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Chapter Sixty-Eight
“Two minutes to curtain, everybody! Two minutes to curtain!” Scooter announced as he whizzed through the theater. “Rowlf, you’d better get to the band pit. Clifford, are the lights ready?”
“All set, ‘cept for number 27, as usual,” Clifford said as he hauled himself up the ladder to the catwalk above the stage.
“Minute-thirty to curtain!”
The Muppets hadn’t been able to sit still since Kermit had left. Between worry for their Frog and anger at the protesters, tensions had been rising exponentially and would have reached catastrophic levels if Rowlf hadn’t stepped in with the suggestion of putting on a show as a fundraiser. Since then, every ounce of their energy had gone into it, planning and rehearsing acts, practicing patriotic numbers, and publicizing as much as they could. Now it was finally show time. Time to do what they did best.
“Are ya ready, Robin?” Fozzie asked.
Robin was sitting on his uncle’s table. He shrugged and looked down at his flippers. “It feels kinda funny… not having Uncle Kermit here, for a show,” he said quietly.
Fozzie put his hand on the young frog’s back. “I know,” he said softly. “…But—well, he’s the reason we’re doing the show, so… he’s sort of still here.” He tugged Robin a little closer. “We’re doing this for him, Robin.”
Robin thought about it and nodded. “Okay,” he said, and he bravely squeezed the bear’s hand. “I’m ready.”
They were all ready. They had put everything they had into this show, polished it more than they could even imagine, rehearsed until they’d been exhausted enough to fall asleep on their feet. This was going to be an incredible show. It had to be an incredible show.
It was all they could do to bring their Frog safely home.
Yes. They were ready.
Miss Piggy went out first to welcome the audience. Afterwards, the Muppets would quietly whisper amongst themselves that it was good that she was first, because she could hide her own reaction to the audience better than any of them. So while she welcomed the audience and gave it her all without even blinking, the rest of them were safely backstage when they first heard the lack-luster applause that awaited them.
Her grim face as she came off the stage was another warning. They didn’t ask her about the audience, but they stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.
Miss Piggy looked at each of them and stood a little straighter, her eyes and chin setting themselves with a firm, unshakeable, contagious determination. “Gonzo, you’re next,” she said firmly, and she turned and marched to her dressing room.
She would not tell them. She couldn’t say it. None of them could say it. But as they each went on stage to perform, as they looked out at the audience and their eyes adjusted just enough to the blinding stage lights, each and every one of them saw.
The audience was almost completely empty.
They kept going. They gave that show everything they had. Backstage, it was nothing but grim, quiet faces and firm determination. No one had much to say.
Statler and Waldorf were doing everything they could to make up for the empty seats. They cheered for every act, even calling for encores, bantering between bits to keep the audience’s energy up. And that was something, anyway.
Robin had an act with Sweetums. He was David and the monster was Goliath in a funny retelling of the classic story. The audience laughed every time they were supposed to, but it all rang empty to the young frog. As soon as he was offstage, he hopped up onto a crate, curled up, and cried.
Sweetums gently scooped the little frog into his hands and cradled him against his chest. “There there, Little Buddy,” he quietly rumbled. “The show must go on.”
For the rest of the show, Sweetums sat on that crate with the tiny frog nestled against his chest. Robin dully stared out at the stage as seemingly every Muppet who passed touched a supportive hand to his arm or gave him some words of comfort. He didn’t really hear any of them.
There was no burst of celebration at the end of the show. Shoulders sagged and heads drooped. No one quite wanted to look anyone else in the eye as they closed up and put everything away.
Clifford found something that belonged in a back closet just so he could get away from everyone else. When the item was in its place and he was alone in the hallway, he slammed his fists and arms against the wall and pounded with all of his might before he let his forehead drop against the wall too, gasping for harsh breath. Tension filled his every muscle as he stayed there, wishing that his sunglasses would block the world from his view, just this once. The failure of any show always hit him especially hard, because the last time they had been cancelled—well, none of them had ever said so, but it had been his—
Then there was a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Clifford,” Scooter said quietly. “It’s—the War, it… no one wants to support it.”
Clifford didn’t move. “…Is that supposed to make me feel better, Scooter?” he asked. “It just means it was more important.”
Scooter sighed heavily. “Yeah…” he said, putting his back against the wall and staring down at his shoes. “I know.”
“…How bad was it?” Clifford asked. “How many tickets did we sell?”
“Twelve.” The word was just barely audible.
“Twelve,” Clifford bitterly repeated. “Some fundraiser. That wouldn’t even cover costs.”
“We’re sending it anyway,” Scooter said stubbornly.
Clifford finally turned his head just enough to see the Muppet beside him. “Every penny counts,” he said. He looked at his friend’s hunched posture and cloudy face and accepted what some part of him had already known: that this was a communal pain, shared by all of them, far deeper than any one of them could acknowledge. If they let it… this could cripple them.
Or, they could band together and fight it.
Clifford straightened up and leaned his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “So what else can we do?”
Scooter looked him straight in the eyes. Then, understanding, he held his chin a little higher. “Maybe our next fundraiser should be a picnic,” he said. “Someplace the whole world has to see it.”
“I like that idea,” Clifford said, and he pushed himself off of the wall. “C’mon. Let’s go tell the others.”
Since Kermit had left for his second tour of duty, the Muppets had grown accustomed to getting multiple phone calls each day from his various relatives in the swamp. There was the nightly phone call from Jimmy, but it was now also common to get a call in the morning or afternoon from Mom or Dad the Frog, calls from his sisters Maggie, Amy, and Elaine, his brothers Andy, Greg, Todd, and Zeik, sister-in-law Ida, and even the occasional call from an Aunt Ginger—and those were just the relatives that the Muppets could keep track of. These calls were not specifically for Robin, but for all of the Muppets. They had never been as directly connected to the swamp as they were now.
So Kermit’s entire family knew all about the fundraiser that the Muppets had put together. It was no surprise that when the Muppets got back to the boarding house, Andy called to see how it had gone. On speakerphone, he heard some of them rant and some of them cry, sparing him no details of how well they had done and how pathetic attendance had been.
Robin was in the other room, hugging his knees, staring at the television. They asked, but… he didn’t want to talk to Uncle Andy right now.
Half an hour later, Mom the Frog called to see how they were doing. On speakerphone as usual, she listened as they ranted and railed and cried about all the work they had done for nothing, and she did her best to soothe them. Once they were calmer, they told her about their idea for the next fundraiser, which she approved of.
Robin stayed in the other room. They asked, but… he didn’t want to talk to Grandma either.
And then Maggie called, curious about the details of this new fundraiser and insistent on a play-by-play of how every act had gone. She laughed and told them how she was certain her big brother would be proud of them, and had they told him about any of this? He would be so proud of them.
Again, they asked Robin, but he stayed in the other room, not much wanting to talk to Aunt Maggie either.
When Amy called to talk to them about how the show had gone and Fozzie went into the other room to see if maybe Robin wanted to talk to this aunt, Robin wasn’t there. Fozzie reported this to the other Muppets, and they frowned. Robin was upset. Someone should go check on him.
But Robin wasn’t in his bedroom, either, or on the front porch… and that was when they started to worry.
They checked his room again, the front yard and the back yard, the porch, under the porch, and on the roof. They checked Fozzie and Rowlf’s room, Sweetums’ room, Scooter’s room, even Gonzo’s room, the basement, and every single staircase they could think of.
He wasn’t there.
They were frantic now. Robin was gone. They called the swamp and the police and Scooter started calling each of the Frog Scouts to see if anyone had seen or heard from Robin. While Rowlf and Scooter manned the phones, Gonzo started going door to door to talk to all of the neighbors and Fozzie and Sweetums led a contingent of Muppets to check the park.
Scooter answered the phone halfway through the first ring. “Did you find him?” he frantically asked.
“…I beg yer pardon?” the voice on the phone asked.
“Did you—”
“This is Rivers,” the phone said before he could repeat himself.
The name briefly threw Scooter for a loop. Like all of the Muppets, he had complete tunnel vision right now, and nothing outside of Robin existed, much less mattered. “…Oh! Rivers! Craig Rivers! Right.”
“I was jest wonderin’ how y’all’s fundraiser went…”
“Fund—never mind that. Robin’s missing!”
Craig promised to get on the next flight.
Miss Piggy stepped away from the chaos and sat at the top of the stairs, trying to clear her mind of all the thousands of worries and doubts and fears. Where was he? Where had he gone? Was he hurt? Had he been kidnapped? What had happened? They had to find him. What if they didn’t find him? What would they tell Kermit? What would happen to Robin?
She pressed her gloved fingers over her eyes and tried to focus. Robin had been perfectly safe in the living room when Kermit’s sister Maggie had called. Where had he gone since then? Where would he have gone? He had been upset, and when Robin was upset, he went to… Sweetums. Or Rowlf, or Fozzie. Of course, he would usually go to—
She gasped, her head snapping up, and she turned around to look at Kermit’s bedroom door.
Kermit.
She quietly stood up. It was not until she put her hand on the doorknob that she remembered that Kermit’s door had been open ever since he’d left, and if any of them had been thinking straight they would have noticed that it was closed now, and this should have been the first place they’d looked… She opened the door and saw that the bed was no longer perfectly made and the blanket messily lay over the pillow with just enough extra bulge there to possibly hide a small frog.
She was about to announce her discovery when she heard a tiny, muffled sob escape from under the blanket. She quietly closed the door behind her. Robin needed a one-on-one talk before he was thrown back into the chaos.
“Robin?” she said softly. She sat down on the bed and gently pulled back the blanket.
There he was, his head pressed against the pillow where it still smelled just a little bit like Kermit, curled up tight and clutching a familiar shade of green. A huge lump caught in her throat at the sight of Robin clinging to one of his uncle’s collars. The collar and the pillow were both wet with the tiny frog’s tears.
“Oh, Robin…” She scooped him into her lap, and he let his head settle against her.
“I miss him,” he whimpered, crinkling the collar in his hands. The collar alone was almost as big as he was.
“I know, Robin,” she whispered. “We all do.”
“I miss how he feels, when I hug him. Nobody else here feels like him,” Robin said. “Sweetums, and… Fozzie, and Rowlf—they give—good hugs, but… they have fur.” He pressed his cheek against the collar. “Uncle Kermit doesn’t have fur.”
“No… he doesn’t,” she quietly agreed, lightly fingering a point of the collar. A glance at Kermit’s open closet told her where the little frog had found it. “Neither do I.”
“…That’s true,” Robin whispered. “…But your skin’s a lot warmer than Uncle Kermit’s. And you have clothes.”
She smiled faintly. “Yes… that’s because—moi am not a frog.”
“No.” He quietly rubbed the collar, and then he looked up at her. “But it’ll be your name, right? When Uncle Kermit marries you.”
“Mm-hm! That’s right, Robin,” she said softly. “When Kermie comes home.”
He stared up into her eyes. “What if he doesn’t come home?”
She couldn’t stop her own tears from coming then. “I don’t know.” She picked him up and hugged him tight against her chest. “I don’t know, Robin.”
She felt the collar pressed between them as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “Could I still call you Aunt Piggy?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “If you want to… Yes. Of course, Robin.”
He settled closer to her, and they were quiet as he waited for her tears to stop. “Can I stay with you tonight?” he whispered.
“Yes. Any… any time, Robin. Whenever you want.” She gently rubbed his back.
“…Thanks,” he whispered.
She touched a kiss to his cheek and took a deep breath. “We should go downstairs now, Robin. We couldn’t find you, and… everyone’s been worried.”
He frowned. “I’ve just been here,” he said with perfect innocence. “I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
She smiled, still holding him to her chest as she stood up from the bed. “Let’s go tell them you’re alright. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, and he settled back against her, still holding his uncle’s collar.
They were just in time to call off the Amber Alert before it was announced.
The Muppets doted and fussed over Robin for the entire rest of the night. He apologized for all the trouble he had unknowingly caused them and quietly accepted every last drop of their attention—including three separate phone calls from the swamp, not including the nightly call from his father, which was twice its usual length. The Muppets thanked and apologized to the neighbors and the police. They were far too relieved to be embarrassed… not that they were usually very good at being embarrassed in the first place.
Craig Rivers did not accept a single apology when he appeared on their doorstep to find Robin safe and sound. He was just as relieved as they were and immediately called home to tell his sister and his girlfriend that everything was alright. Then he sat down to have a talk with Robin.
“You sure gave us a scare there, li’l fella,” he said, setting the frog in his lap.
Robin squirmed a little. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know y’didn’t. An’ I’m sure glad you’re alright,” Craig said. “But tell me, why’d you go an’ hide?”
Robin looked down at his lap. “I miss Uncle Kermit,” he said softly. “He’s gone, and—and far away, and I miss him. And no one CARES!”
Craig put his hand on the little frog’s back. “Everyone in this house cares,” he said. “And that’s me, too, you know.”
“I know,” Robin said, squirming again. “And everyone at the swamp, too, but—but nobody CAME today!” He looked up at Craig. “We care, but… but nobody ELSE does!”
Craig sighed heavily. “It sure feels that way, don’t it, sometimes,” he said. “I’ve done some fundraisers, too, Robin, and I’ve gone to plenty. Seems like less and less people come anymore.”
“Why?” Robin demanded, hugging his uncle’s collar a little tighter. No one had even dared to think of telling him to put it down. “Why doesn’t anybody care? Why can’t they help my Uncle Kermit?”
Craig sighed again. “Sometimes, Robin… doin’ the right thing ain’t easy,” he said. “Sometimes it’s real hard to do the right thing. An’ yer Uncle Kermit right now, he… he’s doin’ the right thing, but it’s a really hard thing to have to do. A really hard thing.” He gulped. “So hard that… that most of the country jest doesn’t wanna do it. And some people… some people are even mad at yer uncle, and—they’re gonna say some nasty things about him, for doin’ what he’s doin’.”
Robin frowned and tugged his uncle’s collar up to his chin. “That isn’t fair,” he whispered.
“No… no, it ain’t,” Craig said. “A lot of people ain’t supportin’ yer uncle, or anybody else over there, and… and they need support, to do the right thing, because… because it is so hard, Robin. It’s very hard, and… especially for yer uncle… So we gotta be extra strong for him.”
Robin sighed and settled against him.
In the end, the conversation helped them both.
“Two minutes to curtain, everybody! Two minutes to curtain!” Scooter announced as he whizzed through the theater. “Rowlf, you’d better get to the band pit. Clifford, are the lights ready?”
“All set, ‘cept for number 27, as usual,” Clifford said as he hauled himself up the ladder to the catwalk above the stage.
“Minute-thirty to curtain!”
The Muppets hadn’t been able to sit still since Kermit had left. Between worry for their Frog and anger at the protesters, tensions had been rising exponentially and would have reached catastrophic levels if Rowlf hadn’t stepped in with the suggestion of putting on a show as a fundraiser. Since then, every ounce of their energy had gone into it, planning and rehearsing acts, practicing patriotic numbers, and publicizing as much as they could. Now it was finally show time. Time to do what they did best.
“Are ya ready, Robin?” Fozzie asked.
Robin was sitting on his uncle’s table. He shrugged and looked down at his flippers. “It feels kinda funny… not having Uncle Kermit here, for a show,” he said quietly.
Fozzie put his hand on the young frog’s back. “I know,” he said softly. “…But—well, he’s the reason we’re doing the show, so… he’s sort of still here.” He tugged Robin a little closer. “We’re doing this for him, Robin.”
Robin thought about it and nodded. “Okay,” he said, and he bravely squeezed the bear’s hand. “I’m ready.”
They were all ready. They had put everything they had into this show, polished it more than they could even imagine, rehearsed until they’d been exhausted enough to fall asleep on their feet. This was going to be an incredible show. It had to be an incredible show.
It was all they could do to bring their Frog safely home.
Yes. They were ready.
Miss Piggy went out first to welcome the audience. Afterwards, the Muppets would quietly whisper amongst themselves that it was good that she was first, because she could hide her own reaction to the audience better than any of them. So while she welcomed the audience and gave it her all without even blinking, the rest of them were safely backstage when they first heard the lack-luster applause that awaited them.
Her grim face as she came off the stage was another warning. They didn’t ask her about the audience, but they stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.
Miss Piggy looked at each of them and stood a little straighter, her eyes and chin setting themselves with a firm, unshakeable, contagious determination. “Gonzo, you’re next,” she said firmly, and she turned and marched to her dressing room.
She would not tell them. She couldn’t say it. None of them could say it. But as they each went on stage to perform, as they looked out at the audience and their eyes adjusted just enough to the blinding stage lights, each and every one of them saw.
The audience was almost completely empty.
They kept going. They gave that show everything they had. Backstage, it was nothing but grim, quiet faces and firm determination. No one had much to say.
Statler and Waldorf were doing everything they could to make up for the empty seats. They cheered for every act, even calling for encores, bantering between bits to keep the audience’s energy up. And that was something, anyway.
Robin had an act with Sweetums. He was David and the monster was Goliath in a funny retelling of the classic story. The audience laughed every time they were supposed to, but it all rang empty to the young frog. As soon as he was offstage, he hopped up onto a crate, curled up, and cried.
Sweetums gently scooped the little frog into his hands and cradled him against his chest. “There there, Little Buddy,” he quietly rumbled. “The show must go on.”
For the rest of the show, Sweetums sat on that crate with the tiny frog nestled against his chest. Robin dully stared out at the stage as seemingly every Muppet who passed touched a supportive hand to his arm or gave him some words of comfort. He didn’t really hear any of them.
There was no burst of celebration at the end of the show. Shoulders sagged and heads drooped. No one quite wanted to look anyone else in the eye as they closed up and put everything away.
Clifford found something that belonged in a back closet just so he could get away from everyone else. When the item was in its place and he was alone in the hallway, he slammed his fists and arms against the wall and pounded with all of his might before he let his forehead drop against the wall too, gasping for harsh breath. Tension filled his every muscle as he stayed there, wishing that his sunglasses would block the world from his view, just this once. The failure of any show always hit him especially hard, because the last time they had been cancelled—well, none of them had ever said so, but it had been his—
Then there was a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Clifford,” Scooter said quietly. “It’s—the War, it… no one wants to support it.”
Clifford didn’t move. “…Is that supposed to make me feel better, Scooter?” he asked. “It just means it was more important.”
Scooter sighed heavily. “Yeah…” he said, putting his back against the wall and staring down at his shoes. “I know.”
“…How bad was it?” Clifford asked. “How many tickets did we sell?”
“Twelve.” The word was just barely audible.
“Twelve,” Clifford bitterly repeated. “Some fundraiser. That wouldn’t even cover costs.”
“We’re sending it anyway,” Scooter said stubbornly.
Clifford finally turned his head just enough to see the Muppet beside him. “Every penny counts,” he said. He looked at his friend’s hunched posture and cloudy face and accepted what some part of him had already known: that this was a communal pain, shared by all of them, far deeper than any one of them could acknowledge. If they let it… this could cripple them.
Or, they could band together and fight it.
Clifford straightened up and leaned his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “So what else can we do?”
Scooter looked him straight in the eyes. Then, understanding, he held his chin a little higher. “Maybe our next fundraiser should be a picnic,” he said. “Someplace the whole world has to see it.”
“I like that idea,” Clifford said, and he pushed himself off of the wall. “C’mon. Let’s go tell the others.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Since Kermit had left for his second tour of duty, the Muppets had grown accustomed to getting multiple phone calls each day from his various relatives in the swamp. There was the nightly phone call from Jimmy, but it was now also common to get a call in the morning or afternoon from Mom or Dad the Frog, calls from his sisters Maggie, Amy, and Elaine, his brothers Andy, Greg, Todd, and Zeik, sister-in-law Ida, and even the occasional call from an Aunt Ginger—and those were just the relatives that the Muppets could keep track of. These calls were not specifically for Robin, but for all of the Muppets. They had never been as directly connected to the swamp as they were now.
So Kermit’s entire family knew all about the fundraiser that the Muppets had put together. It was no surprise that when the Muppets got back to the boarding house, Andy called to see how it had gone. On speakerphone, he heard some of them rant and some of them cry, sparing him no details of how well they had done and how pathetic attendance had been.
Robin was in the other room, hugging his knees, staring at the television. They asked, but… he didn’t want to talk to Uncle Andy right now.
Half an hour later, Mom the Frog called to see how they were doing. On speakerphone as usual, she listened as they ranted and railed and cried about all the work they had done for nothing, and she did her best to soothe them. Once they were calmer, they told her about their idea for the next fundraiser, which she approved of.
Robin stayed in the other room. They asked, but… he didn’t want to talk to Grandma either.
And then Maggie called, curious about the details of this new fundraiser and insistent on a play-by-play of how every act had gone. She laughed and told them how she was certain her big brother would be proud of them, and had they told him about any of this? He would be so proud of them.
Again, they asked Robin, but he stayed in the other room, not much wanting to talk to Aunt Maggie either.
When Amy called to talk to them about how the show had gone and Fozzie went into the other room to see if maybe Robin wanted to talk to this aunt, Robin wasn’t there. Fozzie reported this to the other Muppets, and they frowned. Robin was upset. Someone should go check on him.
But Robin wasn’t in his bedroom, either, or on the front porch… and that was when they started to worry.
They checked his room again, the front yard and the back yard, the porch, under the porch, and on the roof. They checked Fozzie and Rowlf’s room, Sweetums’ room, Scooter’s room, even Gonzo’s room, the basement, and every single staircase they could think of.
He wasn’t there.
They were frantic now. Robin was gone. They called the swamp and the police and Scooter started calling each of the Frog Scouts to see if anyone had seen or heard from Robin. While Rowlf and Scooter manned the phones, Gonzo started going door to door to talk to all of the neighbors and Fozzie and Sweetums led a contingent of Muppets to check the park.
Scooter answered the phone halfway through the first ring. “Did you find him?” he frantically asked.
“…I beg yer pardon?” the voice on the phone asked.
“Did you—”
“This is Rivers,” the phone said before he could repeat himself.
The name briefly threw Scooter for a loop. Like all of the Muppets, he had complete tunnel vision right now, and nothing outside of Robin existed, much less mattered. “…Oh! Rivers! Craig Rivers! Right.”
“I was jest wonderin’ how y’all’s fundraiser went…”
“Fund—never mind that. Robin’s missing!”
Craig promised to get on the next flight.
Miss Piggy stepped away from the chaos and sat at the top of the stairs, trying to clear her mind of all the thousands of worries and doubts and fears. Where was he? Where had he gone? Was he hurt? Had he been kidnapped? What had happened? They had to find him. What if they didn’t find him? What would they tell Kermit? What would happen to Robin?
She pressed her gloved fingers over her eyes and tried to focus. Robin had been perfectly safe in the living room when Kermit’s sister Maggie had called. Where had he gone since then? Where would he have gone? He had been upset, and when Robin was upset, he went to… Sweetums. Or Rowlf, or Fozzie. Of course, he would usually go to—
She gasped, her head snapping up, and she turned around to look at Kermit’s bedroom door.
Kermit.
She quietly stood up. It was not until she put her hand on the doorknob that she remembered that Kermit’s door had been open ever since he’d left, and if any of them had been thinking straight they would have noticed that it was closed now, and this should have been the first place they’d looked… She opened the door and saw that the bed was no longer perfectly made and the blanket messily lay over the pillow with just enough extra bulge there to possibly hide a small frog.
She was about to announce her discovery when she heard a tiny, muffled sob escape from under the blanket. She quietly closed the door behind her. Robin needed a one-on-one talk before he was thrown back into the chaos.
“Robin?” she said softly. She sat down on the bed and gently pulled back the blanket.
There he was, his head pressed against the pillow where it still smelled just a little bit like Kermit, curled up tight and clutching a familiar shade of green. A huge lump caught in her throat at the sight of Robin clinging to one of his uncle’s collars. The collar and the pillow were both wet with the tiny frog’s tears.
“Oh, Robin…” She scooped him into her lap, and he let his head settle against her.
“I miss him,” he whimpered, crinkling the collar in his hands. The collar alone was almost as big as he was.
“I know, Robin,” she whispered. “We all do.”
“I miss how he feels, when I hug him. Nobody else here feels like him,” Robin said. “Sweetums, and… Fozzie, and Rowlf—they give—good hugs, but… they have fur.” He pressed his cheek against the collar. “Uncle Kermit doesn’t have fur.”
“No… he doesn’t,” she quietly agreed, lightly fingering a point of the collar. A glance at Kermit’s open closet told her where the little frog had found it. “Neither do I.”
“…That’s true,” Robin whispered. “…But your skin’s a lot warmer than Uncle Kermit’s. And you have clothes.”
She smiled faintly. “Yes… that’s because—moi am not a frog.”
“No.” He quietly rubbed the collar, and then he looked up at her. “But it’ll be your name, right? When Uncle Kermit marries you.”
“Mm-hm! That’s right, Robin,” she said softly. “When Kermie comes home.”
He stared up into her eyes. “What if he doesn’t come home?”
She couldn’t stop her own tears from coming then. “I don’t know.” She picked him up and hugged him tight against her chest. “I don’t know, Robin.”
She felt the collar pressed between them as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “Could I still call you Aunt Piggy?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “If you want to… Yes. Of course, Robin.”
He settled closer to her, and they were quiet as he waited for her tears to stop. “Can I stay with you tonight?” he whispered.
“Yes. Any… any time, Robin. Whenever you want.” She gently rubbed his back.
“…Thanks,” he whispered.
She touched a kiss to his cheek and took a deep breath. “We should go downstairs now, Robin. We couldn’t find you, and… everyone’s been worried.”
He frowned. “I’ve just been here,” he said with perfect innocence. “I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
She smiled, still holding him to her chest as she stood up from the bed. “Let’s go tell them you’re alright. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, and he settled back against her, still holding his uncle’s collar.
They were just in time to call off the Amber Alert before it was announced.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Muppets doted and fussed over Robin for the entire rest of the night. He apologized for all the trouble he had unknowingly caused them and quietly accepted every last drop of their attention—including three separate phone calls from the swamp, not including the nightly call from his father, which was twice its usual length. The Muppets thanked and apologized to the neighbors and the police. They were far too relieved to be embarrassed… not that they were usually very good at being embarrassed in the first place.
Craig Rivers did not accept a single apology when he appeared on their doorstep to find Robin safe and sound. He was just as relieved as they were and immediately called home to tell his sister and his girlfriend that everything was alright. Then he sat down to have a talk with Robin.
“You sure gave us a scare there, li’l fella,” he said, setting the frog in his lap.
Robin squirmed a little. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know y’didn’t. An’ I’m sure glad you’re alright,” Craig said. “But tell me, why’d you go an’ hide?”
Robin looked down at his lap. “I miss Uncle Kermit,” he said softly. “He’s gone, and—and far away, and I miss him. And no one CARES!”
Craig put his hand on the little frog’s back. “Everyone in this house cares,” he said. “And that’s me, too, you know.”
“I know,” Robin said, squirming again. “And everyone at the swamp, too, but—but nobody CAME today!” He looked up at Craig. “We care, but… but nobody ELSE does!”
Craig sighed heavily. “It sure feels that way, don’t it, sometimes,” he said. “I’ve done some fundraisers, too, Robin, and I’ve gone to plenty. Seems like less and less people come anymore.”
“Why?” Robin demanded, hugging his uncle’s collar a little tighter. No one had even dared to think of telling him to put it down. “Why doesn’t anybody care? Why can’t they help my Uncle Kermit?”
Craig sighed again. “Sometimes, Robin… doin’ the right thing ain’t easy,” he said. “Sometimes it’s real hard to do the right thing. An’ yer Uncle Kermit right now, he… he’s doin’ the right thing, but it’s a really hard thing to have to do. A really hard thing.” He gulped. “So hard that… that most of the country jest doesn’t wanna do it. And some people… some people are even mad at yer uncle, and—they’re gonna say some nasty things about him, for doin’ what he’s doin’.”
Robin frowned and tugged his uncle’s collar up to his chin. “That isn’t fair,” he whispered.
“No… no, it ain’t,” Craig said. “A lot of people ain’t supportin’ yer uncle, or anybody else over there, and… and they need support, to do the right thing, because… because it is so hard, Robin. It’s very hard, and… especially for yer uncle… So we gotta be extra strong for him.”
Robin sighed and settled against him.
In the end, the conversation helped them both.
