While She Was Sleeping...

“Why?”

“Because what was the point of hurting you more?”

She looked so miserable Melanie had to force herself to calm down. She knew Sawyer wasn’t a player, but then Alana wasn’t, either. So… “What did happen?”

“I was asleep. My doctor gave me new pills and then Sawyer…I thought I was dreaming.”

“Come on. You slept through sex?”

“We didn’t have sex. He just—”

“Ew.” Melanie put her hands out. “I don’t want to know.”

“But also, I had a headache and took one of the ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. It didn’t look right, and I wondered if maybe I was so asleep because—”

“Oh, gosh.” Melanie’s eyes widened. “I wondered where those were. That wasn’t ibuprofen, those were sleeping pills I borrowed from Joe.”

“Whoa.” Alana’s eyebrows shot up. “I guess that’s how you sleep through sex.”

“I thought you said—”

“No.” She waggled her finger back and forth. “I meant it. No sex. But the guy is bad news, Melanie.”

Here we go. Mommy Alana on a roll. “He didn’t know who you were.”

“What was he doing making a pass at anyone if you’re dating seriously?”

“Oh.” Melanie did everything she could not to look guilty. They weren’t exactly dating yet. But he’d shown interest moving in with her, hadn’t he? And with the two of them together so much, something would happen. He was perfect for the new her. But if she told Alana she’d asked Sawyer to move into their house when she’d only seen him four times briefly at Habitat for Humanity, Alana would stay for the rest of Melanie’s life. “Well…he was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“And this is an excuse why? For one thing, blacking-out drunk is serious. For another, alcohol doesn’t force you to cheat.”

“Look. Just drop it, okay? Sawyer and I have worked this out. He’s moving in today and that’s what we both want. I’ve never seen him drink too much before, this was probably a one-time overindulgence. And if not, I’ll keep an eye out and handle it, okay?”

“No, not okay. I don’t want you getting involved with someone—”

“Who you don’t know at all and who has a perfectly reasonable explanation for how he behaved? It’s actually more reasonable than yours.” She wanted to turn into a bear, growl and terrify Alana out of the house, then shred a tree or something. She couldn’t stand the fighting. It was all they did. “Tell you what. I’ll put him on probation for a month.”

“Melanie, I can’t believe—”

“One month.” She held up a finger. “Any signs of excessive drinking or, um, cheating on me again, and I’ll throw him out. In the meantime, while you’re here, you make an effort to talk to him and get to know him when he hasn’t been drinking, which I’m telling you is not like him. If you still think he’s a jerk, then we’ll talk. But I know you won’t.”

Alana sighed, pushed herself away from the wall and rehung Mr. July, which shouldn’t have been necessary since he was plenty well hung already. “Okay. I know I’m a buttinsky. I just worry about you.”

“Ya think?” She couldn’t help grinning. Her sister did look worried, and Melanie was aware a lot of the worry was love. She just wished Alana would keep her worry and love safely long distance. “I’m fine, really. You and Sawyer got off on…okay, rephrase, started off on the wrong foot, but he’s really terrific. Practically a Boy Scout. I don’t know where he was last night, but—”

“You don’t?” Alana pounced. “He doesn’t tell you where he’s—”

“Alana…”

“Okay.” She lifted her hands. “Okay, okay. Shutting up. Where were you last night?”

“I went out for a drink after work with Jenny and Edgar. Came back to change, then Jenny and I went to a party.”

“Ah.” Alana looked at her watch, doubtless thinking, You’re too old to be partying this hard at your age, young lady. “You don’t have work today?”

Melanie whirled around, peered at her Betty Boop clock and gasped. “Oh, God. I’m late.”

She started peeling off her clothes, looking desperately around at her discarded wardrobe. What to wear, what to wear.

“I’ll find you something for breakfast.” Alana left the room before Melanie could tell her she didn’t eat breakfast. Whatever. Mommy Alana wouldn’t listen anyway. She’d lecture on the importance of a good nutritious start to the day and whip up oatmeal with prunes. Melanie hated oatmeal. And she hated prunes.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in beige pants and an olive-patterned top she’d bought on sale and never worn because it made her look sallow, teeth brushed, makeup on, stairs leaped down two at a time, she managed not to roll her eyes at the spread on the table. Toast, cereal, power bars, peanut butter, cheese…

“You eat like this every morning?” She grabbed a power bar to keep the peace.

“That color looks horrible on you.”

“Thank you.” She relented when her sister looked contrite. “I know, but it’s the only thing I found that didn’t need ironing, and don’t say that if I kept my clothes hanging in the closet they wouldn’t get wrinkled.”

Alana looked startled, then drew her fingers across her lips, zzzip. “Have a good day at work, dear.”

Melanie giggled. “Thank you. Have fun with Sawyer. Try to stay out of bed with him, okay?”

Alana scowled. “He’s gone already. Never to return, if he knows what’s good for him.”

He’d be back. But Melanie wasn’t going to say that or risk starting another fight. She rushed to the door, rushed back and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be home for dinner. We can go to Gilles for burgers and custard. I know you didn’t get enough fat down there in Chicago-town. Bye!”

She didn’t wait for her sister to tell her the exact calorie and cholesterol count of her planned dinner. Outside she hauled out her cell, dialed Edgar at Triangle Graphics where she worked downtown in the Third Ward. “Edgar, I’m late.”

“That was noticed.”

“I know, I know, fifth time this week and it’s Friday. I’m on my way, can you charm everyone for me?”

“What’s wrong?”

Melanie blinked. He was psychic. He had to be. She couldn’t imagine she’d shown any of her confusion and upset, but he always knew. “Nothing! All is good. Be there soon, bye!”

She shut her phone, climbed into her ten-year-old blue Civic and started it up. Good old dependable Honey the Honda. Fifteen minutes later, only breaking a few speed limits, she pulled into the company parking lot, slammed Honey’s door and ran inside the renovated warehouse, bumping into—of course—the president of Triangle Graphics, Mr. We-Must-Be-Punctual, Todd Maniscotto.

“Hey, Todd, sorry I’m late. Sister visited unexpectedly, fouled up my whole morning…” By sleeping with the guy I plan to marry.

“Good morning.” Todd gave her a look over his bifocals and went back to studying whatever design brownnose Bob Stevens was hoping to be praised for.

Melanie scooted into the back room and into her cubicle, grinning hello to Edgar who sat next to her. He looked particularly horrible in a mustard-yellow shirt with brown pants. She’d love to hire herself out as his personal shopper. Obviously his girlfriend didn’t know or didn’t care about fashion faux pas for guys with his dark hair and pale face.

“Hi, Mel. The staff meeting was postponed until ten-thirty today. You got lucky.”

She went limp with relief, then stared at the Starbucks cup on her desk. “What’s this?”

“Thought you’d need it.”

“Edgar.” She picked up the cup, sipped experimentally. Mmm, mocha frappucino with extra whipped cream, her very favorite. “You are the absolute sweetest.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiled at her. He had a nose the size of a potato, bushy eyebrows, a weak chin, helmet-hair that looked coarse and greasy even when he’d just washed it, the bluest most surprisingly beautiful eyes and a dazzling white-toothed smile. Like matinee-idol mistakes in a nerd movie-designed face. “So tell me what’s going on, Melly. You sounded like a wreck on the phone.”

“Oh, Ed.” She collapsed into her chair, scooted it toward him and told the whole bizarre adventure of the previous evening. “So now my sister spent last night with my intended true love.”

“You really like this guy, huh.” He stopped moving the mouse, tapped his finger on it without clicking. “More than the others.”

“Oh. Well, yes. I mean, I hope to. What’s not to like?”

“Uh.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Edgar, I’m trying. I’m really trying here. I can’t screw up again. I can’t keep falling for these toxic guys and then needing to be rescued, either by you or Gran and Grandad or even, bless her to hell, my overlord and sister, Alana. This guy is fabulous. He’s handsome, upstanding, no illegal or self-destructive habits, he’s sweet as hell…” She sighed. “And he does nothing for you.”

“I’m going to fall for him. He’s moving in, something is bound to happen, you know me.”

“Um…” He broke out his killer smile. “No comment.”

“And after it does, well, I always fall for guys I sleep with. And then I’ll be fine. And safe. And set.” She eyed her coffee sadly. “Or that’s the plan anyway. Pretty stupid, huh.”

“It’s…better than some of them.”

“Eddie,” she ducked her head, whispering. “You want to know something?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m scared.”

“What do you mean?” He pushed back his chair, put his hand over hers, searched her face. “What is it?”

“What am I going to do if I don’t fall for him?” She gazed at him mournfully. “What if I’m doomed to love only dangerous, emotionally unavailable messes? What if I’m like my mother?”

“You’re not like your mother.”

“How do you know? You’ve never met my mother.”

“I’ve heard about her. You’re never going to hurt people you love the way she did.”

“Thank you, Edgar.” She sighed. He was amazing, like he had a guidebook: Best Things to Say to Melanie. “Am I ever this nice to you?”

“Always. Emma is jealous of how much I talk about you.”

She laughed. “Emma is a lucky woman. Tell her I said so.”

“I don’t know, she might scratch my eyes out.”

“Very doubtful.” She squeezed his hand and rolled back to her cubicle. “Was she home when you got back after we had drinks?”

“Yeah, she was there.”

“She wasn’t angry you’d been out after work?”

“A little, but only because she missed me.” He clicked the mouse a few times to change the size of a graphic on his screen. “We hung out on the couch and watched TV together.”

Melanie sighed wistfully. That was the kind of evening she should be having instead of partying her brains out. But being still and quiet was an open invitation to demons of self-doubt to start torturing her, so she kept moving. Maybe with Sawyer… “Oh, but when it’s the right person, anything is exciting.”

“True.” He laughed as if he’d thought of something funny. “What?”

“Nothing. Stop worrying. If your instincts are right about this Sawyer guy…”

“I hope they are. Or will be. I’m just not feeling it, you know? One look at a man who’s bad for me and I light up like a winning slot machine. This man is perfect and all I feel for him is determination. I mean, he was in bed last night with my sister and all I felt was annoyed that she’d barged in on my life again. Shouldn’t I have been raging jealous?”

“Hell, yeah.”

She studied him, intrigued by his vehemence. “So if you came home and found Emma all over another man you’d go nuts?”

“The fur would be flying.”

Melanie blew her bangs out of her eyes; they flew up and came right back down again. “That’s what I thought.”

“Look, you are a beautiful, smart, incredible woman, and there’s no way you’ll let yourself be dragged into anything permanent with a real creep. This is just a…phase or something.”

“I hope so.” She put her purse in her file cabinet drawer, took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee and powered on her computer. “I can just see me sixty years from now chasing motorcycle gangs in my wheelchair.”

“Well…” He grinned lopsidedly. “You could, you know…try a wider range of nice guys. In case this one doesn’t work. Sawyer’s not the only nonloser around.”

“True.” She smiled at him. As usual he’d found a way to make her feel better. “You’re absolutely right, Edgar, thank you so much. I’m being ridiculously pessimistic. This is my first attempt at a new life, and I can’t expect to hit it right, boom, immediately. Though, I’ll tell you, I have not, by any means, no way, given up on Sawyer. I still bet we can get something good going.”

She scooted to the right again, leaned forward and kissed Edgar’s cheek, making him blush fiercely, which she got a kick out of. He was such a great friend, always seemed to know when she was upset, really listened when she talked to him, anticipated her needs, sometimes before she knew she needed anything. Like the coffee this morning. If he wasn’t already involved with Emma, Melanie would try to set him up with one of her friends. Jenny maybe, who was dating that weird sculptor who was horrible to her. Melanie would think she should match herself up with Edgar if she felt anything but friendly toward him. Sad to say, once again, when faced with a great guy, Melanie had absolutely no interest.

If she couldn’t get herself to fall at least a little bit in love with an incredible man like Sawyer, she was very much afraid she was doomed.

4

SAWYER OPENED his eyes warily…and breathed a sigh of relief. His ceiling fan rotated silently above his bed. This was good. He was home, exactly where he was supposed to be. Even better, he remembered getting here, high-tailing it away from Betsy Ross Place when sweet Melanie and her complete-opposite sister shut themselves away to male-bash, and driving across town to Whitefish Bay on Milwaukee’s northeast side, where he fell into bed. Now, his mind was sharp, he felt decently well rested, and he was alone in bed, though he definitely wouldn’t have minded waking up next to the Sleeping Beauty version of Alana again.

Having seen her in action awake, however, he had a feeling his stay at Melanie’s would go more smoothly if big sister relocated to Florida sooner rather than later. Judging by Melanie’s shocked reaction, Alana’s visit was a surprise detour. Maybe he’d delay moving in until she was gone.

He’d think about it.

A big yawn, a stretch, and Sawyer let his body relax again, blissfully. He sure as hell did not miss having to get up at 6:00 a.m., rush to work out, shower, shave, put on a suit and fight traffic to be downtown at the office by eight. Nor did he miss the long hours, the pressure, the office politics or the bad coffee. At the same time, the driving sense of purpose had been invigorating. In his world now, it was summertime and the living was always easy. An adjustment, more than he’d expected. Sometimes it felt too easy. Certainly his three brothers and his father were disgusted with his choice to quit his job and take some slow-down time to reevaluate his life. The Kern family never slowed down. Much more honorable to drive oneself into an early grave than give up chasing the almighty dollar. The irony was that the family, descended from the world’s third-largest brewing company, Dalton Brewing, had plenty of money already.

Until this year, he’d bought into the family ethic in actions if not in his heart, given up his passion for cabinetry and gone to law school, gotten a Good Job in the Right Firm, same as his engineer, investment banker and doctor brothers, ignoring how he loathed every minute. Heart-attack symptoms last winter landed him in the hospital with a diagnosis of acute stress. Instead of jumping back on the horse, Sawyer promised himself he’d take six months off guilt-free to repair his exhausted body and brain before he committed to the next phase of his life, whatever that would entail. Not going back to practicing law.

He sighed. In the meantime, being the black sheep of the family had kept him busy enough, volunteering for Habitat for Humanity and indulging in woodworking again—both on his own in his basement shop and teaching classes through the rec department—visiting museums, reading, making time for concerts, nights out with friends, travel…indulging all the interests he hadn’t had time for when his whole world consisted of an office during the day and this bed at night.

He rolled to sitting, glad when his stomach stayed steady and his head stayed clear, though it still throbbed. His cell rang on the clunky bedside table he made in junior high school, which he was replacing with one he’d half finished.

His brother. “Hey, Finn.”

“Good, you survived the night.”

“Apparently.” He cut off a yawn. “What the hell did I drink, and is Phil in jail yet?”

“Police are involved. Yeah, Phil is strongly suspected.”

“Nice.”

“Listen, Dad called me this morning.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. Mom and Dad had moved to Arizona last year, which meant Dad had to exercise his manipulative control-freak tendencies long-distance, usually by calling Sawyer’s brothers instead of him. “How are they doing?”

“Head of the Dalton Foundation is leaving. Frank Bolliver.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s how they’re doing?”

“Dad thinks since you’re out of a job, you might want to consider taking this one.”

The old resentment leaped up, fresh and shiny new every time. “I’ll give that tons of thought.”

Finn chuckled. “Just the messenger.”

“Last week it was Tom telling me Dad’s golf buddy needed a partner in his firm. He doesn’t let up, huh.”

“In his own misguided way he’s trying to help. He thinks you’re lost at the moment.”

“What do you think?”

“Not my job to comment, man, but if you ask me, you’re spiraling downward big-time.”

“That’s what I thought.” Sawyer stood, went to the window, peered out through the single pane at kids riding sleek narrow scooters down the block. “You ever wish you’d done something with your music?”

“Come on, bud. There’s a time when you have to lose the rock-star dreams and grow up.”

“Right.” He laughed to himself for the idiotic impulse of sharing himself with his own brother. That wasn’t how the Kerns operated. “I’ll work on that.”

“Whoops, gotta answer this e-mail. Some of us still work for a living. I’ll let you know what I hear about Phil.”

“Yeah, have fun with that.” Sawyer tossed the phone on his bed in disgust. Sometimes he wondered how he was born into this family.

He trudged toward the bathroom to scrub off anything left of his hangover and to brush his teeth. Three steps into the hardwood hallway, he tripped over a colorful plastic toy and had to jam his hand on the wall to keep from falling. In the distance one of his nephews screeched in fury, another burst into loud tears, accompanied by yips from the dog Skittles, and yells of, “Shut up, Bobby, Uncle Sawyer’s still asleep.”

And there you had it. Episodes like this were why, during a painting session at Habitat for Humanity, when Melanie started talking about inviting “Fast Freddie” to be her roommate because she wanted to support his struggles to stay clean, Sawyer had told an immediate white lie and said he heard Freddie hooked up with an old girlfriend, but that Sawyer desperately needed a place to stay.

Maybe Freddie really had given up his meth addiction, but Sawyer wouldn’t bet on it. He didn’t like the idea of Melanie alone with a guy who could be wired out of his mind and reason at any time. Not counting last night, Sawyer’s mind and reason kept pretty close company. He’d be better for a naive idealist like Melanie. In fact, when he met her, he’d toyed with the idea that he could be very good for her, until his attraction faded naturally into brotherly affection. She was too childlike, emotions riding too close to the surface. Her sister…well, Sawyer would like to date her, but only if she stayed asleep the whole time.

A startling shout close by, seven-year-old Sam and six-year-old Jacob burst around the corner, aiming invisible weaponry. “Bew! Bew! You’re dead from our laser guns!”

Sawyer clutched his chest and slumped obligingly against the wall. He knew about being shot, stabbed and otherwise relegated to dead-body status, having grown up with three older brothers. Even their dog, Dante, had been male. Another reason uptight, permanently outraged women were such a mystery to him. Seemed like they managed to complicate the simplest things—like Alana going ballistic in the face of a misunderstanding. Which was why he always dated women who were calm, in control, unshakeable in the face of chaos, like his mother. Or like his brother Mark’s wife, Maria, mother of the fearsome foursome taking over his house, while Mark tried to find the family new digs abroad. Maria could simultaneously carry on a conversation in the middle of a full-blown good-guy/bad-guy war, cook dinner and fold laundry without missing a beat.

Sawyer grinned at the kids, who were vigorously debating whether or not plasma slime was fatal to aliens, then went into the bathroom to find pain reliever for his headache, which had just gotten worse. Outside the door more yells, then feet pounding down the hallway accompanied by scrabbling paws and shrill barking, more noise than an assortment of sixty-pounders should be able to make. Sawyer grimaced and downed some extra-strength acetaminophen. He’d go along with his plans to move in with Melanie today, even if Dragon Lady was still there, spreading protective wings over her sister. Apparently she thought Melanie was unable to take care of herself.

Which, now that he thought about it, was one thing they had in common.

He showered quickly, stepped over and around and through kids and a hyper dachshund to pack a couple of suitcases and box his laptop and CD player, some books and CDs. All of which he loaded into his beloved red Mistubishi Lancer, declining Maria’s offer of help. She was busy in her enormous minivan, vacuuming the upholstery of crumbs and removing what looked like the contents of a McDonald’s restaurant trash Dumpster. Apparently the kids had consumed their weight in chicken nuggets over the past two weeks; Maria was great about getting them out of the house so Sawyer could have a peaceful dinner once in a while. He’d noticed her having to shush the kids more often than he was sure she did at home, and had felt badly about the guilty apology in her brown eyes.

They could all relax once he moved out. Sawyer could handle Alana.

He said goodbye to the boys, not that they noticed, still deeply involved in the finer points of annihilating each other, hugged Maria and drove west across town into Wauwatosa, then Washington Heights and Betsy Ross Place, where he found himself on edge looking for Alana’s silver Prius.

Still in the driveway. He expected to be disappointed and wasn’t. In fact, he found himself strangely exhilarated, looking forward to the challenge of tangling with her again—figuratively, at least.

He used his key to go through the side door into the kitchen and called her name a few times. No answer. In the bathroom? In the shower? Out on a walk? He grabbed his suitcases from the car and hoisted them up the beautiful dark wood staircase to the second floor and into the room where he’d spent the previous night.

Alana’s bag was still there. Which meant she still claimed the room Melanie said he could have because his large frame was more comfortable in a queen-size bed than one of the twins in the guest room.

More conflict. He’d do the gentlemanly thing and offer to sleep in the guest room, but it made more sense for him not to have to change rooms after she left.

He supposed if he tossed her things across the hall now, she’d pitch a fit that would deafen him.

“Oh. Um. Hi. Sawyer.”

Alana. He spun around, prepared for battle…and found himself reacting to her not as the shrieking shrew, but the way he’d reacted to her asleep in his bed. Her eyes were wide, anxious but not hostile. She looked slightly unsure of herself. Her rich, dark brown hair was damp—yes, she’d been in the shower—and curled gently around her face; he remembered its fragrance. She wore jeans and a clingy peach-colored sweater that reminded him forcefully of what lay underneath.