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her hand. “Save room for dinner. Your sister’s here and we’re going to do something special.”
    â€œMa, I can’t stay for dinner,” Allie said, knowing that if she did, there was always the temptation of slipping into those old bad habits. Plus, she had a hundred things to do before Jerry arrived. The sooner she got started, the better. “I have—”
    â€œOh, now,” her mother cut in, waving a hand. “You always have time for dinner. Here, sit down at the table. I’ll get you a plate.”
    Allie glanced at the refrigerator. There’d been days when she’d wanted to throw that Whirlpool out the window and days when the appliance could dispense a hug better than her clingy Aunt Tilda. Shoved among the pictures of cousins and their babies, recipes cut out of magazines and magnets shaped like each of the four food groups, was a small news item, torn from the front page of the Tempest Weekly : G ET THE S COOP AT THE A NNUAL L ITTER B OX D ANCE !
    The date on the ad was tonight. Undoubtedly, the majority of Tempest would be there, given this was the biggest event the town held. A great opportunity to find potential extras.
    And to see if anyone recognized her. Allie had never attended a dance in Tempest, though she remembered watching one once from behind a chain-link fence, wondering what it would have been like if a boy had asked her to be his date. Heck if she’d been asked back then, she would have gone to a dance centered around sewer systems.
    But that had never happened. Except once, with Duncan. And that disaster rivaled anything that could happen in a Kitty Kleen box.
    â€œI can’t stay because I’m going to the dance.” Allie Dean didn’t need to wait for anyone to ask her. For a man to make her decision. She made her own rules.
    Allie pivoted toward Carlene, who had again retreated to the sofa and flung herself across the floral fabric, popping cheese curls into her mouth machine-gun style. “Why don’t you come with me, Carlene?”
    â€œTo what?”
    â€œThe Litter Box Dance. Scoop Till You’re Pooped, it says.”
    Carlene snorted. “I don’t think so.”
    Allie looked at her younger sister and saw herself, ten years ago. Self-conscious about her weight, she’d locked herself in this house, quadrupling the problem with snack foods and sofa-cruising. Before Allie had left for California, Carlene had been the thinner, prettier, and more social of the two, dating Doug Wilkins, heading off for parties every weekend.
    Something had happened since Allie left. Turning her social butterfly sister into a caterpillar.
    â€œCome on, Carlene,” Allie said. “Go with me.”
    â€œI told you, I don’t want to go. You come back and instantly think you can run my friggin’ life. So screw you.” Carlene’s curse merited a sharp glance from their mother.
    Carlene heaved herself off the couch, padded down the hall to her bedroom, and slammed the door so hard, the bag of cheese curls tumbled to the floor.
    Allie sighed and bent over, picking up the scattered orange puffs. Her mother called her to the table for a meal worthy of Henry VIII, but Allie begged off again.
    That dinner table held a one-way ticket back to who she used to be. No way would she take that well-intentioned, meatball-laden train again.

Chapter 5
    Duncan stood on the sidelines of the Litter Box Dance and sipped at a warm, flat beer, waiting for something interesting to happen. Esther Dunne’s oldest boy had screwed with the keg order again. Judging by the temperature of the brew, Lenny had left the silver cask in the back of his truck all day, probably swigging samples at every stop sign.
    Lenny Dunne’s only claim to fame was being able to simultaneously stand on his head and pour a gallon of beer down his gullet. Last year, after he’d been fired from his job as “pump expert” at the local BP,