”“Okay.”She followed me, watched me open the enclosure that held my working relic of an engine.“I didn’t expect THAT,” she said. “What is it?”“That, my dear, is a Norwegian fishing boat engine. They don’t make ‘em like that any more.”“Belongs in a museum,” she said as I checked the oil level.“Ah, it’s a sweet thing from a more civilized, less stressful time. Let’s get ‘er started.” My boat. I went to the operator’s position at the front of the main cabin, turned the ‘run’ switch on, walked back, reached and pulled the manual handle on the starter. With a grind and a couple of wheezes, the engine coughed to life, settled down at idle.I observed the engine, looking for problems. Seeing none, I closed the enclosure, a move that dropped the sound level down far enough to allow conversation.“Why THAT thing? I mean, more modern, just turn a key, and off you go,” she said.“Quirky. I guess that’s why. Old thing’s reliable as the sunrise. They powered fishing boats in the North Sea for. He was going to have to interact with that person on a daily basis and he wanted back what used to be, but he knew that could never be, and he grieved because of it."Hey," said his own voice, softer than usual, more caring than usual. She stepped toward him and took him in her arms. His arms. Except now they were being controlled by his sister. They weren't his any more. The ones he had control of went around his body automatically. His new hands didn't quite reach around her back, but her arms surrounded him. He suddenly felt safe, which was crazy, because it was his arms that were wrapped around him, and his arms that were making him feel safe.But it was the body he was in that felt those arms, and melted against his old body, clinging to it while his new body sobbed. He felt frustration and embarrassment. He never cried like this. Girls cried like this."It's going to be okay," his deep voice assured him.A strange thing happened. He still heard his voice, even if it sounded odd ....
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