In a stroke of mercy, Arlan sleeps through the night. When he springs out of bed at five, I’m already up in the kitchen brewing my first pot of coffee for the day. ”Hello, sir,” I say, offering a salute. He toddles over to me and hugs my leg, and I catch a whiff of his full overnight diaper.

”You need to throw that thing in the trash,” I tell him, and he looks at me incredulously as I measure out a scoop of beans, enough to brew three strong ...