Living Lies Read Free

the peace and freedom of an empty apartment. By the end of her winter seclusion, she’d be eager to ditch the hermitage and impatient for the return of her roommates.
    Traveling beneath the canopy of tree branches that blocked the clear blue sky, Melanie drove Carla’s run-down Toyota and dreamed of snow and blizzards. Instead, green front lawns showcased their holiday spirit with festive lights winding their way up the tall palm trees and garnished gates with wreaths of holly and pomegranate.
    The steep roads descending from downtown La Jolla to the cliffs at the shore were lined with multi-million-dollar homes, granting them an unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean. Moderate family homes were nestled among the ostentatious, all of them painted in an array of pastels and adorned with neat lawns and flowering shrubs. Often tourists in search of sea lion coves found themselves pointing from the windows of their family vans, admiring the quaint and grand neighborhoods.
    The Ward home did not overlook the ocean.
    Melanie climbed the porch steps to the pale yellow two-story home with the white shutters, careful not to drop the bundle of presents for her mom, dad and little brother, Brucey. Bruce Ward was only two years younger than Melanie but as the baby of the family, he was still treated as if he were 10.
    “Merry Christmas, dear,” her mom said with her expected big, warm hug and kiss.
    Rita Ward’s hair was cut stylishly short at the nape, newly colored a strawberry blonde, and she wore her trademark knit vest over a colored turtleneck with a long, heavy gold chain. Roger Ward’s thick brown hair had grayed at the temples and the hours working in his garden were evident from his tan skin.
    “Annie!” Her father called, using her pet name when seeing her in the hall. His eyes sparkled and Melanie returned the same smile.
    Without fail, Melanie knew that Christmas Eve morning the family would go out to breakfast before hunting down the largest tree left on the lot. A struggle would ensue between the family members, the tree and the top of the car. In the end the family would emerge victorious, only to repeat the struggle with the front door and then again with the hallway to the living room, where the tree would stand for the next week.
    “Honey, when are we going to meet your boyfriend?” Rita interrogated innocently as she opened a box of ornaments.
    “Right after I meet him,” Melanie said, gritting her teeth and bracing for the aftershock.
    It was such a small sound, her mother’s tsk, but it held the force to rattle her foundation and raise her blood pressure.
    Ignore it, she repeated silently – her mantra.
    “Why don’t you ask Trish for help, she’s very popular.”
    Melanie counted to 10, still hooking silver orbs onto the evergreen branches.
    “That’s a good idea, Mom.”
    “Your Aunt Paulie will be here in the morning with her kids. You don’t mind giving up your room for a night, do you?”
    “No.” Melanie sighed.
    The next morning, Melanie sat on a hard pew wedged between her mother and a fidgety Bruce. Rita and Roger were weekly members of their congregation but had long ago surrendered in forcing their children to attend, saving Christmas Day.

    “I’ve got a date,” Bruce announced four days after Christmas. He’d been on the phone all week and the ominous cloud that had been hanging over her head broke. “I won’t be here for New Year’s.” He grinned and struck his fist against Melanie’s shoulder.
    She glared.
    “Well, I’ve got a date, too.” She was a miserable liar.
    “Now that’s just pathetic,” Bruce said, taking a bite out of an apple.
    “Hush,” Rita reprimanded but with her eyes filled with suspicion. “You know you’re welcome to come to the lodge with your father and me.”
    Melanie tried her best to look offended. “Really, I have a date with a guy in my econ class.”
    “Hah, what’s his name?” Bruce probed.
    “Felix. And shut up.” Melanie