Other People's Houses(86)
“All because she said a bad word?”
“No.” Michael started rolling his forehead back and forth on the table. “All because she insisted people were going to poop in her mouth, then became enraged when it was suggested they wouldn’t. Then she kicked the coach in the knee.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Hard. While shouting, ‘My daddy said people would poop.’”
“No.”
“Yes. Would I make it up? Who could have seen that coming? Who could have seen an innocent statement like ‘you can be anything you want to be in life’ would end up in peewee soccer disgrace.” He lifted his head. “Lili Girvan said she’s never heard of anyone being thrown off a team before. Not a girls team, anyway.”
“Lili saw all this?”
He nodded. “And Shelly was there. She has a Glitter Marlin, too.”
Frances hooted with laughter. “That’s right! Otter! I am SO GLAD that was you and not me.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t have happened to you. Maybe you would have cut her off at the toilet.”
Frances shook her head and sat down next to him at the table. “Baby, children are fucking insane. Four-year-olds are the childhood equivalent of the Joker. They’ll mess you up just because they can. You’re a great dad, and one day she’ll appreciate the limitless possibilities you presented to her.”
“Including people pooping in her mouth?”
“Yes. Plus we’re definitely going to mention it at her wedding.”
“OK.”
She stroked his head. “Do you want a beer now?”
He nodded, banging his forehead gently as he did so.
* * *
? ? ?
A couple of hours later, as the evening grew darker, Iris stepped out of the shower and heard her phone ringing. Maybe it was the babysitter; she and Sara were planning on going out for dinner, to talk without Wyatt chiming in every three minutes. They were getting close to a decision about the film, about the baby, about the future. “Sara? Can you get that?” No answer. Frowning, Iris wrapped a towel around herself and went to the bedroom. Sara wasn’t there, which made sense once she picked up the phone and saw her wife’s name on the display.
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re too lazy to walk upstairs?”
“No, I’m in the street, outside.” Sara’s voice was hurried, low. “Come as quick as you can, OK?”
Iris looked out of the window. Sara, Michael, Frances, Charlie, Bill . . . What the fuck? All of them were standing in the street looking anxious. Iris turned and blindly put on whatever clothes she could find.
Rushing outside she called, “What happened? What’s going on?”
Frances turned and said, “It’s Theo. He’s gone missing.”
A police car turned onto the street, and Charlie raised his arms and waved like a drowning man.
Thirty-seven.
As Iris stepped out of the house, Anne pulled up in a taxi. Somehow she covered the ground to her husband without touching it. “Is he back?”
Charlie shook his head, reaching for Anne, pulling her close. “He was right there,” he said, his words clear even from where Frances and Ava stood. “He was right there and . . .”
“Mom?” Lally appeared next to Frances. “Mom?”
Frances turned and looked down at Lally. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m really busy right now. We can’t find Theo. Have you seen him? Is he maybe playing hide and seek?”
Lally shrugged. “I guess he’s with Milo.”
Frances frowned, and Michael started toward them, noticing the sudden concern on his wife’s face. “Where’s Milo, Lally? Isn’t he in the house?”
The little girl shook her head. “No. He must have gone with Theo.” She frowned suddenly. “He borrowed some of my birthday money. He has to give it back, right?”
“What birthday money, baby?” Michael picked her up and looked at her closely. “When was this?”
“A little while ago. I was watching My Little Pony and Milo came in and asked if he could borrow some of my birthday money and I said yes if he gave it back and he said he would and then Twilight Sparkle and Spike had a big fight and now they’re not talking.” She hugged her dad. “Do you want to come watch?”
He shook his head and watched his wife run into their house. Ten seconds later she was out again, her face white. He got to the cop just before she did.
* * *
? ? ?
Forty minutes later Paul Ramirez’s squad car pulled up on the corner of the street, and he looked over at the gaggle of middle-class white people and sighed. No cop liked a missing kid. It always caused that twist in the gut, that fear that this was going to be one where a stranger had plucked a kid from the street and was even now doing unspeakable things. However, those cases were so rare Paul had never encountered one in nearly twenty years of being a cop, but what he did encounter all the time was kids running from their own parents. After some of those cases he almost wished for a stranger, someone whose evil was less . . . personalized.
He looked at the people standing there, already talking to another set of cops from his precinct and wondered if any of them had pushed this particular kid into running away. He examined the faces of the men briefly, as men were usually the ones who raped or beat or yelled, but he knew even as he did it that it was pointless. Evil was so good at hiding. He unlatched his seat belt and opened the car door. Kids were good at hiding, too. Hopefully it would just be one of those.