had taken the entire bike apart, categorizing every part as salvageable or trash. Unable to afford to purchase new parts, she had spent the better part of the last three months doing most of the rebuild by hand, pounding dents out of the rear fender, sanding the frame before repainting it, and more than one trip to the junkyard to scavenge for the parts she couldn't.

She opened the brown box by the rear wheel of the bike, examining the contents inside. New pistons and piston rings. Staring at the bike, she wondered how much of the task she could complete before the sun rose, wondered if staying busy would keep her mind off of her problems, if even for a few hours.

Hundreds of hours had been spent as a little girl in her father's garage, working on his car, his bike, and his boat. All things motorized were his passion, and the long hours of earning her father's approval had translated to a love for working with her hands and a passion for machines. A certain catharsis could be found in dismantling and reassembling a device, removing the cancer that had broken it and making it whole once more.

Though she kept the bay cool, the hours became long, sweat running down her sides. Dana stripped away her shirt, working on the piston assembly in just her bra and jeans, and eventually just her bra and panties. Her skin was marked with grease, her hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from her eyes. Her eyesight was blurring, a function of being awake for almost twenty hours. Her next job didn't start until 1 pm, so she could care less about sleep. She was going to miss her classes tomorrow, but she doubted anybody cared at this point.

Sitting on the cool floor, her legs slowly going numb beneath her, she watched the pistons fade from sight, replaced by the scent of the ocean, grains of sand beneath her feet. Watching dolphins breach the cool Pacific waters, she felt a firm hand gently rubbing her lower back, moving up toward her shoulders, caressing her cheek and tugging gently, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Alex," she whispered, closing her eyes, afraid to see her dead lover once more.

The clattering of her ratchet startled her awake, her forehead against the frame of the bike. She had fallen asleep, if only for a few minutes. Too tired to continue, she stood up, leaving her work where she left it. The widow never came in here, and her friends never dropped by anymore. Climbing the stairs to her loft, Dana could feel the sadness sucking her down, more powerful than gravity. It was nine steps to the top, and she counted them, determined to at least crawl into her own bed.

"What the fuck?" Suddenly, she was wide awake, staring at the large object that took up the corner of her loft. It stood next to her desk, an envelope taped to the front with her name written on it in cursive.

Pinching herself to make sure she wasn't still asleep, the surge of pain up her arm informed her that she was, indeed, still awake. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the small white sheet of paper inside, torn from a notepad. The words were in cursive, tall letters that made her think of a fountain pen.

Can you fix me? Dana looked at the back of the paper, but nothing else was written. Looking inside the envelope, her jaw dropped. She pulled out the small stack of twenties, counting them in disbelief. There was just over a thousand dollars there. Looking inside the envelope once more, she found an antique key.

"Okay beautiful," she said, stroking the smooth wood of the grandfather clock. She recognized it immediately, the clock from the old house that Mike lived in. Dana had hoped he would take her on for some home repairs, extra money to make her dream a reality. "First thing tomorrow night, I'm going to find out what makes you tick." All thoughts about Alex and the motorcycle vanished, new thoughts on researching gears and pendulums entering her head. She tucked the money and the key into her nightstand, laying down on top of the covers to let sleep claim her. She pulled a pillow over from the other side of the bed, inhaling its long gone fragrance.

"Goodnight Alex," Dana whispered, her voice echoing softly across the loft. Drifting to sleep, her brain tricked her into thinking she heard the clock ticking.