Duck has been missing since Friday. We're pretty certain he's in this house somewhere (as he is no longer allowed to leave), and besides, nothing is officially lost until it's been gone for a good week (a rule that applies to car keys, cell phones and credit cards). What we're less certain about is whether we're actually looking for him. For one, Lucy has not been sucking her thumb much at all in his absence. For two, she is missing him, but not desperately. She seems almost nostalgic. Last night, as she whimpered a little, I told her lost Duck stories, like the time I went through the trash at Ski Shores to find him. Or the time we left another, earlier Duck at Guero's, his dishrag-colored self surely tossed in with the rest of the restaurant laundry. We imagined that some busboy would be wiping a table and look down to find Duck smiling up at him: why is there a duck on the end of my dish rag? Or maybe he'd be folded around the silverware, a Duck napkin. We laughed thinking about what Duck might be doing out there on his own.
It really would be so BORING if he were just crammed in the couch cushions or under our bed.