The Distance Between Us(16)

Chapter 11



For the first time in as long as I can remember there are two customers in the store. As in two groups that didn’t arrive together and both need assistance.

I’m not so good with kids—perhaps the real reason I’m banished to the “eye painting area” during parties. So without any kind of collaboration with me, my mom heads for the mom and little girl while I walk over to the middle-aged woman. “Hi. Can I help you find anything?”

“Yes. A few months ago I was in here—maybe it was more like six; I’m not even sure anymore—and there was this doll.”

When she doesn’t continue I say, “I’ll have to look into that. We don’t like dolls coming into the store.”

She gives a halfhearted laugh. Maybe more of a nervous chuckle. “I know I’ll have to be more specific.” She walks along the back wall, intently looking at each and every one.

I trail after her. “If you can describe it, I can start a lineup of suspects.”

“Dark curly hair, one dimple on her left cheek.”

The woman is describing herself. A lot of people fall in love with dolls that look like them. So I study the woman a little closer and try to think of any dolls we might have that look like her. “Tina,” I finally say. “Was she a sitting doll?”

“Yes.” The woman gets a large smile. “Yes, I think her name was Tina.”

“She should be out here. Let me look.” I go to the corner of the store where Tina last was, but she isn’t there. “Let me look in the back.” We almost always order the same doll after it’s proven itself a good seller.

The side wall in the stockroom is lined with shelves and those shelves house boxes big enough to hold a single doll. On the end of each box a name is written. It’s like our very own porcelain-doll Crypt. About midway up I see the name Tina. I drag the ladder over and pull down her box, which feels very light.

On the floor, after digging through the packing peanuts, I find out why. There is no doll. Weird. I stand there confused for a moment, not sure what to do, before I go back out to the sales floor and interrupt my mother mid-sentence.

“Sorry, Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?”

She holds up a finger to me, and when she’s finished talking to her customer, walks with me behind the register. “What’s going on?”

“I just went to get Tina out of her box, only it seems Tina has been abducted.”

“Oh yes, sorry. I sold her a while back. I must’ve forgotten to put her name placard in the drawer.”

“Oh, okay. It just freaked me out. I’ll tell the customer that we can order it for her.” I start to walk away.

“Caymen,” my mom says, keeping her voice low.

“Yeah?”

“Will you try to sell what we have on the floor before ordering another doll?”

I nod. Of course. That makes more sense than anything that had happened in the last five minutes. My mom wants to sell our inventory before we place more doll orders. It is a good idea to get us out of the hole. It actually eases my burden to know she has a plan for the big red number in her book.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the lady. “Tina has found another home, but I know we have some other dolls you’ll love that look very similar to Tina. Let me show you my favorite.” Favorite being a relative term, meaning I found her the least disturbing.



This woman was not biting. After showing her five dolls that look very much like Tina, she gets visibly upset. Her voice starts to wobble; her cheeks deepen a shade. “I just really want Tina. Is there a way I can order her? Do you have a catalog?”

My mom, having just said good-bye to her customers, joins us. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You had a doll in here that I want, but now she’s gone.”

“Tina,” I remind my mom.

“Did Caymen show you some other dolls?”

“Yes, but those ones won’t work.”

“Is there something specific about Tina that makes her special to you?”

“Yes. My father bought me a doll when I was a girl. The doll was given away when I became a teenager and I have since lost my father. When I saw Tina a few months ago I couldn’t get over how similar she was to my doll. I left without buying her that day but haven’t been able to get her off my mind. I really just want that doll.” A few tears escape the woman’s eyes and she hastily wipes them away.

I look away, embarrassed for her. Or maybe it’s more. Maybe I’m jealous someone can have that close of a relationship with her father that even after he is gone just the thought of him makes her emotional. When I think of my father I feel only emptiness.

My mom pats her arm and says, “I completely understand.” But does she completely understand? My mother was disowned by her father. Is she thinking about that while comforting this lady? Does she think about that a lot? Or does she, like me, try to push it into the furthest parts of her mind and hope it never escapes, especially in front of others?

Mom continues. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Sometimes it’s the little things that bring that special someone back to us in some small way.” She waves her hand toward me and says, “Caymen can be a stickler sometimes, but we can definitely order that doll for you. We can probably even give you an extra special price.”