My daughter-in-law thought a text message could justify leaving my grandson unsupervised at the airport.

Street.

James sent the message along to me at 9:47 in the morning on a Wednesday, accompanied by a brief, single-sentence remark: “The record did its job.”

I lingered over the document for some time. I happened to be at Cecille’s home when I opened it, sitting at her kitchen table just as the teakettle was finishing its boil. Although I had recently continue reading …