Davis Taylor 221 North End Ave Waterbury, Connecticut The social security and phone numbers were there too. Myron took out his cell phone and dialed. After two rings, a machine picked up and a robotic voice, the default greeting, asked him to leave a message at the tone. He left his name and mobile number and asked Mr. Taylor to return his call. “So what are you going to do?” Terese asked. “I guess I’ll drive up and try to talk to Mr. Davis Taylor.” “Hasn’t the clinic already tried that?” “Probably.” “But you’re more persuasive?” “Questionable.” “I have to cover the Waldorf tonight,” she said. “I know. I’ll go alone. Or maybe I’ll bring Win.” She still would not face him. “This boy who needs the transplant,” she said. “He’s not a stranger, is he?” Myron was not sure how to answer that. “I guess not.” Terese nodded in a way that told him not to say any more.
