It took us some weeks to find the family, but we found them — the record had the grandson’s name, and the coordinator helped us trace it forward, and one spring afternoon Abigail and I drove out to a modest house at the edge of a different town, where an old man named Raymond met us at the door with the wary kindness of someone who cannot imagine what two strangers want.

Then I showed him the driveway photograph, and his whole face changed.

He did not hesitate.

He put his thumb right on Lucas’s face, and then moved it across the three grinning boys.

“That’s them,” he said, his voice thick.

“That’s the crew that pulled us out of the water.

I have thought about these faces every single day for six years, and I never knew their names.

I prayed I’d find them someday.