Part 129 (1/2)

something that had always seemed years off. Retirement.

It was a good life, Lou thought, drawing in scents of sausage and roses.

On impulse, he spun his wife around and planted a long hard kiss on her

mouth.

”The kid's going to be busy for at least an hour,” he murmured as he

cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”Let's go upstairs.”

Marge tilted her head back, then grinned.

Michael turned the mower, enjoying the physical release and the light

sweat that was working over his skin. Not that he liked losing the bet,

he thought. He hated to lose anything.

But he missed a lawn, the look of it, the smell of it. His apartment

suited him with its postage-stamp pool and noisy neighbors. But the

suburbs, he mused, with their big, leafy trees and tidy yards, their

backyard barbecues and station wagons, were home. You always felt like

a kid again there. Sat.u.r.day-morning bike rides. Ricky Jones down the

street trying out his skateboard. Pretty girls walking by in thin

cotton dresses while you traded baseball cards on the curb and pretended

not to notice.

The old neighborhood hadn't changed much since his youth. It was still

a place where paperboys rode bikes on delivery and tossed today's news

into bushes. Neighbors still competed with each other over the best

lawn, the best garden. They borrowed tools and forgot to return them.

Being there gave him a sense of continuity. Something he hadn't known

he wanted until he'd moved away from it.

A movement caught his eye, and he glanced up in time to see the shade of

his parents' bedroom window go down. He stopped, openmouthed, the grip