Текст книги "The Distance Between Us"

Автор книги: Kasie West

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 24

Monday morning as I say good-bye to my mom and grab my backpack for school there’s a knock on the door. I look over to see Xander standing there holding his two cups. My heart jumps to my throat. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. He has a girlfriend. If I knew . . . My heart doubles its speed when he smiles. If more than my heart knew that we have something, I could open that door right now and face disappointing my mother.

“Who’s that?”

This is not a good time for this. My mom and I finally feel right again. I shake my head no, but instead of walking away Xander holds up a drink with a smirk as if to say, I’m not leaving so let me in.

I narrow my eyes and smile a little. All right, if he wants to play it that way. Game on. “Oh, that looks like Mrs. Dalton’s grandson. He came in the other day to pick up a doll for her. I’ll just tell him we don’t open until nine today and to come back later.”

“Oh no, honey. Mrs. Dalton is our best customer. Why don’t you let him in and see what he needs.”

Or there’s that. Crap.

I slowly unlock the door. “Hi,” I say when I open it. His familiar scent wafts in with the breeze and doesn’t help my already racing heart. I take a deep breath. “We’re not open yet. Did your grandma need something?”

He takes a sip of the drink then hands it to me. I cringe. That act alone is going to make my mom think he is the most obnoxious rich person in the world who wants me to hold his drink while he shops.

“I want to meet your mom,” he says loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, my mom is much more knowledgeable about the dolls than I am.” I turn toward my mother. “Mom, he . . . um . . . I’m sorry, what was your name again? Wellington or something?”

A crease of confusion forms between his brows, but I can tell he also thinks it’s funny.

“No, that wasn’t your name. Um . . .”

“Xander.”

“Right. I knew it was something odd like that.”

“Caymen,” my mom says. “Sorry, my daughter is very dry. She’s just kidding.”

“Last time Xander came in he was really interested in the sleeping baby dolls. Didn’t you say they made your heart happy just to look at them?”

“I don’t recall saying that but it sounds like me.”

I laugh then quickly suck in my lips to stop myself. “Maybe you could show him our collection, Mom.”

My mom tilts her head at me, obviously confused. She’s going to call me out. She must sense I know Xander. I need to get out of here. I shake the full cup of hot chocolate in my hand, pretending it’s empty. “There’s a trash outside. I’ll just take care of this for you.” I turn back to my mom. “I’m going to be late. I’ll see you after school.”

“Have a great day, honey.”

I leave, flashing Xander a look of wide-eyed innocence. A sadness follows me out of the store, and I can’t decide if it’s because I just lied to my mom again or because I really do want my mom to know Xander. Not just know him but like him.

I’m ten steps from school when a pair of hands grabs my arms from behind, stopping me in my tracks. “You are the biggest brat. You know that, right?” Xander says in my ear. He lets go and I turn around, smiling.

“No, you are. I told you I didn’t want you to meet my mom yet. But you thought you’d do it anyway.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to show you that all moms like me. And your mom is no exception: she loves me.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“I didn’t know it was going to cost me a hundred and fifty bucks to prove it but she’s smitten.”

Oh. Of course she loved him. He was a customer. “You bought a doll?” He isn’t holding a bag so I grab the lapels of his open jacket and look inside.

“It’s not on me, woman. I put it in the car.”

“Who did you buy?”

“You don’t honestly expect me to remember.”

“I know you remember.”

“Daphne.”

“You bought a Wailer?”

“Yes, I was feeling a little frustrated in there, and this screaming baby represented my mood very well. I’ll just give her to my grandma next year for her birthday.” He looks down. “You thought I stashed the doll in my coat?”

I realize I’m still holding tight to his jacket. “If your ego fits in there anything is possible.” Just as I’m about to let go, he puts his hands over mine, sandwiching them between his chest and his warm hands.

I’m now staring at the open collar of his name-brand shirt, trying to pretend that he’s not staring at me. Classmates walk by me, rushing to get to class, and I sense them looking at me.

“I thought you were out of town.”

He shrugs a little. “I’m back.”

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other until Saturday.” My voice comes out breathy.

“I couldn’t wait.”

My heart pounds loudly in my ears. “Whatever happened the other night, anyway?”

“With what?” he asks softly. Or maybe I can’t hear him because of the whole heart-pounding thing.

“The hotel crisis of the decade. Did you find a replacement shirt?”

“Yes. One trip down to LA is all it took.”

Right. LA, the place where he saw Sadie Newel. My good mood leaves quickly. “Is that all?”

He nods and I’m about to pull my hands away when he says, “Come to the benefit with me?”

“What?”

“It’s in two weeks. There’ll be dancing, schmoozing, sucking people dry of their money. It’s for my mom’s charity.”

“Another career day?”

“No.”

I meet his eyes. Isn’t that something he should take his girlfriend to? “I have plans that night.”

“Doing what?”

“Avoiding a benefit.” I smile. “I better go. I’m really late.” Why aren’t my feet moving?

“Bye, Caymen.” He lets go of my hands.

I drop mine to my sides but then surprise myself by giving him a hug. He hugs me back, and I linger there longer than I should. Why can’t I just walk away from Xander Spence and not look back? The tardy bell rings behind me.

“I gotta go.” I push away and turn to leave.

“Caymen,” he says, stopping me.

I turn back. “Yeah.”

“The employee who doesn’t know how to use an iron?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t fired. I know that bothered you so I . . . He wasn’t fired.”

Why does this news make me want to cry? “Good. Maybe he should attend the next career day I host where we’ll learn how to properly iron all your T-shirts.”

“I’ll extend the invite.”

That afternoon as I’m sitting behind the register doing homework and my mom is wiping down counters, she chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“Mrs. Dalton’s grandson.”

“Xander?”

“Yes, Xander. He was funny this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask hopefully. Maybe he really did make a good impression on my mom. Maybe it wouldn’t bother her after all to know we hang out.

“I don’t believe he wanted you to throw away his trash. And then, after you left, he was telling me how much he liked your name and how he had just been to the Cayman Islands last year. He asked how often I went as though everyone in the world goes wherever they want whenever they want.”

I’m usually the one making fun of the rich and she’s the one telling me to watch myself. For years it made me angry because I knew she felt the same way. And now Xander is the one she chooses to pick on? A lump forms in my throat and I don’t think I can talk through it. I try anyway. “He seemed nice, though.”

She shrugs.

Every defensive bone in my body is shaking.

“Are you seeing Mason today?”

Her abrupt change in subject renders me speechless.

“I really like the sentiment of his tattoo. I’m not a huge fan of tattoos in general—they are just so permanent—but I like its message.”

“Acceptance?” I ask, waiting for her to realize how ironic that is after what she had just said.

“Yes, a beautiful message. I’m sure he meets a lot of people that don’t accept him at face value. I’m so proud of you for being able to look beyond that.”

“Beyond what exactly, Mom? His skin color?”

“What? No. This has nothing to do with his skin color. Geez, Caymen, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I don’t know; that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I know what she’s talking about—his lip ring, his tattoo, his tic—but I’m too irritated to give her a break. Can she really not see the hypocrisy in what she’s saying?

“I’m going to do my homework upstairs.”

“Okay.”

I make it to the door when it hits me—she suspects there’s something going on between me and Xander. That’s why she said what she did. Why she put down Xander and built up Mason. It’s her subtle way of steering me the way she wants me to go. That has to be it. I want to turn around and ask her if I’m right. But what does it matter when he has a girlfriend?

Upstairs I pass the counter on the way toward my bedroom and see another pink-enveloped bill. All my irritation is immediately coupled with worry. I’m not sure which emotion is worse.

Chapter 25

I look through the rack at the Salvation Army with Skye, trying not to think too hard.

Skye sighs. “I guess I just don’t understand what happened.”

“What’s there to understand? He has a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of the story.” I haven’t seen him in a few days and whenever he’s away I’m able to think more clearly about things.

“But the way he looks at you is just . . .” She stops, maybe realizing this isn’t helping matters at all. “I’m sorry. Moving on.” She holds up a shirt and raises her eyebrows at me.

“Not your color.”

She puts it back. “Speaking of moving on, what about Tic? He totally likes you.”

“Mason likes whoever is in front of him at the moment.”

“Okay, so he has the attention span of an insect, but I think he could settle down.” She holds up another shirt and I nod, so she adds it to the growing stack over her arm. “He really is an amazing guy if you get to know him. They’re performing at The Beach tomorrow. It’s a big deal for them. You should come.”

I should go. Mason really is a good fit for me. My mom likes him; my best friend likes him; I know I could’ve liked him by now, too, if someone else wasn’t in the way.

My hand stops on the black dress. The one I had found when I was here with Xander. I’m surprised it’s still here. It’s amazing. I pull it out and run one hand along the hand-sewn beading.

Skye gasps. “That is gorgeous.”

I put it back on the rack and move the next piece of clothing, a hideous spandex jumpsuit, in front of it.

“Oh no way,” Skye says, coming to my side and freeing the dress. “You are so getting this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Where would I ever wear it?”

“That’s not the point. You find something like this and you buy it. This is the kind of dress you plan an event around.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t have forty dollars.”

“I do. I’m buying it for you. It will be my I’m-sorry-you-got-screwed-over-by-a-rich-guy gift.”

I laugh a little. “I’ll pay you back.”

Skye was right. The Beach (a club that named itself way too literally) is a much bigger venue and I’m amazed by how many people have shown up to hear Crusty Toads play. The waves roll in behind the huge stage, and the salty wind only adds to the performance. It’s a great concert, but I’m already planning my early-exit strategy. It’s not like we’re going to get to talk to the band after the show with this many people vying for their attention.

Skye has made some awful flattened-toad T-shirts, and I am wearing one against my better judgment.

“Two more songs and I need to go,” I yell to Skye as Mason sings in his honey-smooth voice.

“I knew you would try to leave early so I made plans for us after the show.”

“Plans? What do you mean?”

She nods her head up to the stage. “The guys want to hang out.”

I glance up at Mason and he catches my eye. He sings right at me for two lines and I can see how girls might stalk him after something like that. My heart stutters. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Skye giggles. “Of course you will.”

When the last song is over I expect Mason to disappear behind the stage for a while like he did after the last concert I went to. He doesn’t. He drops his microphone, jumps off the stage, and weaves through grasping hands and straight to me.

By the time he reaches me my heart is in my throat.

“Hi.” That single word is said with so much rasp and emotion that I realize why he’s such a good performer.

“Hi.”

He takes my hand and squeezes. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay.”

Then he does. He heads back to the stage and slips around it, through a line of burly men and out of sight. I watch him the entire way and then shake myself out of the trance when he’s gone.

“Told you he’s crazy about you.”

I come back to my senses and see that the little stunt drew a lot of attention. So many people are staring at me. “I need some water,” I say.

“Will you get me a soda?” she asks, and hands me a five.

I tromp through the sand in my bare feet, wondering why I didn’t just leave my shoes in the car instead of checking them in. They were going to take forever to collect. A guy sitting at the bar looks vaguely familiar. And considering he’s staring at me as I walk up, he must recognize me as well. I can’t place him, though, and my mind scans through all my classes at school. I can tell his brain is performing a similar task when finally his eyes light up with recognition. Now he has the advantage because I still can’t place him.

“Xander’s little friend, right?” His remark reeks of arrogance.

The moment he says it I realize he’s Robert from the restaurant. The one I thought had called me a stray. I’m beginning to think Xander covered for him. “Yes. Hi.” I lean into the bar and order bottled water and a soda.

When the bartender turns around to fill my order, Robert asks, “Did Xander get you in here tonight?”

I narrow my eyes. Now that Xander’s not here I don’t feel the need to be as polite. “No. I know the band. How did you get in?” I pick up my drinks from the counter.

Robert laughs and gives me a once-over. “I see the appeal. You have great . . . eyes. When Xander gets bored of slumming it with you we should get together.”

I never thought I had the dumping-soda-on-someone-purposefully instinct, but sure enough my hand reacts automatically. But he has instincts, too. Probably born from a lifetime of people wanting to dump soda on him. His hand darts out and grabs my wrist.

“Not a good idea,” he tells me, a few drops of soda spilling over the side. “This shirt cost more than your monthly rent.”

“Too bad you had to sell your soul to afford it.”

“Everything okay?” Mason comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I’m just about to murder someone is all. “Let’s go.”

“You get around,” Robert calls after me. It takes everything in me not to throw the glass at him, soda and all.

“Who was that?” Mason asks as we walk away.

“Nobody worth ever thinking about again.”

Only I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s Xander’s friend. Is that how Xander acts when I’m not around? I’m seething.

“Caymen?” Mason takes my bottled water from me and grabs my hand. “Do I need to beat that guy up?”

I hold on to him tightly. “No. Not worth it,” I tell myself again. But I know this isn’t about Robert anymore. And I’m trying to decide if that advice still applies.

Chapter 26

The next night I decide I need to finish up the website I had been slowly putting together over the last few weeks. I pull the pictures up on the computer. Unfortunately for me, along with the dolls, all the photos of Xander from the hotel room photo shoot open as well. Even in a photo his smile has a softening effect on me.

I scroll through them, lingering on the ones where I had made him laugh. In that magazine picture of him with Sadie Newel he hadn’t even been smiling. She probably can’t make him laugh. I let out a frustrated grunt. Who cares, Caymen? He is with her. I try to delete the pictures of him but can’t bring myself to do it. Instead I group all the doll pictures into a file and open that so I don’t have to look at Xander’s amber eyes anymore.

I add names and prices beneath the dolls.

“Is that a new ordering site?” my mom asks, coming into the kitchen.

“No.” I smile. I had planned on surprising her when the site was all finished, but it’s getting close and I need to make up for the attitude I’ve been giving her lately. I switch from the pictures to the website layout. “I’ve been working on something for the store.”

She positions herself behind me. On the screen is a banner that says, “Dolls and More.” I had thought about taking out the “and more,” but it feels like tradition now. And maybe we could add “more” once it gets up and running. I scan down a little to where it has my mom’s name and her contact information. “I want to add a picture of you here. Maybe we can take one out front or something next to the window display.”

“What is this?” she asks.

“It’s a website I’m designing for the store.” I put my hands out to the sides and say, “Surprise,” in a false screaming voice.

“A website.” Her voice is low and even.

“It’s going to be great, Mom. It will pump up our business, get us more sales. It’s the next step to our growth.”

“No.” That’s all she says and then turns and rounds the counter into the kitchen.

I’m confused. “No?”

She pulls down a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap. “I don’t want a website.”

Even though we don’t have cable or cell phones or even a newer computer, it’s not because my mom thinks technology is the devil or anything. It’s really just because we can’t afford it. “It’s cheap, Mom. Less than twenty dollars a year for the domain name and I can run it. You could even run it once we get it going. It’s really easy and—”

“I said no, Caymen. I don’t want it.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not an answer, Mom; that’s a conversation ender.”

“Good, because this conversation has ended.” She slams the glass onto the counter and I’m surprised when it doesn’t shatter. Then she marches out of the kitchen and into her room.

I close the pages I had open on the computer, trying to remain calm. What I really want to do is shove the computer to the floor. I don’t. I turn off the screen and walk slowly downstairs and outside. Then I run. I don’t stop until my cheeks are numb and my lungs feel close to bursting and my legs ache.

By the time I get back to the store I’m dripping sweat and I need to talk this through with someone. I pick up the phone and dial Skye’s number. It goes directly to voice mail. My fingers tap an impatient rhythm on the wall and I decide not to leave a message.

I should call Mason. I don’t.

I grab the binder from beneath the counter and plop it on top of our oversize calendar. I find Mrs. Dalton’s phone number.

I almost chicken out as I listen to the phone ring.

“Hello,” Mrs. Dalton answers.

“Hi . . .” I have the wrong number. I gasp when I realize it’s past nine o’clock. Was she in bed? “Sorry to call so late. This is Caymen . . . from the doll store.”

“It’s not late at all, and I only know one Caymen,” she says. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did I order something? I don’t remember, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t.”

“Like you’d forget if you ordered something,” I say.

“That’s true. Then you’re checking to see if I’ve died? I may look old, but I’m only sixty-seven.”

“Really? And here I thought you were in your forties.”

“Nice try.”

I take a breath. “I was hoping I could get a phone number from you. I think he would give it to me himself. . . . I guess what I mean is that I’m not trying to get it behind his back or anything. He’s even called me before. I don’t think he’d mind if I had it.”

“Take a deep breath, honey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You would like Alex’s phone number? He is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

“No. I mean, well, yes, he is, but we’re just friends.” And right now I need a friend.

“That’s what it sounds like.”

I laugh. Mrs. Dalton is funny.

“Yes, let me get it for you. I have this fancy phone that can store hundreds of numbers, but I still write them in my little red book.”

I realize I’m holding my breath in anticipation.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

More than ready. “Yes.” I write down the number on the calendar. “Thanks so much.”

“No problem. Tell him I said hi.”

I hang up and stare at the number for an eternity. I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him. But my insides are all twisted up. I squeeze my eyes closed, and when I open them again I dial the number quickly before I change my mind. It rings three times and I feel like minutes pass between each one.

Finally he answers.

Chapter 27

“Hello.” His familiar voice automatically eases my tension. He’s nothing like Robert. If he were he’d have been gone the minute he found out I lived above a doll store. I relax with this thought.

“Alex?” I don’t know why Alex came out of my mouth. Probably because I had written that name next to his phone number when Mrs. Dalton called him that.

“Caymen?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Alex?” he asks.

“Sorry. Slip. I was talking to your grandma.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

I lie on the floor behind the register and feel a bit like Skye as I stare at the ceiling. This position is conducive to thinking. No wonder why she spends so much time here.

It’s silent for a long time before he says, “Did you need something?”

You. “I’ve needed my morning hot chocolate, but someone got me addicted to it then took it away.”

“Is that your subtle way of saying you missed me last week?”

“I’ve missed hot chocolate. I just think of you as the guy who brings it to me. Sometimes I forget your name and call you hot chocolate guy.”

He laughs a little, and I find myself wishing I could see his face so I could witness how his eyes light up when he smiles.

“And I’ve missed your wit.”

“Understandable.” My heart beats heavily in my temples. “I never said thank you for letting me borrow the camera.”

“So does this mean you’re done with the website? What’s the address? I want to see the soul-sucking dolls on my screen.” Some papers shuffle on his end and I wonder if he’s reaching across a desk or something to get on his computer.

“No. I mean, there is no address. My mom doesn’t want it.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I was going to surprise her, show her what I’d done, and she flipped out on me. Totally shut down, said she didn’t want it. It was so unlike her.”

“What did you put on it?”

“That’s the thing. I’d only shown her the banner and our contact info. I was telling her how I wanted to put her picture up as well.”

“Is she camera shy?”

I prop my feet up on the wall and let my free hand drift above my head. “No.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want that on the internet, her face along with where you live. It’s basically like you’re posting your address on the website along with her face. I can see why that might freak her out, a bunch of strangers knowing where you live. Is there a way to do it without the personal info?”

I had stopped breathing. I know this only because black edges into my vision. I take a breath. Is she worried about a bunch of strangers finding out where we live or one very specific person? My father.

“You okay?”

I hum, not trusting my voice. My whole throat is tight. I’m not sure words could make it through at all.

“You sure?”

I swallow. “Yes. I think you might be right.” Considering how much my throat hurts, I’m surprised by how normal my voice sounds.

“I often am.”

“Do you think he’s tried?” It takes me a moment to realize I’d said that out loud and another moment to realize that Xander has responded back and is now waiting for my answer to a question I didn’t hear. “What?”

“I said, ‘do I think who’s tried what?’”

I force myself to sit up and then stand. Lying down was making my thoughts too free. “These strangers you refer to. Do you think they’d try to find us for their sinister purposes?”

“What sinister purposes are those?”

I lean against the back counter and with a black pen doodle around his phone number I had written on the calendar. “You know, the things strangers need people for . . . eating their candy and finding their lost dogs.”

“I don’t buy it, you know.”

“You shouldn’t. Those are their ploys to lure you into the car so they can take you away. I’m glad you wouldn’t fall for it.”

“I’m talking about your humor. I know that sometimes you use it to hide things.”

“You give me way too much credit. I really am as shallow as I seem.”

“Hardly. And the answer to your question is yes. Yes, I think your father has tried to find you. What father wouldn’t want to know his daughter?”

“The kind that would run away at even the thought of me.” I don’t know why I’m talking about this. There’s a reason I avoid this subject. It feels as though someone has poked every inch of my skin with a needle, leaving me raw and exposed.

“If he had known you he’d have never been able to leave.”

I close my eyes. What kind of man could run away like that? Just leave my mom in that state. The kind that was scared out of his mind. Scared what I would do to his future. I did ruin futures: my mom is evidence of that. He was just a kid, really, with a future so full of possibilities and the money to make it happen. He probably was a lot like Xander. Which is why when my mom saw Xander she couldn’t help but see her past. “Could you have left?”

“Never.”

I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse.

“That’s what makes me think he’s tried, Caymen. A regret like that doesn’t go away.”

Assuming he regrets it at all. “How hard can one girl be to find?”

“Maybe your mom hasn’t told you about his attempts.”

“My mom wouldn’t keep something like that from me.” As I say that my eyes collide with the box on the calendar where she had written “small business association meeting.” Maybe she was keeping something like that from me. And if she was, then maybe Xander was right. Maybe she was keeping a lot of things from me. “What are you doing Wednesday night?”

“I’m pretty open.”

“Career day. Six thirty. Meet me here.”

“It’s my turn for career day. I have something planned for tomorrow, remember?”

“Okay, fine. Tomorrow you. Wednesday me.” I clear my throat. “Unless that’s too much. You aren’t going to get in trouble for seeing me so much, right?” I want to add, “Girlfriends can get so jealous,” but I don’t because I’m afraid it might sound bitter. That’s the last thing I want to come off as.

“No, of course not. I already told you my parents like you.”

I don’t doubt that anymore now that I know his parents don’t think he’s dating me. “Tomorrow afternoon would be better than morning for me.”

“How about two?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Caymen?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to hang up. If you need to talk some more I have time.”

The knot in my stomach loosens with the suggestion, and just as I’m about to open my mouth a girl’s voice sounds on his end.

“Xander, what’s taking so long? Are you on the phone?”

“Yes, sorry to make you wait. I’ll be right down. Give me five minutes.”

“Who’re you talking to?” she asks.

“A friend.” A door shuts and then his voice is louder in the receiver. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay. Sounds like you have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at two. Bye.” I hang up before he can stop me, proud my voice sounded casual because it feels like someone has their hands clamped around my throat. No more phone calls. They don’t help.