FARTHER UPTOWN, Theresa Crane came home from work and found, to her alarm, that the door to her apartment was ajar. She was certain she had locked it securely, and it was not the maid’s day. Her first instinct was to call 911, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself if there was nothing wrong. She pushed the door open another foot and peeked inside. She could see down the hall and into her living room, and as she watched, she saw a puff of smoke drift across the room. She got out her phone to call the police, and as she did, a man appeared in the hallway.

“Sis?” he said.

She stared at him in shock. “Butch?”

“Give me a hug,” he said, his arms spread wide.

She moved into the hallway and hugged him briefly. “I thought you had at least another year to go. How did you get out? My God, you didn’t break out, did you?”

Butch shrugged and steered her into the living room and onto the sofa. “Maybe you’ve read in the papers that there’s a move on, nationwide, to rid the prisons of first-time, nonviolent prisoners? Seems they’ve run out of cell space.”

Harold F. Crane, her younger brother, had been doing five to seven years in a minimum-security prison upstate for forgery, money laundering, and theft, and those were just the things he had been caught doing; she suspected there were more crimes in his past. “So,” she said, “what are your plans?”

“My parole officer seems to think I might find some work in New York, given my winning nature and handsome mien. Can you put me up for a while?”

“Put out that cigarette,” she said. “There’s no smoking here, ever.” He went to the powder room, flushed it down the toilet, and returned. “Sorry about that. I picked up the habit inside. There was nothing else to do, except read.”

“I don’t want the smell in here. How did you get in?”

“I knew you always hide a key somewhere, and I found it on the ledge over the door. I didn’t want to call you at work. How’s it going there?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“The apartment is smashing,” he said, looking around.

“I get a discount at the store, and I’ve been buying floor pieces whenever the designs change. I’ve done a lot of work on the apartment myself.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Perhaps I’ll treat you to a suit tomorrow,” she said. “There’s a sale starting. God knows, you’re not going to get work in that.”

He plucked at his lapel. “It’s what I was wearing when I went in, and I’ve lost some weight.”

“I noticed that.”

“Prison food is lousy, and I worked out a lot, too.”

“All you need is some sun on your face, and you’ll look like a real person again.”