My grandson held my hand tightly, kept his coat unbuttoned, and scuffed his shoes as we crossed the street. It was one of the rare times we'd been alone. As cars zoomed downhill toward Georgetown, he held one hand up like a traffic cop, chin high--the way he did when accompanying his father in the wheelchair. To the left, a steep trail switched back through an overgrown forest. He stared up at the breaks in the foliage, at the leaning slabs of an abandoned graveyard.