36
Rachel
I had expected Wyatt to try, again, to persuade me to go with him. I had thought of nothing else since he left. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps my destiny was not here, in the tower, waiting. Maybe I was meant to go with him. I had decided that, if he asked me again, I would hear him out.
Which was why I was quite surprised when he said, “I think you’re right that you should stay here at least a little longer.”
I reached to brush a lock of hair from over his eye. “Really? Why? This is 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.”