Noah reached up with both hands, grabbed the corner of the picture book, and pulled it down against his chest.

“We’ll go to the park down on Market Street after he finishes his nap,” Marcus said, carefully picking Noah up and cradling him against his shoulder.

“Take the stroller in the closet,” I said.

By five o’clock, the late winter sun was setting behind the brick municipal court building across the street, throwing long amber bars of light across the hardwood floor.

Marcus buckled a sleeping Noah into his stroller and pulled the canvas hood down to shade his eyes from the low light.