Towering

quite a reversal from before.”
    “I know.”
    “What is the meaning of it?”
    He gestured toward the picture he had given me.
    “I don’t know. Just a feeling. But I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket. “Take this.”
    He handed me an object, the same object he had used for the music. Now, I held it. It was rectangular, smooth and black with bits of color on it.
    “What is it?”
    “A phone. A telephone. You can use it to talk to other people. I noticed it worked up here, probably because you’re so high. It doesn’t work in the woods, mostly.”
    I shook my head. He would think I was stupid. “I don’t know how to use it.”
    “It’s easy. Everyone can use a phone. Here, do you have paper?”
    I gave him some, and he began writing, first numbers, then a sort of diagram. “This is what you press to call me, and here’s the number. Or you can just go to ‘Contacts’ and look for ‘Greenwood.’” He pressed a button that looked like an arrow.
    “My goodness! It looks like something from the works of H. G. Wells!”
    He laughed. “I don’t think you’ll be able to time travel with it. But look.” He pointed to some numbers. “Here’s a clock.”
    “Oh, I have a clock. I asked Mama for one last year.” I didn’t want him to think I was some idiot who didn’t know what a clock was, for heaven’s sake! But my clock was round and had hands. The one on his telephone only had numbers.
    “Okay, well, I’ll call you at eight. Before I go to bed.”
    This was unbelievable. “And I will be able to hear your voice, inside of this little thing?”
    “Yeah. We can talk all the time.”
    “I cannot wait. You must leave now, so we can try it.”
    He laughed. “Okay. Maybe you could read the diary after I leave. It would tell you about your mother.”
    “My mother.” I felt a weird empty sort of feeling in my stomach. I had just met my mother, and now, she was dead. Still, I knew I would look at the photograph, read the diary, until I saw him again.
    “I love you, Rachel,” he said.
    “I love you too. Now, go. Go, so I can talk to you.”

Wyatt
    I realized there was someone else I should talk to, someone who might know about what happened to Danielle, crazy as it sounded, crazy as he sounded.
    “I have to go . . . darling.” The word sounded crazy old-fashioned, like something romantic guys would say in movies my mom watched late at night when she thought no one heard. Yet, it sounded right when I said it to Rachel. She was like a girl from one of those books they made us read in Language Arts class, like Cathy Earnshaw, only not batshit crazy, or like Daisy Buchanan, only nice. I repeated the word because I liked it so much. “My darling.”
    She touched my cheek with her soft hand. “My own, Wyatt. Wyatt. I don’t want you to go.”
    “I know. I don’t either. But you’re safe here, and I need to get some answers. I love you.”
    “I love you too.”
    “Remember, this is my number.” I pointed to what I’d written. “Don’t answer if anyone else calls.” I thought of the weird phone calls. If someone was really following me, I sure didn’t want him to find Rachel.
    “All right. I promise. But call soon.”
    “What time does Mama come?”
    “At night, nine or ten. Call before then.”
    “I will. I can’t wait to hear your voice again.”
    It should have been easy to reach the ground. I’d done it before, so I was used to the rope. My feet had memorized the tower’s shingled surface. Yet, it was hard because I didn’t want to go.
    But I had to leave. I had to go to Hemingway’s, to find the one person besides Mrs. Greenwood who might know something about what happened to Danielle.
    The whole way, I tried to think of an appropriate reason, a reasonable explanation why I was there. After all, it was a hardware store, not a grocery store. Maybe there were some people—adults—who would go to one every day, but guys my own age didn’t think home repairs were fun. I didn’t want Josh to think I was stalking him. Unfortunately, Hemingway’s wasn’t like Home Depot, so big you could probably keel over in the aisle and go unnoticed. Around here, people wanted to talk to you.
    So, when Josh greeted me at the front (crushing any hopes I had that he might not be working that day, it being the last few days of break), I said, “I need a washer. Mrs. G. has a leaky faucet.”
    “All work and no play . . .” Josh grinned. “What