Isabel Sharpe - While She Was Sleeping...

“Yes. I mean, of course you’ll have to say it’s okay.”

“When is he moving in?”

“Um.tomorrow.”

Orange alert. Waiting until the last second to tell Alana? Or did this Sawyer guy wait until the last second to ask Melanie? “You’ve known him a month? Is that…maybe…rushing things?”

“I know, it seems fast. But it’s also really practical.”

“Shared bedroom saves gas money?” Another nervous laugh. “No. He, um, needed a place to live. So I thought this was an obvious solution. To help him out.”

“Ah.” Homeless guy. Super. Alana let her head bonk back against a cabinet so she was staring up at the smooth, white ceiling. Very uncomfortable position, but it fit the conversation. “Did he get evicted?”

“No, nothing like that. Just…between places, I guess.”

She guessed. “He’s paying half the expenses, utilities, property tax, etc.?”

“Ye-es, Alana.” She sounded like an exasperated teenager. “He promised to share all expenses.”

“Did he promise in writing?”

Her sister scoffed. Alana bit her lip. Don’t push too hard. “What does he do?”

“Oh. Well…”

Red alert. Alana closed her eyes wearily. Male stripper? Female impersonator? Drug dealer?

“He was some kind of lawyer, I guess, but it was too much pressure, so he’s between jobs at the moment.”

Even better. “How long has he been unemploy—”

“Geez, Alana. I knew you’d do this. I’m a grown-up, remember? Twenty-six? And you’re not my mother.”

Oh, no. The last of Alana’s hope evaporated. Melanie went on the attack like that when she was feeling defensive. She had something to hide about this guy. Something Alana wouldn’t like. “Yes, it’s your life. But it’s also half my house.”

“I told you, Alana, he’s a great guy, not like the others.”

“Really.” Alana pulled her head up from the cabinet. “The last ones were ‘not like the others,’ too, except for one thing—they were just like the others.”

“Alana…”

She took a deep breath. She’d moved away from her beloved house and her beloved city partly because of the way she and Melanie got along. Or didn’t. That and a job opportunity managing luxury condos for a man who’d known her Grandad. “Okay, I’m sorry. You know I’m just being—”

“Smothering.”

“No, cautious. Can you blame me?” She kept her voice gentle. “Seriously? For all I know he’s planning to marry you and weasel you out of your half of the house, or take it over for…I don’t know, something bad. Invite creepy friends in at all hours who’ll trash the place or—”

“He’s not like that.”

“You said that about the last one. The ex-con who tried to steal the family silver.” She shoved herself away from the cabinet, stalked into the living room. Her sister didn’t just push her buttons; she hurled grenades and exploded them. In spite of Gran and Grandad’s best efforts, Melanie had grown up wild like Alana and Melanie’s mother.

Every time Melanie used poor judgment—or, more accurately, no judgment—Alana was catapulted back to the fear and bewilderment of her rocky first decade with Mom, before Gran and Grandad took her and her sister in and introduced them to foreign ideas like good nutrition and routine and stability.

“I’m turning over a new leaf. I promise. This guy could run for office.”

“Which means he has affairs, hires prostitutes and/or propositions guys in bathrooms?”

“Ha, ha, ha. You know what I mean.”

“Yes. I do.” Calm, Alana, calm. Who knew? Maybe Sawyer was okay. Melanie was a grown-up; her life was her own.

But that beautiful house was half Alana’s and, legal issues aside, she hated the idea of some guy living there who didn’t belong, didn’t understand how precious a place it was.

Or was Alana being selfish? Unreasonable? She could be both, she knew. If only Melanie didn’t have such a dismal record. “Can you just date him a little longer, get to know him better before he moves in?”

“I’ve known him a month, what more do you want?”

“Two months? Four? Eight? A year?”

“He needs a place now. I’ve got one.”

“We’ve got one.” Alana sank down onto the one space on her couch not heaped with boxes and tried to calculate. She could put off traveling to Florida by a day or two. She’d wanted to get to Orlando a couple of weeks early before starting her new job, but she didn’t absolutely have to be there yet. Her furniture was going into storage regardless, while she stayed with Gran and Grandad. “Here’s an idea. How about if I come up and meet him, and if he’s all you say, there will be no problem and I’m fine with him moving in.”

“For God’s sake, Alana, I’m not twelve.”

No, you just act like it sometimes. “I know. But the house is half mine, I think it’s understandable I’d want to—”

“I think it’s understandable that you should trust your own sister.”

“Uh…” Based on what? “What is so bad about me visiting?”

Her red alert got redder. She’d just tossed the idea out there, hadn’t really thought it through. Moving was plenty stressful enough, all her plans were in place, she hated to delay. But with Melanie objecting…

“It’s just… you shouldn’t…we shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“Oh, um, well…”

Alana dropped her head into her hands. This was not good. If Melanie didn’t want Alana to meet Sawyer, that was proof positive he was more bad news, and Alana needed to get up to Wauwatosa as soon as possible to protect her childhood home and to prevent her sister from screwing up her life exactly the way she always did. Exactly the way their mother had.

IN THE LAST RAYS of twilight traveling north on I94, the familiar skyline of Milwaukee came into view, unimposing compared to the majestic sprawl of downtown Chicago, but home. Alana got a lump in her throat and wished for her boxed-up camera to take a picture she could frame on her wall in Orlando.

She changed lanes, enjoying the light traffic after her years in bumper-to-bumper Chicago and lowered the window a few inches to breathe warm, summery air. Florida would be sweltering at this time of year. What’s more, July was bang in the middle of hurricane season. Two already this year had narrowly avoided the state, another, Cynthia, was forming in the Atlantic.

Alana had called Gran and Grandad to let them know of her change in plans, making it sound like, Hurray, Melanie found a great guy and Alana couldn’t wait to meet him! She’d added a white lie about needing a few items from the house in case her grandparents got suspicious, knowing Melanie as they did. How many boyfriends had they needed to extract from Melanie’s life or steer her around since she hit puberty? They had good practice after raising Alana and Melanie’s mom, but still. They shouldn’t need to deal with those worries anymore.

Gran had sounded tired, but brushed off questions about her recovery from the fall, saying she was fine. Of course. A building could tip over onto her head and she’d insist no one should be concerned.

Route I94, to Route 41, then west on Lloyd toward Wauwatosa—the city nestled right up to Milwaukee’s west side—bumping over the filled potholes pockmarking the street. At 62nd Street, she turned left into The Highlands, a beautiful neighborhood of curving streets graced by elegant old houses. Her grandparents had bought the two-story stone house on Betsy Ross Place in the 1940s when they were first married. Until they moved to Florida six years earlier when Alana graduated from University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, there they’d stayed.