The Distance Between Us (13 page)

I
probably shouldn’t have bought the magazine. I’m already irritated enough at Xander. But I did and now I sit alone on the couch in my living room, waiting for my mom to get home, and read the lame article again. All it says is that “The Prince of Hotels” was spotted in New York last week to oversee the reopening of one of the family’s hotels.

No wonder why he was confused I didn’t know what his family’s business was when we first met. He probably thought I was pretending not to know who he was. I blame it on our lack of cable. I may not have known exactly who he was, but I always knew he was a somebody. An article reminding me of the fact doesn’t change anything. I crumble up the thin magazine and throw it at the glowing television. Two seconds later my mom walks in the front door.

“Hi,” she says when she sees me on the couch.

“That appointment took forever.” It would be really obvious if I pick up the magazine so I leave it there and hope she doesn’t notice.

“Sorry. I ran some errands when I was done.”

I point over my shoulder. “I made you a sandwich. It’s in the fridge.”

The lighting changes as my show goes to a commercial, and I notice my mom’s eyes are red. I sit up and turn toward her. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Just tired.” She disappears as she walks into the kitchen that is separated from where I sit by a single wall.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

I grab the magazine and shove it in my pocket.

After banging around in the kitchen for a while, she yells out, “Did you have fun?”

I walk the four and a half steps to the television and turn it off then wait for her to join me on the couch. “Yes. We went to Skye’s and did some grave digging. It was pretty cool.”

“That sounds great. I wish you would’ve had your friend come in. I wanted to meet him.”

No, you didn’t. You would’ve hated to meet him. “He has a doll phobia. Some childhood trauma.”

“Really?”

“Not really, Mom.”

“You are hilarious, Caymen.”

“You’re getting good at sarcasm.”

She laughs. “So is this friend a boyfriend?”

“We’re just friends.” But are we even that now?

“Well, if that’s all you’re looking for then you better watch it because you know the difference between a ‘boy friend’ and a ‘boyfriend.’”

I roll my eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Just a little space,” she says. “Don’t go breaking hearts.”

“You’re like Socrates or something, Mom.”

“I am, aren’t I?” I hear a cupboard open and shut and prepare for her to join me on the couch when she says, “Thanks for the sandwich, sweetie. I’ll eat it tomorrow. I ate while I was out.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry to come in and then crash on you, but I’m heading to bed.”

“At eight o’clock?”

“It’s been a long day between manning the shop and running around town.”

I jump up and follow her down the hall. “Wait.”

She turns to face me. The hall light is off and we stand in shadows. “Yes?”

“Please talk to me. Something’s wrong.” My mom and I used to tell each other everything. The distance I feel between us is my fault, I know, because of all the secrets we’re keeping, but I need her to talk to me.

She looks at her hands and her shoulders rise and fall. She doesn’t meet my eyes when she says, “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Please, Mom. I know what nothing looks like and it’s not this.”

“I tried to secure a loan today. I was denied.”

I don’t need to ask but I do anyway. “A loan for what?”

She finally looks up. Her eyes are bloodshot. “To pay some bills I’ve gotten behind on.” She takes my hand. “But I don’t want you to worry about it. We’ll be fine. We’re behind is all. We’ve been behind before. Let’s hope for a few good months. We’ll just have to be more careful.”

“More careful?” How could we be more careful? We already spend next to nothing.

“Don’t worry, okay? It’s fine.”

I nod and she gives me a hug. It doesn’t stop me from worrying.

When she’s in her room I shut my bedroom door with a horrible pressure in my chest. The magazine digs into my thigh so I yank it out of my pocket and smooth it flat. “Are you even worth all this trouble, Xander?” I say to his wrinkled face.

Monday morning I take my time getting ready. I’ve been trying to figure out all weekend what to say to Xander. I’m tired of the feeling that’s settled onto my chest and threatened to stay.

When I go downstairs my mom is zipping up the green bank-deposit bag and tucking it into her purse.

“I thought you took the deposit Saturday night.”

She jumps. “You scared me.” She looks me up and down. “Wow, you look nice today. I haven’t seen you wear that sweater in forever. It makes your eyes stand out. Is this for the special boy at school?”

If I didn’t love my mom so much I would strangle her. “No, Mom, I told you we’re just friends.” And he doesn’t go to my school. And . . . wait, was she trying to change the subject? It almost worked. “So what’s going on with the deposit?”

“I didn’t take it Saturday.”

She didn’t take the deposit? My mom is anal about making the deposit. And didn’t she just say last night that we are behind?

She must’ve noted my look because she says, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll take it over right when they open.”

“Okay.” I grab my backpack, smooth down my sweater, and face the door. My heart gives a little unexpected flutter, the first one since fighting with Xander. I smile and step out into the cold.

Xander’s not there.

My walk to school feels twice as long as normal. Maybe because I keep looking over my shoulder or maybe because I’ve slowed down to give him time to arrive. He never does.

After school, while my mom is upstairs placing orders on the computer, I get out Xander’s camera that I keep stashed in the stockroom desk and take more pictures of the dolls. I’ve never felt more motivated to get the website up and running. We could obviously use the increase in traffic. As I stare at the lifeless eyes of Aislyn through the viewfinder, a thought comes back to me: my mom standing by the register that morning holding the bank-deposit bag and how she tried to avoid my questions about it.

I strap the camera around my neck and sneak into her office. The first thing I look for is the balance book. The red number is even bigger, over three thousand dollars. It shouldn’t surprise me; she had said as much. But it makes me worry even more. I open the side drawer where she keeps the bank bag and pull it out. It’s zipped shut and I stare at it for a moment, feeling the weight in my hands, not wanting to open it and find out if the money is still inside. I have no idea what it will mean if the money is still inside. That she’s still hiding things from me? Fast and painless. I slide it open and look in. Empty. Even though the money is gone, proving she made the deposit, I feel uneasy.

The bell on the front door rings, and I shove the bag back in the drawer and rush back out front.

A tall man with dark hair and a dark beard stands just inside the door. It takes me a second to place him, but then I remember he had been in the store a few weeks ago, talking to my mom.

“Is Susan in?” he asks, his eyes lingering on the camera around my neck.

“No, she’s not.” I could probably tell him she’s just upstairs, but the feeling of uneasiness I felt in my mom’s office has grown.

“Will you tell her Matthew dropped by?”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

His eyes twinkle and his mouth twitches into a smile. “No.” With that he backs out the door. He walks by the front window, and I wait for a few seconds then quickly step outside, staying close to the building so he won’t see me. He gets into a navy blue SUV parked a few stores away. I quickly snap off a few pictures, zooming in on the license plate and then up to his face. My heart nearly stops when his eyes meet the camera lens. The metal door handle digs into my back with my hasty retreat. He probably didn’t see me. I had zoomed in quite a bit.

Inside I pick up the phone. Just as I’m about to push the intercom button, I stop myself. I don’t want to tell my mom about Matthew over the phone. I don’t want to tell her about Matthew at all. It’s not that my mom has never dated anyone. She has . . . on occasion. But she always tells me about it. So I have to assume that whoever Matthew is, he’s not someone she’s dating. And if she’s not dating him, then who is he?

Chapter 21

T
wo days later I stare at Xander’s camera bag on my bed. I had uploaded the pictures onto the computer and started working on the website. Anything to keep my mind off the fact that I haven’t seen Xander since Saturday night. I go over the night in my head. Him bringing over the French food, Mason showing up, me stepping back when Xander tried to touch my hair, our fight. I had been giving him the back-off signals all along, but apparently he didn’t take them until now.

I nudge the bag with my toe and sigh. For two days I had been contemplating whether to use the camera as an excuse to see him again. The whole “I just wanted to return your camera” bit. There are two problems with this. One, I have no idea where he lives. Two, I don’t have his phone number. There are also two solutions to this problem. One, I could call Mrs. Dalton and ask for Xander’s number. Two, I can show up at The Road’s End hotel and hope to run into him.

Solution number two wins. My mind spins this crazy idea that if I show up at the hotel he will just magically be there. I can say, “I was in the neighborhood,” and it won’t look so obvious or seem too creepy.

Things never work how I imagine them, though, so as I stand at the check-in counter in the fancy lobby of the hotel, talking to the clerk, I resign myself to the fact that this is not happening.

“I have his camera,” I say again.

“And like I told you before, if you leave it with me I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“If you can just tell me when he’ll be in or give me his address or something, I can drop it off.”

The look she gives me sends a pain through my heart. The look says,
Do you know how many girls have tried to get Xander’s information?
I take a step back from the look.

“You don’t want to leave it?”

I try to give her the look that lets her know I don’t trust her as I say, “It’s an expensive camera.” My look doesn’t seem to affect her as much as hers did me. The truth is if I were in her shoes, staring at me, I wouldn’t give me Xander’s info either.

I turn around and walk back the way I came, still clutching Xander’s camera. So on to option one, then. I’ll call Mrs. Dalton and get Xander’s number. I need to return his camera, after all. It’s really important.

The bag’s strap is tight around my hand because I have looped it several times to keep it from dragging on the ground. My fingers are turning more and more white the longer the circulation is cut off. Just as I reach the door I stop. Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I hanging onto this so tight? To him so tight? It shouldn’t be this hard. If it were right I wouldn’t be lying to my mother about it. I wouldn’t feel guilty about it. If it were right it would be easier.

I make my walk of shame back to the check-in desk and put the camera on top. “Yes. Will you give this to him?”

She nods and looks like she’s going to say something—thank you, maybe?—but then the phone rings and she picks it up and I’m forgotten. I take a deep breath and walk away. I can leave him behind, too. Here, where he belongs.

As I drive home I notice kids in costume fill the neighborhoods. How did I forget it’s Halloween? Old Town is empty of extra children, though. Not many people live in the business district. I park in the alley and come in through the back. The store is dark, just like I left it. It’s close to nine, and considering her habits lately, I expect my mom to be in bed already. I find her sitting on the couch watching a movie.

She looks over and smiles. “I thought maybe you went to a party tonight that I didn’t remember you telling me about.”

“No. I kind of forgot it’s Halloween.”

She pats the cushion next to her.

“What are you watching?”

“I don’t know, some Hallmark classic.”

I plop onto the couch next to her. “Let me guess, the lady has cancer and the man never knew but always loved her.”

“No. I think the little boy is sick and the mom is realizing how much time she’s spent at work.”

I pull onto me some of the blanket my mom has over her. We don’t say anything, just watch the movie, but it’s comfortable, familiar, and by the end of the movie, I feel much better. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed this.

The next day on my way into the store I brush by the mail carrier, who is on his way out. He nods a hello and I smile. My mom stands behind the counter sifting slowly through the mail. I wonder if she’s taking her time to avoid the bills waiting to be paid with money we don’t have. When she gets to the end she looks up at me. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

She holds up the envelopes. “Are you getting nervous?” she asks.

“Yes.” If only she knew how much.

“When do you think you’ll start hearing?”

“Hearing?”