The Distance Between Us(40)

“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.”