Love Lies Beneath Read Online Free Page B

Blossoms. Goo Goo Dolls. Counting Crows. Everclear. I still love this stuff.
    I pull up in front of Melody’s house a little before noon. On the front lawn is an almost-life-size Santa’s sleigh, pulled by only six reindeer. Christmas lights drip from the roof and encircle the trees. The houses on either side boast similar displays. This neighborhood must be ridiculous at night.
    Mel is not standing curbside, suitcase in hand, so I go ring the bell. Her oldest daughter answers the door, scowling. “Oh, hey, Aunt Tara.”
    â€œMay I come in? What’s wrong? Not happy to see me?”
    Kayla steps to one side to let me by. “No, it’s not you. Sorry. I just had a fight with my boyfriend. Squeaky little a-hole.”
    â€œJust one of many, hon. Just one of many.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m afraid of.”
    She’s a willowy brunette, pretty without working too hard to be that way. She won’t have a problem finding another boyfriend if she wants one.
    â€œSo why are you home? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
    She shrugs. “I had a half day. Mom’s in the kitchen, by the way.”
    I believe I’ve been dismissed. I follow the scent of coffee and yeast past tinseled railings and holiday villages to the big, airy, oven-warmed kitchen. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you baked bread this morning.” Three loaves cool on the counter. “That’s why they invented bakeries, you know.”
    Melody stops loading the dishwasher long enough to smile a hello. “If I lived in San Francisco, I’d have that option. Do you know how far I’d have to drive to find a decent bakery here?”
    â€œSeriously, Mel. Who bakes anymore, especially on the day they’re taking off on a ski trip?”
    â€œA ski trip the rest of her family won’t be enjoying. The least I could do was leave them decent bread.”
    She can take her cheerful-housewife routine and shove it. “How close are you?”
    â€œI’ll be ready as soon as I finish cleaning up.”
    â€œCan’t Kayla do it? She’s pissed, not disabled.”
    â€œI could ask her, of course. But it’s faster if I just do it than argue with her for twenty minutes. Anyway, I’m done.” She starts the wash cycle, rinses her hands.
    â€œAnyone ever tell you your parenting skills are lacking?”
    The slender rebuke draws no anger. “Only my husband. And his aren’t any better. Just call us Mr. and Mrs. Walkalloverme.”
    Irritation prickles. I wish she’d rise up to defend herself once in a while. It’s bothered me ever since we were kids and Mom would go off on one of her rants. Loudmouthed me always took the brunt of her punishments while soft-spoken Melody receded into the background, barely there.
    â€œQuick potty stop, and we’re on our way.”
    Twenty minutes later we are, turning south to meet Highway 50 east. It’s a gorgeous drive, but I’m very happy the weather is good. The curvy two-lane makes for ugly going in a blizzard. Today, it’s clear and crisp outside. Korn comes on the radio. Their music is a mile outside my comfort zone, and a deviation for this channel. Still, when Melody reaches over to turn down the volume, I’m even more uncomfortable because it means she’s moving into sister-chat mode.
    Melody: Blah-blah-blah, your divorce.
    Me: Blah-blah-blah, rehearsed answer.
    Mel: Blah-blah-blah, plans for the future.
    Moi: Blah-blah-blah, one day at a time.
    The only way to disengage from small talk about me is to engage in small talk about her. “So, how’s Graham?”
    Melody’s husband is a pediatrician, and quite popular among greater Sacramento soccer moms, due to his all-American good looks and highly cultivated bedside manner. As far as I know, that hasn’t negatively affected their marriage. They’ll celebrate their twentieth anniversary in a few