Chapter 8

Shannon loved grocery shopping. Everything in there was cleverly designed through years of experience and millions of dollars in research money to make you want to buy their particular product. It was filled with color and eye catching displays and she always felt better after walking the isles. It stimulated the senses.

It was a good place for watching folks, too, she figured, with most people lost in their own thoughts looking for items on their shopping list.

Her sensitivity was so acute these days, that it didn't take much to read someone's thoughts. Mostly, she knew through experience, things were pretty boring and sometimes blank, inside those heads. People were creatures of habit and a lot of them were simply going through the motions they'd been repeating all their lives, following shopping lists, comparing prices, or thinking of what to make for dinner that night.

She, however, was enjoying the visuals, reading labels and memorizing ingredients. She had read a book, recently, on modern day American food and the author had suggested not buying anything that had more than ten or twelve ingredients to it, claiming all the other items were to make things pretty or keep things emulsified, that and make it taste so good you'd want to buy it again and again, like a drug, almost. She half believed it but was surprised to discover her favorite caffeine free soda, like every one of them, contained a fire retardant chemical in them. And just like ice cream, that had anti-freeze as part of it's ingredients, though called under a different company names, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to get those things anymore.

Consequently, Shannon's shopping cart was filled with carefully chosen items, wholesome, simple, easy to enjoy by makings soups and other basic recipes from scratch by combining just them. One of her favorite things to do was baking bread. There were so many combinations, bread had almost an endless variety to it. And that was her plan for the afternoon. Make bread, especially with that book's thoughts on modern made breads, rotating through her head. There were so much junk and fillers in bread these days, too, it was down right ridiculous to think of eating the stuff, no matter how good it tasted, initially.

Shannon waited in line behind a couple of 'militant mommies', as she called them, that demanded this and that of the teller and yelled at their young, misbehaving children, all at the same time.

She smiled at the teller and bought her groceries, paying in cash as she always did, then made the teller and anyone else she noticed that saw her, forget they had seen her face. She wanted to stay off the grid in anyone's mind. And before leaving the store, she gave everyone a command to go to Terry's store and buy something. Playing machines and games as well as snacks he had near the counter.

Shannon took the bagged items out into the cool weather of winter and stacked them on the passenger side floor and seat of her pickup truck. She went home slowly, eating a particularly good tasting apple and pulled into her driveway, putting the truck inside the newly constructed, add on garage, this time. She had needed something like this for her classic Ford truck. She wanted to keep it in as pristine condition as she could after someone had gone to so much trouble to turn it into something of a hot rodder's dream machine.

Unpacking Shannon put most things away but laid everything out for making bread. In thirty-five minutes, she had put her first three glass bread pans in the oven. It didn't take long for the entire house to be filled with the warming and delicious aromatic scents of baking bread.

She went and changed into some house clothes, long, baggy, chili-pepper-print pants, wool socks, and a plain white tank top, and reclined down into her dark brown leather sofa. She let herself sink into its luxury and covered herself with her comforter, in spite of the thermostat that was set at seventy-six degrees, and adjusted her pillow. It felt good to stretch out.

Her latest new hardback novel was at least eight hundred pages and it was always fun getting through the first chapter. After page seventy, and several more long chapters, Shannon began to feel her early morning bicycle ride catching up to her. She rode almost every day and did some Tie-boxing and a little weight lifting just as often, after the ride, like she had this morning. It was no mystery why she usually had a little nape sometime in the afternoon, and was feeling a bit droopy eyed when the oven's timer went off. Her first batch of bread was done.

Shannon sat them on her big wooden chopping board and removed them from the bread pans, placing the aromatic bricks to cool on the wire racks placed on the counter top. She stuck the last half of the uncooked dough in the pans, after liberally buttering them, and set them to bake, too.

She couldn't resist the temptation and sliced into one of the cooling loaves of bread. She cut off two steaming, thick slices and gave them both a liberal coating of butter on one side. She covered one slice with marmalade jam and poured herself a big glass of ice cold milk. She took her half-lunch/half-snack to the living room and ate as if she were starving. The bread was so scrumptious tasting to her. Shannon thought of getting some more but wanted to show some kind of restraint and went back to her book. She read another sixty pages before the timer for the last loaves were done.

Shannon bagged the first three loaves and let the others cool, covering their tops with a brushing of butter and then laying down to sleep on her sofa but not before another slice of bread with jam. So much for restraint.

She didn't hear Terry come in or sit down. It was only when she was half awake and stretching out her legs she noticed him there, seated on the sofa at her feet. She opened her eyes and there he was, filling his face with bread and jam.

"Good -- isn't it?" she asked, yawning.

"It's delicious. You going to let me take a loaf home?"

"You can have two."

"Great. You already go for a ride?"

"Yeah. Why? You want to go riding?"

"Yes. Well ... No. I'm kind of tired. I couldn't believe how busy we were today."

Shannon smiled. Unbeknownst to Terry, she had continued putting it into peoples minds, around town, to check out his gaming shop and buy machines as well as a large variety of games. She discovered most people liked gaming, that it was fun, as well as addicting. She'd ran into a couple of people she remembered sending there, overhearing them talk that they really enjoyed the games. He was doing good and she was happy for Terry.

"I'm glad you're doing well," she said.

"Shannon. Are you sure you don't want me to pay rent on the building. I really can afford it, you know?"

"No. You just do whatever you want with your profits. I've got it covered. It's a tax thing for me so don't be concerned about it." It really wasn't, but it didn't cost her much. She had over four million dollars saved up and tucked away. She loved Terry like a brother and would do anything to keep him in town and happy.

"Okay. I want you to know, I really do appreciate your letting me use the building. I love living there, too. Being able to live upstairs and all is so convenient."

"Do you ever get lonely," she asked, grabbing another slice of jam coated bread from his plate.

"No. Not with my buds' constantly around." Pause. "How about you? You ever get lonely?"

"No. I miss our being able to ride together and hang out as much as we used to, but I've got my books. They keep me company."

He looked into her eyes. "No. You need a boyfriend."

"When I'm in my twenties, remind me, again. I'm only seventeen, remember? I'm not like other girls that think they're old maids at nineteen. I'm in no hurry to be bothered by some boneheaded ladies man or sports nut. I've got my favorite nerds for friends."

"Yeah, you are one of our favorite subjects to talk about."

"And I can only imagine what you clowns always say about me."

"It's your fault. If you'd start wearing a bra our dreams and conversations would probably clean right up."

"You can't breathe in those things. Try wearing a thick rubber band around your chest all day. You'll understand real quick why I hate those things. Besides, I never had money for them growing up."

"You mother, right?"

"Yeah," she said rather quietly. "There wasn't much money left over for unnecessary items after buying several hundred dollars worth of booze every month."

"But I thought women's breasts went saggy and flat if they didn't use a bra."

"That isn't the truth. Women go flat because of babies and aging. It's what they thought, years ago, but it isn't true. The bra manufacturers probably started the rumor to sell more of their junk.

"Well. I still think you need a boyfriend."

"How about you? Are you sure none of our friends are of your persuasion?"

"I'm sure. You should hear what they have to say about you."

"I do." She wasn't about to tell him she could read thoughts.

"You do?"

"Well. Sort of. I see them looking all the time. But I don't mind, if they're not too blatant about it."

"I give them lectures all the time on keeping things quiet about you and how to show respect. They're a wild bunch, if you let their reins go, but they usually act alright, don't they?"

"Yeah. I like 'em. Everything's cool."

"But getting back to you," she said, sitting up. "You say you're gay Terry, but I never hear about a boyfriend. Are you sure you're gay?"

"I'm sure. I don't have a friend right now. I did, through most of high school, but he moved away."

"Oh!"

"Why are you asking? You got plans to try and turn me?" he asked, and laughed.

"Well, as often as you've seen me getting undressed and dressed, I figure if that didn't bother you, it would probably be a hopeless cause, wouldn't it?"

"Probably. I do appreciate how beautiful you are, Shannon, but no, I don't have anything in me to want to treat you like a lover. Not that you aren't desirable, I'm just not wired that way. Besides, I'm kind of afraid of you. You'd probably kill me in a fist fight if I tried anything. I wouldn't dare try to touch your great looking sisters."

"I wouldn't hit you."

"I'm not taking that chance. Want me to rub your feet?"

"Only if you don't have a foot fetish."

Terry ignored her. "Movie tonight?"

"Sure. What's playing."

Shannon got up the following morning thinking of the silly movie she and Terry had watched while putting on her freshly washed and dried riding gear. She had on four layers of thin clothes, a thick balaclava, and thick gloves. Her riding shoes were simple Asics high top basketball shoes with wool socks. Hotel something or other was the movie. It was a spoof on Halloween but it was halfway cute.

She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure everything was adjusted as she liked it. It was all the clothes she needed to stay warm and as she scooted through the back streets with little concern for the melted out ponds of snow, now turned to ice on the pavement, she felt perfectly secure riding without a helmet. She knew how to drive on the stuff and it wasn't that hard to control your bike. She would purposely skid her bike on it anyway, just for fun and even though she fell, once in a while. It was no big deal. You just let your self slide and that was that.

She passed one of the banks in town and it gave her pause, thinking of her decision not to steal anymore money, for a while. She had enough to last her a lifetime and do most anything she wanted, if and when she chose. And she could always get more.

The alley ways, behind business buildings, were fun places to go dumpster diving. She had gotten several old bikes from them before that people had thrown away. She had fixed each one up for fun and gave them to the second hand store to resell. Most were kids bikes and just needed tender loving care. Looking in dumpsters and other peoples trash cans was a habit she had gotten into growing up. It was how she found and fixed up her Firenze, her main bike she'd kept and road most of the time, like today. Being too poor to afford a new, Hi-Tec bike, she had taught herself how to repair things like it and she still enjoyed the process.

There weren't any bikes that day and that was okay. She was a bit too tired lately to haul stuff home and work on them. Although she had about ten junker bikes already, behind the garage, they were mostly parts bikes she robbed things off of from time to time. But even those, she'd fix up once in a while, when she got another one or two. It was a fun hobby.

In the nicer area of town, near her home, Shannon was riding past a lot of Scottsbluff's more beautiful homes and noticed a sign on the lawn, 'Estate Sale'. There was a fairly big crowd there for a Tuesday and she stopped, deciding to look around. She didn't need anything but she'd never been to one of these before.

She leaned her bike up against an elm tree and started wandering around inside the house. There was nothing that interested her, even though there were some beautiful things, and then she went out to the garage. The only thing in there was a couple of luxury cars and an old beat up Chevy truck outside that were for sale. And an old motorcycle. She recognized the British brand off the side of the engine cases. 'Vincent', it said. 'Made in England'. She knew only that they didn't make these bikes anymore, having read about it somewhere, but there was something really cool about the beautiful, though dusty, motorcycle. It looked like one of those racing bikes without all the fiberglass on the frame, but this one had lights on it and a license plate. She was almost certain, this wasn't the original factory set up. A decal on the gas tank said, 'Egli-Vincent' and below that, 'Godet'. She had no idea what those labels meant but she knew she liked the motorcycle.

On a whim, she made the decision to buy it, it was so unique and so pretty. It would be fun to scoot around on it in the summer, she thought. Polished up, if nothing else, it would look cool in her living room, but that would be a waste. Even if it didn't run, she thought she could get it going, herself. She was pretty good at working with her hands.

The process of buying at the estate sale was fairly simple and even though it was no problem to outbid some middle aged guy that wanted the motorcycle, too, it bugged her that she ended up paying so much for it. Still, it was a cool looking bike.

She had to go home and get more money. She kept a couple of hundred thousand under her bed, in a shoe box, but she only needed a little more than twenty-one thousand of it. But she took about thirty after driving her bike back to the house and coming back with the truck.

Along with the motorcycle, she also bought all the specialized English tools and spares of every kind the old guy had on hand for the Vincent. Shannon bought everything but the work bench. But then she got that too, after thinking about it. It was set up to work on the motorcycle exclusively with several special tools bolted to its top surface. There was also a work stand for it too. You manually rolled the bike up onto it which made it much easier to service the bike, she knew. Kind of like her work stands for her bicycles. So she went back and bought it, hauling everything to her heated garage, making several trips to and from the houses.

The bike had been easy to unload by herself, using a long two by eight inch wooden plank. Once off the bike, she covered it up with a piece of cheap plastic tarp she had laying around. But she knew she'd need help with the heavy, awkward bench. Three people at the sale had helped her load it onto her truck, so Shannon headed for Terry's to get one or two of the guys to help with unloading it.

"Raymond -- John," she said, sitting down next to them on the gaming sofa's. They both looked at her. They were playing some war game, trying to wipe each other out of existence on some weird, alien world, and totally involved. "I need help unloading a work bench. Can you two help me?"

"Yeah, we can help," John said.

"Can you wait a few minutes, though?" asked Raymond. "I'm about to cream ol' John there."

"Sure. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

She went back to the counter and after Terry was finished with a customer, she went to him and gave him a hug and held on.

"Shannon, is something the matter?" he asked.

"Not really, but I may have done something kind of dumb."

"What?"

"I bought a motorcycle."

"Oh! Is that all. I thought you killed somebody or something."

"Not yet. It's still too early in the day. I don't even know how to ride a motorcycle," she proclaimed. "I don't know why I got it, I just did. Dumb, huh? I've come to get some help from Raymond and John. The work bench I got with it is freaking heavy."

"They're going to be awhile," he said, looking at them, as she gently slipped away and leaned on the counter beside him. Noticing where they were in the game, he said, "Yeah, they might be quite a while."

"I know. I can wait."

"I could help," said a stranger. "Is it that bench on your truck out there?"

"Yes."

"The two of us could do, don't you think?"

"I'm sure we could. It's a beast, though, if you don't mind grunting. Four of us loaded it and it was kind of hard to do. But with a little patience and care, I'm sure the two of us can.

The guy was a little taller than she was, Shannon noticed, probably pretty close to or just over six feet tall and kind of good looking. He seemed half way trustworthy and dipping into his mind with her ability, she could see he liked her and only wanted to help.

"If you can bring me back here afterwards, I'd appreciate it. My cars out in the lot."

"Or you could follow me."

He nodded, thinking. "Or I could follow you," he agreed with a big grin.