Half the room was toys. Because Teddy’s favorites tended to be moving vehicles, Mike had set him up with a “garage” for the diggers and tractors and haulers, and a couple of bins for the fifty million cars that reproduced every night. Mike had told him flat out that he didn’t care-at all-about being tidy. But the cars had to be put away before bed, because Teddy could be hurt if he got up in the night to pee and stumbled over them.

Teddy considered that rule to be reasonable, which was a relief. When Teddy didn’t like a rule, he could spend four hours asking “But, why?” questions to exhaust his father.

“I didn’t say good night to the worms, Dad,” Teddy suddenly worried.

“I’ll say good night for you.” Off went the towel. On went the football pj’s.

“Why didn’t she like me?”

“Who?” Silly question, Mike thought. It had to be the girl next door, from his son’s mournful tone. “Maybe she did. Sometimes girls do strange things when they like a boy.”

“I offered to show her my worms.”

“That was very kind.”

“We’re going to dig in the backyard tomorrow, right, Dad? Make a big hole?”

“That’s going to take some time to set up, sport. We’ll be headed to the hardware store for supplies first. And Grandma and Grandpa want you to come over. But believe me, you and I are going to get into all the dirt and water and messes you could possibly want.”

“I can’t wait.”

“We’ll have fun,” Mike promised him, and started the ritual tucking-in process.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“I bin thinking about why Mom doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe it’s like that girl. Even when you’re nice, some girls just don’t like boys.”