Amos felt sick. He’d been raised by a grandfather who hadn’t believed in sparing the rod, but not to the point of blood. He hadn’t realized that Eden had tortured children for telling the truth. They’d been told that Israel had been punished for stealing from one of the other children. They’d always been told that the children were punished for disobedience. Another lie. “What do you think about phones?”

She looked troubled. “I don’t know. Are they real?”

She was questioning, which made him feel better. “Yes, they are. I used one every day before I came to Eden. It’s how you talk to someone when they’re far away.” He looked around the McDonald’s, where at least four people had phones just like the ones he’d seen Pastor and DJ using. “Those are phones. Those people are talking to other people who aren’t here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Like imaginary friends?”

He laughed because she was clearly unconvinced. “Other people who aren’t here in this restaurant, but they’re real people, not imaginary. I’ll find a phone and show you.” He needed to locate Mercy.

And if you can’t? What then? Will you contact the police? He’d have to, but he also had to think about Abigail. Maybe I could write a letter. An anonymous letter. He was probably being paranoid, but thirty years in Eden had left him distrustful of the law. “Sit right here and I’ll be back.”

He opened the door on their side of the restaurant and looked both ways but saw no pay phone. He hurried to the door on the other side and repeated his search, but found nothing. There was a gas station across the street, but he couldn’t see a phone booth over there, either.

He stopped by the counter, trying not to be distracted by the fancy cash registers and what had turned out to be credit card machines. People used credit cards at McDonald’s? That was . . . Wow. Just, wow. And the cashier didn’t handle the credit cards. The customers stuck their own cards into the machine. He’d been so focused on the machine when he’d first approached the counter that he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to order.

“Excuse me,” he said to the young girl at the register. “Where is your pay phone?”

She stared at him. “Our what?”

“Your pay phone,” he repeated.

She shrugged. “We don’t have one.”

“Where can I find one?”

She smirked. “In the Smithsonian?”

He frowned, biting back a cutting remark of his own. It was amazing how quickly the calm in his heart had been replaced with an acerbic attitude. This was one of the reasons he’d gone to Eden. People were kinder there. Unless they were a Founding Elder, of course. Or one of their wives. Or the healer. All of them could apparently do what they pleased.

Which was not the fault of this young person, so he reined in his temper. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”