Waiting in the airport we pull out our novels, read in between glances at CNN, images of dancing red and orange outlines of the topography of California hills taking precedence over other news. The keeper of Gate 6 tells us we’ll be delayed. We go to the food court, buy something not good for us, notice a cheap stroller in the corner holding a brown-haired boy, wheeled in so he is facing the wall. I think of the McCann girl, of many children taken. We look around for the parents, wait as long as we can, but they never come.