Thirty-six.
Soccer that weekend was particularly irritating. There was something in the air, like a giant cloud of irritation, that doubled the usual number of sideline tantrums—and the kids were pretty bad tempered, too.
Lally was in especially fine form. Michael had dug himself a hole by telling her, in the car on the way there, that she could grow up to be anything she wanted. He was getting out of the car, congratulating himself on his right-on girl-empowerment fathering, when she suddenly asked, “Can I be a toilet?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Can I be a toilet when I grow up?”
He made a face at her. “No, you can’t be a toilet. You can’t grow up to be an object, you’re still going to be a person.” He anticipated the next question. “And you can’t change species either, you’re stuck with human.”
“But you said I could be anything I wanted.” Lally had had a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, about three hours earlier. He had tried to give her a granola bar in the car, but failed. He understood low blood sugar was a factor here, but seriously, a toilet?
He was firm. “Yes, you can be anything, but anything that a person can possibly be in real life, not like, you know, a tree or something.”
“But I want to be a toilet.”
Milo was waiting to get out of the car. “Dad, just let her be a toilet, what does it matter? She’s not applying for toilet college, is she?”
Michael saw the wisdom of this. Frances was good at this, letting the small stuff slide over her; he would be like Frances. “OK, whatever. Sure, honey, you can be a toilet.”
Then they got out of the car and headed to the game. Michael had remembered orange slices in a Ziploc bag and two water bottles. He had remembered shoes to change into after the game. He had remembered his phone and car keys. He was crushing it.
“So,” continued Lally, as they wandered through the crowds of parents strung along the perimeter of games that were in progress, or about to start, or about to end. “If I was a toilet, where would people poop? Would people poop in my mouth?”
As Michael told Frances this story later, he emphasized that this had been the moment he could have headed off the whole thing. “I should have just ignored her,” he confessed. “I should have simply pretended that I didn’t hear, but, you know, I was distracted by finding the right little field, and looking for other kids on the team . . .” His voice trailed off. “I just didn’t . . .”
But in that moment, he didn’t ignore it. Instead he absentmindedly said, “I guess so, baby.”
They found Lally’s team, the Glitter Marlins, and Michael left Lally there for a moment to take Milo to his team, the Raging Robots. As he made his way back he paused for a moment to say hi to Lili Girvan and meet her boyfriend, but he wasn’t away for long. Really, maybe two minutes. Three, tops.
As he got closer to the Glitter Marlins field he could see something was going on, and quickened his pace. A crowd of kids was gathered around the coach, but they seemed to be gazing at something on the ground. Maybe someone was injured already?
“I want you to poop in my mouth!” Lally was yelling. “My daddy said people would poop in my mouth!” She was lying on the ground screaming. “He said so!”
Which was precisely when Michael joined the circle of adults, all of whom slowly turned to look at him.
“They threw her off the team?” Frances was half horrified, half thrilled. “We don’t have to go back?”
Michael was sitting at the kitchen table with his forehead on the wood. “Milo is still on his team, so we have to go back until his season ends.”
“But Lally’s done?”
“As far as the Glitter Marlins are concerned, she is no longer welcome.”
“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.