44
Rachel
Mama was the lady Wyatt had been living with, the lady Wyatt called Mrs. Greenwood. And, since Mama was Danielle’s mother, that made her my own grandmother, my real, true grandmother. My face was warm, yet I was shivering. I drew my mother’s coat out from its hiding place and wrapped it once more around me. I inhaled deeply, the scent of my mother’s house, my grandmother’s. How I longed to go there. I felt, finally, that I had a history. If only I could see them.
But Mama would be angry if she knew. She did not want me to see, to talk to anyone. A boy climbing through my window would still be strictly forbidden. But perhaps, the fact that Mama knew him, knew that he was kind and good, would make up for the fact that he had entered my bedroom.
Probably not.
And that he kissed me.
Definitely not.
And yet, I wanted desperately to talk to her, to someone. Even more than I usually wanted to talk to someone.
Where was Wyatt?
It was very early, still. I knew I was being unreasonable. But those who are not trapped in towers could not possibly understand the special concern of those of us who are. We get lonely.
Still, I walked over to my window, opened it, and leaned out.
The cold air on my face made me feel alive. Below, the coat warmed me. I scanned the snowy ground below to see if he was coming. No one there except a bird, perhaps a hawk, circling overhead, looking for its morning meal. I wondered if hawks ever got lonely. They did not flock together, as other types of birds did, crows or blue jays. No, a hawk’s life was a solitary life. Like mine.
I threw my head back and yelled his name: “Wyatt!”
The sound was swallowed by the morning. No one heard, not even the hawk.
Still, I stood, staring, watching the still, silent, painted world until I started to shiver and had to close the window.
Now, the clock said ten. He had said he would come early. Where was he?