LITMIR.BIZ

      To Stacy, Lisa, Annemarie, Caroline,

       Sally, Kris and Joan.

       Because it doesn’t always have to be

       about litera-choor.

       1

      ALANA HAWTHORNE taped shut her last carton of CDs, mostly jazz and soft rock. The job of packing up her condo hadn’t taken long. Everything went into boxes, bang, done. Not like when she’d moved here from her childhood home in suburban Milwaukee and had to decide what to take and what to leave, what belonged to her and what to Melanie, all the while trying not to have unsisterly thoughts, such as could she chain Melanie to a downtown parking meter while she packed?

      Moving was easier this time emotionally, too, though she’d lived here outside Chicago for six years. Hard to get sentimental about a condo, even in a building she took pride in managing, a career she’d fallen into after helping her grandfather manage a downtown bank building for so many years. This place had none of the charm of the house in Wauwatosa, none of the leaded glass and gorgeous woodwork. Granted, none of the leaks and drafts and questionable plumbing, either. Or the memories, good and bad, contained in each room of the house she and Melanie were raised in.

      This time day after tomorrow, Alana would be in Orlando, Florida, in another condo, in a development she’d be managing. She wasn’t wild about the move, considered herself thoroughly Midwestern, but Gran and Grandad had sacrificed a decade of what should have been their much-deserved emptynest years raising two grandchildren. After Gran’s fall last month, it was clear what Alana could do to pay them back at least in some small way.

      Her cell rang. She paused to write CDs—Bedroom in black marker on the box before scrambling to her feet and grabbing her cell from the oddly bare kitchen counter. The new owners had been impressed by how well she’d kept the place up. Alana didn’t mention she’d spent most of her time at Sam’s place until they broke up last fall.

      She glanced at the display. Her sister. “Hey, Melanie.”

      “You’ll never, ever guess what I have to tell you.”

      Alana wrinkled her nose. Hello, Alana, how’s the packing going? How’s your stress level? Need any help ? “Good news or bad?”

      “Good, fabulous, the best, but like I said, you’ll never guess.”

      “You met a guy.”

      “Oh.” Her sister sounded tremendously disappointed. “Well, yes. But not just a guy, this is the guy.”

      Alana closed her eyes, dread and fear lifting their little heads inside her, trying to decide if they’d be needed or not. The guy, huh? What was this one in recovery from? Or wanted by the police for? Or down on his luck because of? “That’s great, Melanie.”

      “I am so excited. He’s amazing. What’s more, you’ll really like this one.”

      “Where did you meet him?” A meat-market bar at closing time? A bus stop? In court?

      “Habitat for Humanity.”

      Alana turned from her kitchen counter to face the curtainless window. “No kidding. I didn’t know you volunteered for them.”

      “All part of Melanie’s New Improved Life. He’s straight, sober, responsible, an amazing man. Went to college, everything.”

      “Everything?”

      “Everything you think is important.”

      “Melanie, wow.” She actually started feeling hopeful, a huge change from how she usually felt about Melanie’s boyfriends, which generally ranked somewhere around despair. “How long have you known him?”

      “Long time. A month. Maybe more.”

      “Really.” Hey, Melanie even waited to tell Alana about this one, instead of jumping into I-met-someone-and-love-him after the first date. “This is terrific. I’m happy for you. What’s his name?”

      “Sawyer

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