The Barbed-Wire Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’m not sure I’m used to it myself.”
    “How long?” he asked.
    “Almost four months. And I’m already starting to get fat. You didn’t notice?”
    He shook his head, found himself smiling.
    “That’s great,” he said. “I’m happy for you.” Meaning it.
    “We’d been talking about it for a while,” Bobby said. “Even so, it was kind of a surprise when it happened. But the doctor says everything’s fine so far.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’m not twenty-four anymore, Harry,” she said. “These things get more complicated when you’re my age. In a year or two, we might not have the option at all. So we decided, if we were going to do it, now was the time.”
    “That’s terrific,” he said.
    “The idea of being a father still scares the hell out of me,” Bobby said. “But I’m starting to get used to it, I think.”
    “For him, that’s a bold statement of commitment,” she said.
    “Hey,” Bobby said, getting up, “I want to show you something out back.” He kissed the top of Janine’s head. “We’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
    “That bike’s staying right where it is,” she said.
    “Whatever you say, Mom. You’re the boss.”
    Harry followed him through the kitchen and out onto a weathered deck. It was almost full dark now. Bobby closed the sliding glass door behind them.
    “It was her idea I talk to you,” he said. “But I think she’s still pissed at me about this whole thing. Not that she doesn’t have a right to be.”
    They went down the steps into the yard. There was a corrugated tin toolshed on the side of the house, the door open. Bobby went in, pulled the chain to illuminate the single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. The shed was about six feet wide and ten feet long, a homemade workbench running along one side. It was full of car and boat parts, some in oil-stained cardboard boxes, others left out on the workbench. A grass-encrusted lawn mower was pushed into one corner. The shed smelled of newly mown grass and gasoline.
    “Look at this,” Bobby said. Leaning against the far wall was the frame of an old motorcycle, the front wheel missing, brown paint chipped off the tank and body. It was low-slung with dual pipes, both pitted with rust.
    “It’s an old Harley Panhead,” he said. “A ’fifty-nine. I bought it from some guy for a hundred bucks. Tough getting parts for it, though. Engine’s totally shot.”
    He pulled it away from the wall, straddled it, the front forks digging into the dirt. He gripped the handlebars, settled back on the cracked and worn leather seat.
    “Restored, these things go for about fifteen grand,” he said. “I always wanted one when I was a kid. Janine’s convinced if I ever get it running, I’ll kill myself on it.” He swung off the bike, set it back against the wall. “Maybe she’s got a point.”
    “I was unsure what to say back there. I didn’t know if you wanted to get into it with Janine there or not.”
    “She knows most of it. But, no, I don’t want her worrying more about it than she already has. Especially now.”
    Mosquitoes were flitting through the shed, drawn by the light. Bobby opened a shallow drawer in the workbench, took out an El Producto cigar box.
    “Can’t do this in the house anymore,” he said.
    He set the box on the bench, took out a rolled baggie of marijuana and a packet of E–Z Widers. He pulled one of the papers free.
    “I talked to a friend about your situation,” Harry said.
    Bobby looked at him.
    “No specifics. I just wanted to try to find out some more about Fallon.”
    “Did you?”
    “Not a lot, but enough. It could be this situation isn’t as bad as it seems.”
    “That’s the closest thing to good news I’ve heard in weeks. What makes you say it?”
    “Fallon’s a businessman. He’s no heavy hitter. He’s looking for his money, not trouble.”
    “Let’s hope you’re right,” Bobby said. He rolled and sealed the joint, twisted the ends shut.
    “How