Casserole Diplomacy and Other Stories (34 page)

She snapped her head back. “It sounds good to me.”

“Aye, she’s as sweet a runner as I’ve had. I wish those damn tires would arrive.”

Emily perked up, “Really, that’s all we need?”

He sensed she was struggling to show interest. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He put his hand on her shoulder. Her energy was low. He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “Well, they will help. Tires, final wheel truing, light harness. Did you take the seat to the upholsterer?”

“I meant to do it yesterday. I got delayed. I
will
take it in tomorrow. Today, I’m bushed.”

He said, “When it seems like there are too many frayed ends to pull together, that’s when you’ve got to persevere. America was not founded by weak-willed Scots.”

“I thought the British and French had something to do with it.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Ach, propaganda; there’s nae a village nor a river nor a mountain peak that does nae have a Mc- or Mac-someone-or-other in its history.”

“I’m sorry, Sandy, I’ve just been really tired lately. It isn’t the bike. You’ve been wonderfully patient with me and it. I’m struggling with details right now.” She drew herself up and saluted him. “The seat, tomorrow.”

Sandy didn’t see Emily for a week. He pressed on with the bike as far as he could, wanting to finish, yet wanting more to share it with her. Ach, you old fool, he rebuked himself, what would she want with a curmudgeonly oatmeal savage like you?

When she didn’t show up for a second week, he tried her phone. The message stated she was unavailable until further notice and to call her mother if necessary. Sandy waited two more days. He lowered the petrol tank into place and secured the mounting bolts. It was the focus of the machine. A pedigreed steed ready to conquer the steeplechase. He ran his hands lightly over the lettering for the umpteenth time. He hooked up the fuel lines, but resisted starting it without Emily. “I need the seat. Where is the girl?”

He dialled the number on his clipboard. “Hallo, is this Mrs. Breem? This is Sandy McGuigan. I’m helping your daughter with her motorcycle. Emily’s what? No, I didn’t know. Is she all right? Can I visit her there? Just let me write this down. Room six-twelve, yes I’ve got it. No, thank you verra much. Good day.”

Sandy stared at the note. He tried to lift it from his desk but it weighed too much. How could she not have told him?

Sandy entered room six-twelve. His knees buckled for a moment. He didn’t like hospitals. It was the smell, he decided. The smell and the negative energy. Emily lay by the window, looking out. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say.

She rolled her head, “Sandy, am I glad to see you. Come here and give me a hug.”

He clutched his cap and walked over to her, sidestepping the tubes and wires running from her bed to the wall.

“It’s great to see you, Sandy.” She squeezed him tighter than he expected. He didn’t know how hard to squeeze back.

She said, “How are you? Should you be away from the shop? I’m not paying for travel time, you know.”

“I’m fine. How are you? I spoke to your mother. You did nae tell me.”

“About this?” She lifted an arm and dangled the IV tubes. “I am sorry, Sandy, I’m supposed to be in remission. Working with you is positive therapy, but I’m having a bit of a relapse. They’re going to drain some fluid tomorrow, and I should be up and about by the end of the week. I took the seat in and told him to call you when it’s ready. How is the bike coming? Did the tires arrive? The Avons, right?”

Sandy couldn’t stop examining all the hookups. “Emily, I don’t know much about medicine, but all this malign machinery canna be good for a body.”

“We can rebuild her,” Emily said in a stern voice. “Make her better than she was.” She laughed. “And you better have that machine ready for me to ride when I get out.”

Sandy accepted her hand and felt the vigour trying to will its way through her muscles to her fingers. “What’s wrong with you, then?”

Emily rolled her eyes, “Well, I have refused to ask for the prognosis, and won’t hear of the odds one way or the other. It’s called Hodgkin’s disease, and I know that Mario Lemieux beat it and so will I. That’s all there is to say about that. Did you bring pictures?” She wiggled her fingers at him.

Sandy was overwhelmed by her tenacity. “No, but I will take some this afternoon and I’ll call on the seat. She’ll be ready in a week, I promise.”

“I will hold you to that.”

A nurse bustled in to change IV bags.

“I better be getting back to the shop.”

“Thanks for coming, Sandy. Can you forgive me for not telling you?”

“Why should I need to?”

“Because you are my very special friend. You have shared your shop and your talent with me, and I didn’t share this with you. This means a lot to me, you coming here. Give me a hug before you go. Never mind about her.” Emily winked at the nurse.

He bent over and put his arms around her. She said, “I won’t break, you can hold me tighter than that, ya wiry devil.”

He did pull her closer and squeezed. “That’s more like it, Sandy,” she said and kissed his cheek.

Even if he could have thought of the right words, the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him speak.

True to her word, the following Monday, Emily was waiting for him to open up.

True to his word, Sandy had the Vincent ready. He said, “I haven’t fired her since we static tested her last month. I was waiting for you.”

They pushed it out into the morning sun. “Are you up to starting her?” he asked.

Emily swung her leg over the saddle. “Try and stop me. I believe the routine is, fuel on.” She turned the tap like he’d shown her. “Choke full, carb tickle, switch on, and . . .” She lunged up in the air and dropped her entire weight on the kick-starter. He smiled approval as her right wrist twisted in coordination with the kick. The V-twin engine rumbled to life. They were both grinning like kids.

He said, “Let her warm up without revving the throttle. When she’ll idle without the choke at just over one thousand rpm, she’s ready to ride.”

Emily donned her helmet and gloves. Sandy ran inside and came out with his camera. “Give me that smile again,” he ordered.

She grabbed the handlebars with both hands and stuck out her tongue as he snapped the picture. She released the choke and studied the tachometer. She looked at him and he nodded. Emily engaged first gear as he’d told her and let out the clutch, her eyes fixed down the road. He saw the woman and bike as one graceful entity for the first time. She accelerated away from the shop. He heard her upshift once, and then again. Ten minutes later, bike and rider were back.

Emily was still grinning. She shut off the ignition, closed the fuel cock and grunted the Vincent up on its main stand. She undid her helmet, shook her hair loose and coughed.

“Are you okay?”

She smiled, “I am in love.” She hugged him. “Sandy, it’s wonderful. I’m so pleased. You should be proud of what you’ve done. I have only one question.”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s a ton?”

“Ye nae did a ton?” Sandy exclaimed. “She’s hardly run in.” He began to fuss around the machine, feeling for signs of stress.

“I don’t know. What
is
a ton?”

“One hundred miles per hour. A Black Shadow will easily do the ton, but neither it nor you are ready.”

“Admonishment accepted. No, I only had it up to fifty or so. A half-ton, just like my truck.”

“A good first ride. I want to check my clearances and torque settings. Was the clutch okay? It seemed to grab just a wee bit early.”

“The clutch was fine for me. I read these vintage bikes are difficult to shift.”

Sandy said, “They can be, for some. But you have a natural feel for timing your throttle and clutch coordination. You’re a gifted rider and I don’t say that often.”

“Thanks. Coming from you, that is a great compliment. And you’re a gifted, no, a
magical
mechanic. I shall celebrate by taking you out for dinner this evening. You will close early, and I will pick you up at seven o’clock.”

Sandy stammered, “I’d better get her inside. Do I need a tie?”

“For supper? I hope not. But no overalls, either.”

Dinner was at a little place overlooking the river. They watched in silence as the sun set over the arid hills to the west of town.

Sandy couldn’t avoid the obvious question any longer. “When do you want to collect the bike?”

Emily put down her wine glass and looked down for a minute before responding. “Could you keep it for a while longer? You said you had to check the torque settings and such.”

“Aye, I’ll do that tomorrow, and she’ll be finished. I’ve never had a project come together so painlessly. I’ll miss her. And you. Around the shop, I mean.”

Emily said, “Why Sandy, I’ve never seen you that color. I didn’t think you could be any redder. It’s quite becoming.”

“It’s warm in here, I’ll admit with no shame.”

“I’d like you to keep her for now. I may not be able to enjoy her immediately.” She coughed into her napkin.

“What’s wrong, lass? Is it the Hodgkin’s?” He felt insensitive as soon as the words left him.

“They found a shadow on my lung in the last x-ray, but there is treatment I can undergo depending on the diagnosis.”

“It’s their damn machines. They manufacture problems. You take a motorcycle. If it does nae run proper, you eliminate the potential trouble spots logically. You tell them that you won’t have being sick anymore. Hold out your arms.”

He moved his hands from her shoulders down to her fingers, as close as he could without touching her skin. “Ya feel that? That is your energy.” He repeated the process two more times until the rough spots were eliminated. “As long as you can marshal it in one direction, you’ll be right.”

“I do feel it, Alex. I will fight this and win. There may be the odd setback along the way. So will you keep the bike?”

“Of course. I’m planning to go back to Glasgow in a few weeks and the Vincent will be safe in the shop.”

Emily brightened. “You’re going to Scotland? How marvellous.” She squeezed his hands. She bit her lower lip for a moment then asked, “Can I go with you, Sandy? I’d love to see Scotland again.”

Sandy was dumbfounded. “What would your mother say? And she’s
my
age.”

“How long have you lived in America? My mother can say that her
adult
daughter is in Scotland, fulfilling a dream with a true gentleman.”

“I will always be a gentleman in the strictest sense with you.”

“I know, I would not ask you for more; it would jeopardize what we have.”

“What about your treatments?”

“Don’t you want me to come?”

It was Sandy’s turn to cough. “I would enjoy your company verra much, but I don’t want the trip to be the last thing you do.”

“Sandy, it won’t be. Neither will it be the last thing
we
do.”

Three weeks later, they stood in line to board their plane. Emily said, “Sandy, I have a going away present for you.”

“Your coming wi’ me is present enough, surely.”

“This is something special.” She pulled a paper out of her handbag.

“My reading glasses are stuffed at the bottom of my pack,” he protested.

“I’d love to read it to you. It says I am in remission. I just have to check in every month or two, but that’s all. Bonnie Scotland, get ready for me.

“Sandy, I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words.”

“If I say too much, I’m afraid I’ll choke up.” He ran his hands along her sleeves. Her energy was in unison. He continued to comb her aura.

Emily whispered in his ear, “Softie. If you’re still too choked, I’ll eat all that haggis myself.”

Sandy shook himself. “That you will
not
do, young lady.”

Sandy dismounted his BSA and walked over to where Emily and the Vincent were parked.

She pointed at the Pacific Ocean hundreds of feet below. “The fog filling all the inlets reminds me of the Scottish coast, remember?”

“Aye, a wee bit warmer here though.” He sat on the guardrail, savouring the moment and the company. They had spent the last two months riding every weekend, following Emily’s quest to see every bit of northern California, on two wheels.

She pointed to the map on her tank. “The bed and breakfast is another hundred miles. No need to rush but I am tired.”

She started her bike. It coughed and quit. She gave a second kick. It caught, but she had to keep revving the throttle.

Sandy took off his helmet and knelt down. “Stay seated. Keep it running.”

He listened and ran his hand down her back. He passed over the engine. Rider and machine were ill. It was more than he had the reserves to mend. He made his choice. Sandy stood behind the bike and caressed both hands down Emily’s spine and legs. He repeated the ritual from her shoulders to her hands until he was drained.