Текст книги "The Distance Between Us"

Автор книги: Kasie West

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 36

“I don’t have grandparents.”

Lucas and Xander laugh then Lucas says, “She says things with such a straight face, how do you know when she’s joking or not, Xander?”

“She’s always joking.”

Samuel smiles and then says, “I hadn’t realized the Meyers had any relatives living around here until Xander told me.”

Xander nods. “I didn’t realize either, but Grammy told me.”

None of this made any sense. Mrs. Dalton must be confused. Why did she think I was related to these super rich Meyers people? Just because we had the same last name?

I swallow hard and scan the tables around us. Then I eye the door, watching the people coming in. In a way I had been joking about not having grandparents. I do have them, two sets. I just don’t know them. My mom’s parents disowned her when she got pregnant with me, and my dad’s parents paid her to keep her mouth shut. I have the shrewdest grandparents in existence. Meyers is my mother’s last name, but it is a common one. My mom can’t possibly be related to the SCM Pharmacy Meyers. It’s just a coincidence. I stare at Mrs. Dalton from across the room. The sweet Mrs. Dalton smiles at me.

Everyone at the table is looking at me, and I realize someone must’ve asked a question. A hand squeezes my knee and I jump. I look down and follow the path of the hand up to Xander’s shoulder and then to his concerned eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“No . . . yes . . . I just need to use the restroom.”

“It’s through those doors and to the right.” He stands and points then kisses my cheek. “Don’t escape out the window or anything. We’re just about to get to the super boring part. You won’t want to miss it.”

I try to laugh but nothing comes out. The bathroom is a welcome relief, and I shut myself into one of the stalls and try to wrap my brain around what just happened. Xander thinks I’m rich. He thinks I come from a rich family. This is why his dad had no problem with me once he found out my name and his brothers act like I am their equal. A sob escapes and I muffle it with my hand.

“Rich boys are stupid,” I say, forcing myself to get angry because I can’t afford to be hurt right now. I still have to get home with my dignity.

I start to leave the bathroom and almost get a door to the nose when it flies open so fast I’m barely able to step out of the way.

“Sorry,” the girl says, rushing past me. She turns on the sink and starts scrubbing at a spot on her white button-up shirt. When I notice her black skirt I realize she must be on the waitstaff. She looks close to tears.

“Are you okay?”

“I just got red wine splashed on my shirt and I don’t think it’s going to come out.” She scrubs harder then reaches for the soap dispenser. “My boss will make me go home.”

“Wait. Don’t use soap. Here, I have something.” I reach into my purse and pull out a little bottle of peroxide solution. We don’t get a lot of stains on the dolls in our store, but every once in a while a little kid with sticky hands or a coffee drinker will do some damage. This solution is a miracle worker. I dab some on her shirt and then blot it with a cloth towel from the counter. “See, look at that. Magic.”

She inspects it and then pulls me into a hug. Probably realizing she shouldn’t maul guests, she pushes away from me with a red face. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Thank you so much.”

“It’s just a bottle of stain remover.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

She looks down at her clean shirt one last time. “I better get back.”

“You better.”

She leaves and I lean against the tiled wall. Her “crisis” distracted me for a moment, but it didn’t erase what is waiting outside the door.

I have to get out of here. I can’t face Xander when I tell him the truth. I head back to the ballroom and nearly trip over a lady with a headset in the hall holding a clipboard.

I start to walk around her but then stop. “Are you the event planner?”

She smiles like she is obviously trained to do to guests, but I see the obvious signs of stress behind her eyes. She probably thinks I have a complaint. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Xander Spence said my grandparents are here and I can’t find them. Could you tell me which table they’re sitting at? Meyers.” I point to her clipboard as if she doesn’t know where the seating arrangements are located.

“Of course.” She flips through the pages, runs her fingers over a sheet, and then says, “Ah. Here they are. Table thirty. I’ll point it out to you.”

“Thank you.”

It feels like I’m walking underwater. My legs move in slow motion; my head pounds with pressure. Once inside I back up against the nearest wall and she follows suit.

“They’re right there. She’s in the turquoise top. Do you see her?”

I follow the line of her finger to the lady in turquoise. “Yes. There she is. Thanks.”

“No problem.” The event planner walks off quickly, probably responding to the tiny voice I heard yelling in her ear.

Their backs are to me, but the woman in turquoise has shoulder-length dark hair and the man next to her, a distinguished silver. I stay on the edge of the room and walk slowly around, waiting for the moment when I will see their faces. I finally do. I wait to get hit with instant recognition, with a feeling, but nothing happens. A small amount of weight lifts from my shoulders.

The woman looks up and we lock eyes. She gets the look on her face that adds the weight plus another two tons of it back on: recognition. Her mouth forms the word “Susan.” I can see that all the way across the room where I stand. My face burns to see my mom’s name on her lips.

Mrs. Dalton wasn’t confused. These Meyers are my grandparents.

The woman grabs on to her husband’s forearm and he looks at her in confusion. I don’t wait to see how that plays out. I spin on my heel to make a beeline for the door—but run straight into Xander’s chest.

“There you are. The appetizers just arrived at the table. It’s caviar and crackers with some sort of Greek salad. Do you like caviar?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.” What he had said earlier today about my mom being extreme and the “living-above-the-doll-store thing” hits me. He thinks my mom has done this on purpose. To show me how the other half lives. And I’m just now realizing that in a way she has. My mom grew up rich. This is why she knows way more than she should about the ins and outs of wealthy living. My mom . . .

She lied to me. My life is a lie. No. Her life is a lie. Mine is the truth. We are broke. We are living breath to breath. One extra bit of oxygen consumed could be the ruin of our store.

“What’s wrong? What have I done?” Xander asks.

I must be shooting death rays because I’m so angry. “You only liked me because you thought . . .” I can’t even finish the sentence. I’m too angry. Not just at him. At everything. At my mom, the situation, the grandparents I don’t even know. “I have to go.”

I whirl around in time to see another familiar face standing there. One I don’t care to see. Robert. Seeing his face makes me wish I had poured soda on it last time.

Xander has grabbed my elbow. “Wait. Talk to me.”

“I don’t think I ever caught your name,” Robert says.

“I never gave it,” I growl.

“Where is your boyfriend tonight? Mason, right? He’s a really good singer.”

Xander’s hand on my elbow tightens. “Robert, now is not a good time.”

“I just saw her at the concert last week. I hadn’t realized she and Mason were together.”

“We’re not,” I say.

“What do you mean?” Xander drops his hand from my arm.

“They were all over each other.”

“No. We weren’t.” Out of the corner of my eye I see my grandmother about to reach us. “I have to go.”

“Caymen.” Xander’s eyes look hurt, but I’m hurt as well. Too hurt to think. Too hurt to defend myself against his jerk of a friend. I just need to leave.

And I do.

Chapter 37

I have competing feelings battling for my attention as I walk into the store. One is the extreme amount of anger I feel toward my mom for lying to me my whole life about everything. The other feeling is an intense broken heart that makes me want to rush into my mother’s arms and tell her she was right about rich guys and I need her to make my hurt go away.

She’s sitting like a statue behind the cash register, like she’s been waiting for me. The lights are off with only a few glowing shelves. The look on her face is almost as lifeless as the dolls that surround her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been unfair.”

“They were there tonight,” I croak. My throat still hurts.

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

Shock, followed by devastation, makes her face crumple, and she leans her head onto the counter in front of her. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself to feel bad for her. I walk by her, up the stairs, and into my room, making sure to shut the door firmly.

I’ve seen lots of broken dolls in my life. Some with damage as small as a missing finger but others with dislocated limbs or cracked skulls. None of that compares to how broken I feel right now. It’s my own fault. I always knew he was part of an entirely different species. Why did I let myself think I could be a part of that?

I change out of my clothes and into some sweats then curl up on my bed and finally let the tears that have been building up inside my head come out in heaving sobs.

There’s a small knock on my door and I ignore it. It doesn’t stop her from coming in. Why would it? She obviously has no respect at all for my feelings. I push back the tears again and try to control my breathing. She sits on the bed behind me.

“There’s really no good explanation as to why I kept my parents’ identity from you. I guess maybe a small part of me thought you would want their lifestyle. That I couldn’t give you enough and you’d go look for them for what you thought you were missing.”

If she had just left me alone I could’ve kept it in, but the fire in my throat is ready to spew out. “Why did you leave them?” I push myself to sitting. “What did they do?”

“Caymen, no. They did kick me out. Disown me. I was always honest about that. But I’m sorry. I truly am. I could’ve been more open. I was angry and hurt and prideful toward my parents. I didn’t give them a chance to make amends even had they wanted to. I just disappeared.”

“And you made me feel horrible about keeping Xander a secret. You made me feel worthless. Like Mrs. Dalton and her family hated me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Mrs. Dalton knows who you are? I don’t understand.”

“She knows my story, but I didn’t think she knew my parents. She must’ve been keeping my secret this whole time.”

“I just don’t know if I can ever trust you again. I’m angry.”

“I understand. I hope you can, but I understand.”

“And Xander. He’s not perfect but he was kind and treated me well and you didn’t even want to give him a chance. He’s not my dad. And I’m not you. I’m not going to get pregnant and run off.”

She nods. “I know.” My mom grabs her stomach and takes a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. I just need . . .” She stands, wobbles a bit, and then steadies herself against the wall.

I stand as well. “You don’t look so good.”

“I should go to bed.” She stumbles forward and catches herself on the back of my desk chair.

“Mom. Something is wrong.”

She grabs her stomach again and rushes out of my bedroom.

I follow her straight into the bathroom, where she barely makes it in time to vomit in the sink. The sink is now bright red. “Mom! Is that blood?”

She wipes at her mouth, smearing blood across her wrist. Then she coughs.

“Has that ever happened before?”

She shakes her head back and forth.

“Okay, we’re going to the hospital. Now.”

I pace the hall, waiting for the doctor to tell me what’s going on. I’ve been here for two hours. When he finally comes out I feel close to collapsing. He looks around and I’m wondering what he’s waiting for when he says, “Just you?”

“Just me?” I don’t understand his question.

“Is anyone else here with you?”

“Oh. No. Just me.” I feel bad. Maybe I should’ve called Matthew. He should be here. He has a right to know. I make a vow to find his number and call him as soon as I’m done talking to the doctor. “Please, is my mom okay?”

“She’s doing better. We’re running some tests, trying to rule some things out. We’ve given her something to help her sleep.”

“And um . . .” I don’t know how to say it. “Is the baby okay?”

“Baby?” His eyes get wide, and he looks at his clipboard. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

“No. I just thought it was a possibility.”

“No. She’s not. But we’ll run a few more tests to verify.”

I’m ashamed for the tiny bit of relief I feel. I’m not ashamed for long, though, because with that possibility almost completely off the table I realize that means something more serious is wrong with her. The worry that takes over doesn’t leave any room for shame. “Is she sick?” I choke out.

“Yes, and we’re trying to figure out what’s causing it. We’ve ruled out some big things, so that’s good.” He pats my shoulder as if that will make what he’s saying feel better. “We’ll know something soon.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s asleep and she needs to stay that way for now. I promise to call you as soon as she shows signs of waking.” He pauses and looks around again. “You really shouldn’t be alone right now.”

But I am alone. My mother is all I have. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

“What number would you like me to reach you at, then?”

There had been many times in my life where I was upset that I didn’t have a cell phone like every other teenager I know. But now, wanting to just go sit in the waiting room and fall asleep on the outdated couch, is the only time I’ve felt I might die without one. Maybe I should go to Skye’s. But what if Skye isn’t there? And her house is ten minutes farther away than the shop. Being ten minutes farther away from the hospital is not an option. I give him the shop number and leave.

I go immediately there and then upstairs, where I sit expectantly by the phone. This isn’t going to work. I need to keep my brain busy. There’s always something to do on the sales floor. In all my years of living at the doll store, I had never cleaned shelves at one o’clock in the morning. By the time I get to the front window, one wall’s worth of shelves is sparkling and I am sweating. I start on another wall. About halfway through the second shelf I find a name plaque without a doll. Carrie. I search the shelves, but she isn’t there. My mom must’ve sold her today and forgotten to put the name tag in the drawer for our next order.

We didn’t need to order Carrie, though. She’s popular: I knew we had at least two backups of her. She’s a sleeping baby, a newborn, with a peaceful look on her face. Everyone loves her. Even I think she is pretty cute, which is a small miracle, seeing as how nearly all the dolls creep me out.

I go to the back. Three boxes with “Carrie” written on the end are side by side on the second shelf. That shelf is low enough for me to reach without assistance so I grab the box down. Right away I know it’s empty by its weight, but I dig through it anyway, confirming my belief. I grab the next box down. Empty. I pull down every box, no matter what the name on the end. Soon the floor is littered with packing peanuts but not a single doll.

I now know how long it takes to pull down a whole wall of boxes and search through them. Forty-five minutes. I sink to the floor and put my forehead on my knees. I always thought I shouldered a lot of my mom’s burdens, did more than my fair share around the store, kept this place running, but it’s more than obvious she shouldered them alone. Why did my mom shut everyone out?

I am doing the same thing.

I grab the cordless off the shelf and dial.

It rings four times. “Hello?” the sleepy voice answers.

“I need you.”

Chapter 38

When Skye walks into the stockroom she gasps. “What happened?”

“I made a mess of everything.”

She sits on the couch and pats the cushion next to her. I crawl to her side and lay my head in her lap. She plays with my hair, braiding and unbraiding a section.

“I’m a horrible person. I thought I’d rather die than have my mom be pregnant again. Now I feel like I’m dying.”

“Talk to me.”

“My mom is sick. She’s in the hospital. They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“So she’s not pregnant?”

“No.”

“What’s Matthew’s deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just dating. I should call him, shouldn’t I?” My head hurts. “I don’t have his number.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your mom is going to be okay. She’ll be able to call Matthew herself tomorrow.”

I nod.

She runs her hand down my hair a few times. “So where’s Xander? Did he run to get you food or something?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to think about the other horrible part of the evening. “He’s gone forever.”

“What? Why?”

“He thought I was rich, Skye. It’s the only reason he liked me.”

She coughs and adjusts her position on the couch. “Um . . . no offense, but he has been here, hasn’t he? Why would he ever think you were rich?”

“Because he knows my grandparents. My mom’s parents. And apparently they are some of the richest people in California.”

“What?”

“They were there tonight at the benefit.”

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

I push myself to sitting. “It is crazy, right? I should be mad about it. At my mom. At Xander.”

“You’re mad at Xander because your grandparents are rich?”

“No. Because that’s the only reason he liked me.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, no. But . . .” I run my hands down my face. “But how is either of us ever going to know for sure one way or the other? Even if he claims he would’ve kept dating me either way, we’ll never know because he did know and we can’t prove anything now.”

Skye takes my hand in hers. “Not everything has to be proven. Maybe you should just trust him.”

“And what about my mom? Should I trust her, too? Because she lied to me my whole life. And I’m angry. And I feel guilty for being angry because she’s sick.” I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.

“I understand. I’d be angry, too. But don’t you think they deserve to know she’s sick?”

“Who?”

“Her parents.”

I nod. I know she’s right. “Tomorrow, will you call Xander and get their information for me?”

“You don’t want to talk to him?”

I press my palms to my eyes. “No. And please don’t tell him what’s going on with my mom. The last thing I need is for him to feel sorry for me and come to see me out of guilt.”

“Yes, of course I’ll get their info for you.” She moves to the floor and lays her head next to mine on the couch. “Why don’t you try to sleep. I’ll watch the phone for you.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want Henry to come over? He can play his guitar. Maybe distract you for a while.”

“It’s three thirty in the morning. Don’t you think he’s asleep?”

She looks at her phone, which confirms the time. “Probably not. He’s a night owl.”

“I think night ends at two. He must be an early-morning owl.”

“Why does night end at two?”

“I don’t know. That’s usually as late as I can stay up so it must be when night ends.”

She laughs and fires off a text message. “If he answers he’s awake; if not he’s asleep.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty scientific way of determining whether someone is awake or asleep.”

She playfully taps my head. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sarcasm.”

Sometime in the early morning I decide Henry is a nice guy. I’m glad Skye was able to see past his pointy nose. I fall asleep to his guitar playing.

When I open my eyes I see Skye across the room on the phone. I go from half asleep to fully aware in one second, springing off the couch and nearly tripping over Henry, who is asleep on the floor. She sees me coming and waves her hand at me, shaking her head. Then she mouths “Xander,” and I immediately turn back around and drop onto the couch. Hopefully she’s getting my grandparents’ info without too much trouble, and then he can completely rid his life of me.

“No,” Skye says. “She’s asleep.”

What time is it anyway? I reach down and twist the watch on Henry’s wrist so I can read it. Ten thirty in the morning. Wow. I got at least five hours of sleep. Then how come it still feels like someone bashed my face in with a bat? And why isn’t Skye off the phone yet? How long does it take to write down a phone number and address?

“Xander, please,” I hear her say. She’s too nice. I would’ve had the number by now. Maybe I should call the hospital while I’m waiting. I look for the phone but then realize Skye’s on it. Why didn’t she use her cell? What if the hospital is trying to call right now? My anger toward Xander is coming back full force.

“No,” Skye says with a sigh that sounds too sweet. I’m about to stand up and take the phone from her when she says, “Thank you,” and writes something on the paper she’s holding. “Yes. Of course, I’ll let her know.” She hangs up the phone.

“Let me know what?”

“That he wanted to talk to you.”

“Good to know. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“I know.” She hands me the paper and then squats beside Henry, running a hand over his cheek. “Henry. Wake up.”

I kick his leg and he jerks awake. “Sometimes you have to be a little more forceful, Skye.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. I say she should be more forceful, but I wouldn’t change her for the world.

An hour later I’m standing in the hospital lobby waiting for someone to help me. Nobody had called, but after Skye had to leave for work and I called my mom’s parents and filled them in, I couldn’t wait around any longer. Finally the receptionist hangs up the phone and says, “She’s in room three oh five. Take the elevator to the third floor and someone will buzz you into the wing from there, okay?”

“Thanks.”

I’m anxious. I just want to see my mom. If I see her, I know I’ll feel better. Most of my anger has changed to worry, but the anger still lingers there and I want it to leave. The moment I’m in her room and see her face, pale but peaceful, I breathe a sigh of relief. I pull a chair to her bedside and force myself to take her hand. “Hey, Mom,” I whisper. She doesn’t stir.

I don’t know how long I sit there holding her hand (An hour? Two?), but eventually the doctor comes in and gestures for me to step into the hall.

“Sorry I couldn’t let you see her last night, but we had her downstairs and it’s a lot harder to have visitors in those rooms because they’re shared. But we had her moved up here late last night.”

“So what’s going on?”

“We’re still waiting on a few more tests. Has your mom been tired a lot lately?”

“Yes.”

He nods as if he suspected as much. “I have a hunch as to what’s going on, but what we’re going to do is thread a camera into her stomach so we can take a look around. The ultrasound didn’t show me much, and I’d like a closer look.”

“Okay. Is that dangerous?”

“No. It’s a common procedure with minimal risk that will hopefully give us some definitive answers.”

“Does she know?”

“She hasn’t woken up yet.” I must’ve gotten a scared look on my face because he adds, “Which is no cause for alarm. We gave her something to help her sleep that should be wearing off pretty soon. Then we’ll talk with her and you can talk with her, and if she agrees to it we’ll plan on the procedure for first thing in the morning.”

“Can I stay here now?”

“Of course. Like I said, now that she has a private room, you’re welcome to stay. You can even sleep in the room if you want.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

As I’m preparing to reenter the room, I see my grandparents round the corner. Why isn’t my mom awake to deal with this? These people are strangers to me. I rub my arms and then give a small wave.

“Caymen, right?” Mrs. Meyers? Grandma? The woman says.

“Yes. Hi, I’m Caymen.”

She covers her mouth for a moment as she takes a small breath of air. “You look so much like your mother did at your age.” She touches my cheek. “Except you have your father’s eyes. You are so beautiful.”

I shift from one foot to the other.

The man grumbles at her under his breath then holds out his hand to me. “Hi, I’m stranger one and this is stranger two. Are you uncomfortable yet?”

I give a half smile.

“The only thing that is going to make her uncomfortable is your twisted sense of humor, Sean. He’s kidding, honey.”

“I know.” Could a sense of humor be genetic? I point to the door. “She’s not awake yet, but you’re welcome to see her.”

The woman takes several deep breaths followed by several rapid ones.

“Should I get you an oxygen tank, Vivian, or are you going to be okay? I’m sure there’s an extra one lying around.”

She hits him on the chest. “Just let me have a minute. I haven’t seen my daughter in seventeen years, and now I’m going to see her in a hospital bed. I need to let that sink in.”

“The doctor thinks he knows what’s wrong and said she’s going to be . . .” I started to say, “okay,” but then realize he hadn’t said that. Maybe she’s not going to be okay.

“Caymen,” Sean says. “Can you point me in the direction of this doctor? I have some questions for him.”

“Sure. That’s him, actually, talking to the nurse.”

“Thank you. Go on in without me, you two. I’ll see her in a minute.”

He leaves, and Vivian stands at the door, doing her weird breathing. “You should go in by yourself. I’ll wait out here for a while,” I tell her.

She nods but doesn’t move. I hold open the door for her and that sets her in motion. Will my mom be mad if she wakes up to see her mother sitting by her? After the way she crumbled in the doll store when I told her about her parents last night, I have a feeling she’s wanted this for a long time.

My gaze drifts down the hall to where Sean is talking to the doctor. I’m glad to have someone else on my side dealing with the important things. If Sean is as shrewd as Xander and his brothers described then I know he can take care of business.

My grandparents are rich. Weird.

Soon Sean is back by my side. “So how long do you think she needs to work through seventeen years of issues?” he asks, looking at his watch. “Do you think ten minutes was long enough?”

I smile. “My mom’s asleep so that will probably cut some time off.”

He breathes in through his teeth. “No, Vivian is really good at arguing with herself.” He turns to me. “They probably need more time. Have you eaten yet?”

“Don’t you want to see her? You haven’t seen her in seventeen years.”

“I haven’t seen you in seventeen years either.”

My eyes sting and he gets blurry, but I’m able to blink back the tears.

“I have some time to make up, don’t I? Will ten minutes be enough?”

“I was thinking five, but we’ll see how you do.”

He smiles. “Ah, so you’re my granddaughter after all.”