“There’s no one around to hear us.”

“Yeah, but there could be.”

“And you’d be embarrassed? Singing in a park?”

The little boy has torn part of his sandwich into pieces and throws the bits into the water. The ducks on the far side of the pond see the motion and rush over to the dock.

“Perfect timing,” says Mimi, and she counts the ducks that cluster around the dock and the family. “Sixteen little ducks went out one day.”

I shake my head.

“Come on, Bird,” says Mimi. “If we don’t believe in ourselves, let’s try believing in ducks.”

XII

The family doesn’t stay on the dock for long. The boy and the girl begin fighting. The mother ignores them. She packs up the food, tucks the sleeping baby into the stroller, and they all head out, the boy running ahead, shouting insults back at his sister.

“Any idea what he’s saying?”

“What all brothers say to their sisters.” Mimi stands and stretches. “Remember when Nathan called Tally a poopy-heady?”

I start to stand, and this is when things begin to go sideways. A wave of nausea comes out of nowhere, and my legs buckle.

“Bird!”

And down I go in a heap. My first emotion is embarrassment. Blackbird Mavrias, famous photojournalist now retired, collapsing in a park in Prague.

And then I throw up.

Mimi is immediately at my side, but I don’t really hear what she’s saying. And then more nausea and then the cramps. My face is buried in the grass. I can smell the dirt and my own vomit, and I don’t really care. All I want is to find a position for my body that doesn’t hurt.

Mimi rubs my back. I continue retching, but now nothing is coming up, so that’s an improvement. Mimi continues to talk, and that’s when I realize that she’s not talking to me.

“No, he’s not drunk.”

“He is sick?”

“Yes, he is sick.”

I try to raise my head so that I can join the conversation, but that just brings on another wave of nausea.

“He has eaten something?”

“I don’t think so. But he’s diabetic.”

“The blood sugars,” says a male voice. “My father is diabetic also.”

I can feel Mimi rummaging in my pack. And then I feel a sharp pain in my finger. More nausea, but not as strong as before.

“His blood sugars are okay,” I hear Mimi say.

“You are sure he is not drunk.”

I open my eyes, and what I see are two sets of scruffy runners and the cuffs of two pairs of dark pants.

“He’s not drunk.” Mimi’s voice has hardened a bit.

“There is a fine,” says one of the men.

“For being sick?”

“A public park. Fifty American dollars.”

I angle my head. The runners and the pants are joined by light-blue shirts.

“That’s ridiculous.”