Free Fading Amber by Jaime Reed Page B

hands.
    I groaned and met her by the door, knowing that this was the third stage of the holiday madness.
    Phase three: the lawn.
    Mom never did anything halfway, so if it blinked, chimed, or twinkled, it was probably in our yard, blinding those who drove by our house. Since she was going for something less gaudy this year, she had to downsize, which was driving her crazy. Her obsession with having the perfect holiday was interfering with me and a hot shower, and that just wasn’t going to fly. “Mom, you have got to stop doing this. Just let it go.”
    â€œShh!” She stepped onto the porch, letting all the heat out of the house while spying on the neighbors across the street. Mom placed the binoculars in front of her eyes and scoped out the competition. “Look at them. They think they’re so much with their halogen lights and surround sound.”
    I followed her gaze to the yard across the street. Their landscape was always perfectly groomed and stayed green all year, and I had to admit that their display was quite impressive. Baby Jesus and the gang stood on the lawn under a soft glow from inside the manger. A pair of eight-foot angels guarded the scene, their halos blinking in time with the tune of Silent Night . “The Cunningham’s have a new theme this year, too,” I noted.
    â€œThe nativity scene. How original,” Mom sneered. “All of a sudden they decide to get a new concept. Did they tap my phone or something?” She spied through the binoculars again. “They’re not gonna win. Not this year. Oh shoot, I think she saw me! Duck, honey!” Mom dipped behind the railing on the porch.
    Refusing to cater to the crazy, I waved to my neighbor like a sane person. “Hi, Mrs. Cunningham!”
    The slim brunette, wearing fuzzy earmuffs and a skin-tight snow suit that made her resemble a ski bunny, paused on her way to her car. She was what Mom often described as a trophy wife, due to being twenty years younger than Mr. Cunningham and having been under the knife more than a Butterball turkey. “Hello, Samara. Looks like you guys have power trouble. Are you all right?” she said.
    â€œYeah, just a tripped wire. I just need to hit the fuse box.”
    She treaded across the lawn and moved in for a closer look. “Julie? Julie, is that you?”
    Swearing under her breath, Mom pulled out of her hiding place. “Debra, hi! How are you?” she yelled cheerfully.
    â€œOh, I’m wonderful, thank you. I notice you have a new theme, too. Minimalism, I see. It’s cute, very practical for those on a budget,” Mrs. Cunningham said with a smile so wide I could see it from the street.
    â€œYes, but less is more, you know.” Mom threw her head back and laughed, sounding super loud and extra fake. Waving back, she mumbled through grinning teeth, “I hate you.”
    â€œUm . . . yeah, I’m gonna go turn the lights back on.” I left Mom to her obsession and entered the kitchen. After clicking on the circuit breaker, the house came alive with a blast of music from the radio, blinking digital clocks, and the soft whirl of electrical appliances.
    With that accomplished, I returned upstairs and took a shower, where Caleb continued to intrude on my thoughts. I still couldn’t believe he fed off a woman with me right in the room. More to the point, I couldn’t believe I stuck around to watch. Neither of them were naked or anything, but the whole exchange was just as pervy as if they were.
    Maybe I was reading more into this than I should. Sucking the life force out of people didn’t have to mean anything personal. Caleb didn’t seem to have a problem turning his emotions on and off, so what was my issue? It was only food, right?
    I dried off and entered my room with a new resolution: to cut loose and stop sweating the little things. I was sick of being cautious and worried all the time, and it was the Cambion motto to