The Missing Ones

They’re looking for something.” “They lose balls all the time, honey.” He flipped a page and shook out the newspaper, getting it into place. “No, this is the police. Police were called, search parties sent out, investigations conducted. He wiped his eyes, and the last five years hung on him, the evidence everywhere. It had turned into a weekend tradition—staying in their pajamas until noon, ordering breakfast in, and being lazy until early afternoon, when they would finally get dressed and head out the door.