Beside Eli stood Mr. Albert, Rosa’s husband, wearing a bathrobe, plaid pajama pants, and one bedroom slipper. His other foot was bare and scraped. He was holding Eli’s hand tightly, the way a small child holds on in a crowd. Mr. Albert has Alzheimer’s. Some days he still recognizes me. Most days, lately, he doesn’t even recognize Rosa.

“He slipped out while I was in the shower,” Rosa sobbed. “Two hours ago. The police have been searching the whole neighborhood.” I turned to Eli, my heart pounding. He looked down at his sneakers. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said quietly. “I broke a rule. I took the shortcut behind the school.” He swallowed hard. “He was standing on the railroad tracks, and I could already hear the train.”