Towering

children, all believed dead, some for as long as thirty years. The Fox brothers had held them all this time, and now they were released, some to loving families, others to rehab centers.
    And Mrs. Greenwood was right. The only one who wasn’t found was Danielle.
    “Suzie told the truth,” Mrs. Greenwood said. “She really is gone. I never fully believed she was. I guess that’s why I never cleaned out her things. I should do it now.”
    Rachel had been staying in Danielle’s room since she came home. We looked at each other and said, “We’ll do it,” because we knew it would be too painful for her.
    “Thank you.”
    One thing that hadn’t changed about Rachel was her hair. It was still short, and it wasn’t growing. Or, I guess, it was growing at a normal rate, not a crazy one. Her magical tears too were gone now that they had served their purpose. And if I wanted to talk to her, I had to go find her.
    Which wasn’t that hard, since we were both living at Mrs. Greenwood’s house for now. We had both started classes at the local school, not online, so we had to wait until Saturday to clean out the room. That morning, we put Danielle’s things in bags, some for the garbage, some for charity, some for Hemingway’s junk shelves, “Because, really,” I said, “you never know when someone might want a pair of shoe skates—some people might think in-line skates are dumb.” And some things, like old yearbooks and photographs, Rachel kept for herself.
    Rachel took out one of the desk drawers so she could go through it. When she tried to put it back, it wouldn’t go in. “Check underneath,” I said. “Sometimes, something gets stuck in the tracks.” I had to tell her things like this all the time, because she’d never done normal stuff like other people did. Even the dishwasher fascinated her completely, and she kept putting dishes in so she could run it and see them come out clean.
    Rachel held the drawer up and looked under it. She drew out a blue envelope.
    She looked at it, then gasped.
    In what I recognized as Danielle’s handwriting, the letter was addressed to Rachel.
    Dear Rachel,
    I am writing this to you because I know you will be born, and I know you’ll be a girl. I’m going to tell whoever takes you to name you Rachel because that’s my favorite name.
    I hope that you’ve grown to be a beautiful young woman when you read this. I know that I probably won’t be around, and that makes me sad, but it also makes me happy that I could have you. We all have our destinies. Mine was to be your mother, and I hope that was enough. Yours is to be someone special, heroic, and I hope that, since I am your mother, that makes me a heroine as well.
    About your father. I met him when I was a teenager. We fell in love, and then, he left me. But he sent me a letter not long after. He told me that you would be an incredible person. You would have healing powers and strength, and you will change everything for many people. I hope you will have enough strength for what you need to do. And I hope you will have help.
    I loved your father very much. I hope that you will meet someone, someone like him, who will show you all the beauty of the wonderful world.
    Your father also told me to be careful. I am trying, but I don’t know if it will be enough. If it isn’t, I want you to know I love you, my baby.
    Your mother,
    Danielle
    “And did I?” I said after we had both finished reading it.
    “Did you what?”
    “Show you the wonderful world?”
    “You did. You showed me everything, everything I’ve ever seen. You saved my life.”
    I kissed her. “And you saved mine right back. Several times now.”
    She looked around the room with its boxes and bags everywhere. Her eyes fell upon the window. “Oh, look, it’s snowing,” Rachel said.
    “Then I guess there’s only one thing for us to do,” I said. “Make an angel!”

Author’s Note
    Rapunzel was one of my favorite fairy tales when I was a child (long before it was a Disney movie—people, Disney did not write these stories!), to a degree that I once tried to write a musical version of it in high school. As soon as I finished writing Beastly , I started on a version of Rapunzel . I thought that, as here, rapunzel would have to be a drug. Why else would a mother give her baby away for it?
    However, it was difficult to write a book in which the heroine is trapped in a tower; more difficult still if I tried to let her out. I ended up putting it