According to my GPS, we should reach Stamford in an hour and a half. Carlos told me he’s along for the ride and then he is going to figure out a way to get to Boston, where his aunt has a friend. He doesn’t have an exact plan. He’s just putting one foot in front of the other. What he really wants to do is go to art school. When he lived with his aunt, he used to spend whatever extra money he had on sketch pads and pencils, and after watching a YouTube video, he started taking the train into the city to wander around the Metropolitan Museum of Art. His aunt wasn’t sure what to make of him but she was just glad he stayed out of trouble.

I haven’t told Kamal where we’re going, as I don’t want to get his hopes up. About an hour after we’ve left the slow-moving Bronx traffic, we’re turning into the exit for Stamford, and then driving under the highway, bumping down a narrow road. The address I have brings us to a development of low town houses, grouped in small clusters. As we park, I can see, behind a fence, a small swimming pool, and a marina, boats bobbing at the dock. It takes us a while to find the exact town house where Salim lives, but no one answers—the bell just booms and booms. I try to peek inside the slender window but I can’t see much—what looks like an empty, long room.

“Hello?” A woman is coming toward us, dressed in a large straw hat, a thin cover-up, and flip-flops. It looks like she’s coming from the pool.

I take a step back, nervous. “Does Salim live here?”

She tilts her head, showing a sunburnt face sprayed with freckles. “He moved. A few months ago.”

“Do you know where he is?” I ask. Then I add, “I’m his niece.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he had any relatives here.”

“We lost touch.” I quickly add, “I’ve got some mail of his.”

She hesitates, as if she’s trying to figure out if this is true. But she’s friendly, chatty even. “He’s not far away, about forty minutes. I guess after the business with RBS, they had to move.” She sets down her straw bag and inserts her key in a door. “If you wait here, I can find the address he gave me.” A few minutes later she returns with a scrap of paper. “I do miss them. The boy and girl were so cute.” She smiles at Kamal. “You’re going to see your cousins?”

Kamal’s eyes widen.

When we get back in the car, he keeps asking, “Am I going to see my cousins?”

I wince. “I hope.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“How many cousins do I have?”

“Two, I think. A boy and a girl.”

“Are you sure?”