“And please don’t share Ella’s name again.” She nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Andrew looked through the screen door at Ella, sitting on the floor with Buddy and a box of crayons.

“If you really want to help, learn the emergency numbers on my refrigerator,” he said.

“She needs neighbors who know what to do. She doesn’t need more people talking about her.” The woman wrote the numbers down.

He never got fully comfortable leaving her, and she didn’t quickly get comfortable watching him walk out the door — for months, the sound of truck keys made her stop whatever she was doing.