The only family I had near Cincinnati was my Aunt Marjorie — my father’s sister, whom Jonah had called Grandma Marjorie since before he could walk.

She lived forty minutes from the store.

When the police reached her, she did not ask a single question.

She got in a cab in the middle of the night, still in her pajamas with a cardigan thrown over them, and she went.

She told me later that when she saw Jonah on that bench, she started crying before the cab had fully stopped.

She gathered him up into her arms.