The Distance Between Us

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

    W hen 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