Loving Lies

CHAPTER ONE





Alyssa





If only my father could see me now. That thought flicks across my mind as I jump over a boulder and continue with my run. And just as quick is the realization my father wouldn’t approve of his “precious” daughter sweating like some poor kid running from the gang. I can’t help but smile at my transformation. Three years ago my idea of exercise was breaking in a pair of new heels while shopping at the mall. God, I can’t believe I was that shallow or lame.

Thirty-seven months, and yes I’m counting, and my life has transformed and so have I. My neat, pretty appearance with the long blonde locks I used to spend hours curling into perfection is gone. Those locks are now dyed midnight black. The curls have given way to straight hair and half my head is shaved in a Mohawk-inspired cut so out of character that sometimes even I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror.

I narrowly avoid the next patch of rough rocks. If I twist my ankle out here it’s a good hour walk back to the resort. Plus, I’d never live it down. My image as the tough city chick would be ruined. Being forced to limp back home would be like the biggest walk of shame and I doubt this rough country crew would ever let me forget it. And where the hell is the lake my new boss, Ralph, talked about? If I don’t come across it in ten minutes I’m turning around.

With my luck he was lying about the best place to go for a swim. I wouldn’t put it past him. In the short time I’ve been here I’ve learned he likes to play tricks on the staff and I’m hoping the so-called beautiful lake isn’t one. He already tried to get me flustered with what he swears is the best local drink. They call it Stone Cliff Straight, a mix of whiskey, root beer, and stout beer. The stuff is disgusting, but the locals, who are obviously missing a few neurons when it comes to the finer things in life, love it. My boss has assured me that by the end of the summer I’ll love it too. God, that’s a scary thought.

I crest another hill and the wind picks up. The scent of evergreens and wild roses I have quickly come to love compared to the stench of Toronto’s concrete jungle emphasize this is one sweet summer job. I almost get physically sick though when I finally get to the top. I took up running a year ago to pound the demons out of my head. The old me would have made fun of anyone jogging to be healthy but the new me says, ‘bring it on’. I guess I’m hoping someday all this running will scare off those demons. They say you can’t escape your past. Who the hell cares? All I need is to escape the future my archaic father laid out like a crisp white sheet. His idea of perfect was my idea of hell. I force my stomach to behave and finally raise my head. Then my breath gets sucked from me once again.

“Holy shit.”

That’s all I can say as I stare with total longing at the most amazing lake I’ve ever seen. It’s postcard perfect. Before coming to Stone Cliff Resort, which is tucked between a range of Canadian mountains I’d never heard of, I had seen a lot of the world. I’m sure that disclosure would shock the summer staffers who look a bit like I looked when I landed here two weeks ago—desperate for work. As the spoiled only daughter to British Columbia’s Greek shipping tycoon, the world at one time was my oyster. Until it all went south when daddy dearest decided my only asset as a female was the ability to secure contacts through marriage.

I hate that I instantly recall that horrible day when my father’s mouth spat words like ‘slut’ and ‘whore,’ after he found me in bed with a high school friend. I always knew my father had a temper—fast and loud as he liked to joke, saying it was all due to his Greek roots, but that day everything changed for both of us.

I shake my head and slowly make my way down the hill to the call of the cool, navy blue lake. Reflections of the two mountains framing each side of the lake create a mirror-like image and all I can think is I can’t wait to come here again with my baby.

My baby is a Canon EOS—the top of the line camera, which I bought after pawning the jewels my father had given me over the years. I wish I’d taken more jewelry before I ditched my rich life so I could have bought a tripod. I blow the thought away on a breath. Wishes are useless. This summer gig working as assistant bar manager comes with a nice pay cheque and it’s so isolated no one will ever find me here. Heck, if I hadn’t gotten on the shuttle bus from town I would have gotten lost.

My body is hot and sweaty thanks to the unrelenting sun and while I’m not one to complain about six straight days of sun, at the moment I wouldn’t mind a cool breeze. After living for the past three years in Toronto, this type of heat is refreshing. I strip off my clothes and neatly pile my belongings next to a crop of small boulders and away from the wild roses. The roses tend to attract bees and I’m not in the mood to get stung.