THE PHILIPSES RETURNED two weeks later, tanned and happy, with photographs of blue water and white sand beaches. Mrs. Philips brought my mother a red patterned muumuu and a set of four drinking glasses that said “Blue Hawaii.”

Each morning, I would watch Dr. Philips drive his car out of the garage, expecting that any moment, he would stop, open the trunk, and discover the theft. But he didn’t.

Then in late August, he left for work in the Plymouth and came home with a brand-new Ford Galaxie 500. Springtime Yellow.

And that was that.

IT’S LATE WHEN WE leave the park. The band is playing “At Last,” and Mimi and I slow dance our way past the food stands and under the bridge to the small square in front of the hotel. A soft, high fog has settled on the city, but tonight, we won’t get lost.

“The door’s open,” says Mimi. “That’s a good sign.”

“Unless we want to spend the night on the Charles Bridge.”

“But then we couldn’t have sex.”

“We’ve had sex. Twice.”

“Are you tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“But not too exhausted.”

“Completely exhausted.”

“Tell you what,” says Mimi. “You pretend to be a tourist, and I’ll show you my badge.”

We stand outside the hotel and listen to the music in the distance. Mimi leaves me, walks over to the small canal that runs along the side of the bridge, and looks down into the water.

“We never did find out what happened to Uncle Leroy or the Crow bundle.”

“Nope.”

“But that’s no reason why we should give up.” Mimi leans against me. “Maybe we should take one of those dinner cruises.”

“On the Vltava?” I shake my head. “Expensive, and the food will be horrible.”

“We might see the world from a different point of view,” says Mimi. “Sometimes that makes all the difference.”

I’m still a little weak from the episode in the park, but as I stand there with Mimi, I realize that for the first time in a while, Eugene and the Other Demons are nowhere in sight.

XIII

Oz is already in the breakfast room by the time I get there.

“Good morning,”he says. “I was hoping you would arrive.”

“Here I am.”

“Yes, here you are.” Oz folds his newspaper. “Today, I leave Prague, so there is much to discuss.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, of course. Prague is beautiful, but one cannot walk back and forth on the Charles Bridge and call it life.”

Oz takes an envelope out of his jacket and places it on the table next to his coffee cup. “So, tell me what you did yesterday. The Infant Jesus of Prague? The Lennon Wall? The Farmers’ Market? Mala Strana?”

“We went to Stromovka.”

“The park? But you have parks in Canada?”

I tell Oz that we do.

“And they are different than Stromovka?”

“No.”