Towering

it, and in that moment, swept the coat around and onto my shoulders.
    It fit perfectly. I buttoned it up and tied the belt around my waist. I made my hair into a ponytail and slipped it between the coat and my back, then lifted the hood over my head. I walked to the mirror.
    Hair hidden, I looked exactly like the girl in the photograph.
    I sort of hugged myself and then slid my hands deep inside my coat pickets, imagining my mother doing the same.
    I gasped.
    She had certainly done the same thing. I knew that, for when I reached into the pockets, I touched an object.
    I drew it out.
    It was a letter, a letter addressed to Danielle Greenwood.
    The return address said Emily Hill.

Wyatt
    Mrs. Greenwood went to bed early that night. She knocked on my door at seven thirty to say goodnight, like she always did. I’d been thinking she missed having someone to say goodnight to. She always watched television in bed, usually late-night shows, but tonight was earlier. I heard a situation comedy with lots of canned laughter.
    When I was sure she was snug in her bed, I crept downstairs and picked up the kitchen phone. It was the old kind, the kind my grandfather had had, that attached to the wall. Mrs. Greenwood said she had it because it would work even during an electrical outage. Grandpa had said the same thing, but I didn’t believe it. I thought the old people just wanted the old things. Maybe someday, I’d be desperately clinging to my old cell phone or computer, when there was something way cooler.
    I checked for the dial tone. I could see the full moon through the sheer kitchen curtains. I imagined Rachel, seeing it too. Could she see it through her tower’s one window? I tried to figure out which way she would be facing. Was I facing that way too?
    Then, suddenly, I heard a sigh. I jumped, but the sigh was not beside me. Was it her, sighing over the moon?
    I began to dial my phone number.
    She answered immediately. “Is it you?”
    “Yes. Can you see the moon through your window?”
    “I can. I hoped we were seeing it together.”
    “Now, we are.”
    “Now, we are. But Wyatt?”
    “Yes?” I was whispering.
    “Something has happened. Two things, actually. I’ve been waiting for you to call so I could tell you.”
    “Me too. I mean, I’ve been waiting to hear your voice.” I sounded like a girl, but she had that effect on me.
    “I know. I mean, me too, but I have to tell you what happened.”
    “What happened?” I hadn’t really taken her that seriously when she said something had happened. I mean, what can happen when you’re stuck in a tower all day? And yet, her voice sounded strident with urgency. “Is it Mama?”
    That would be urgent. If something happened to Mama, what would happen to Rachel? She would be all alone in a world she knew nothing about.
    No, she would have me.
    But she said, “Nothing like that, but right before you called, someone else did.”
    “Who?” I hadn’t thought about it, obviously, in my excitement to talk to her. The phone had barely rung since I’d been here, but that was because of not having service. With service, other people—Mom, people from school, Astrid —might call and talk to her. I should have told her not to answer other calls. Wait, I did.
    “Oh, Rachel, you shouldn’t answer unless it’s this number.” I hoped it hadn’t been Astrid. She would have gotten an earful for sure. “I’m sorry if anyone said anything—”
    “Listen! Wyatt, it’s important. A man called, and he said he might have information about Zach.”
    “Zach?” For a moment, I couldn’t remember who Zach was.
    “About Zach,” she insisted. “About my father.”
    “Rachel, you didn’t tell anyone where you were, did you? Or who you are?”
    “Of course not! I just said I was your sister. And that’s when he said he had news about Zach. Here, wait. I wrote it all down: His name was Carl. You spoke with his brother, Henry. He wanted you to meet him at the Red Fox Inn tomorrow. He left his number.” She recited a number which I scrambled to write down. News! This was awesome! If it wasn’t creepy.
    “But wait, if the guy didn’t tell you Zach was your father, how did you know?” I twisted around to make sure Mrs. Greenwood wasn’t there. I could still just barely hear the television upstairs.
    “That’s the other thing that happened—the other amazing thing I had to tell you. I found a letter.”
    “A letter? Like in the tower? From Mama?”
    “No, from a