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of the afternoon driving from mall to mall—the Northgate Mall, the Alderwood Mall, even up north to the Everett Mall—
    searching for one of those neon-pink cell phones for which Gracie had been pining. Alas, every store was sold out of them, and it was unclear when they would receive a new shipment.
    Back home, Mrs. P. served Gracie another slice of cake to comfort her, then went out into the yard to discuss something important, so she said, over the fence with her friend. Gracie 52
     
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    was sure that that “something” was her daddy. Had it been a different subject, one they didn’t mind Gracie overhearing, they could have discussed it on the telephone. She glanced at the phone then, and noticed that its red light was blinking.
    Thinking the recorded message could possibly concern the whereabouts of the misplaced puppy, Gracie punched the voice mail access button. Sure enough, someone began to speak, to speak in a voice that stretched out its words with exaggerated attention, as if it were applying suntan lotion to the bare back of a Hollywood starlet, although sometimes it sounded more like it was milking a snake. True, she hadn’t been around much, but so far as she knew there was only one person in the world who talked that way.
    “Stand by for a bulletin. A bull has just been seen entering a china shop. How’s that for breaking news? Ha ha! Greetings, earthlings.
    Moe Babbano speaking. I’m out at Sea-Tac Airport, international terminal, passport in hand. Yes, yes indeed, I’m leaving the country again, and this time I don’t think I’ll be coming back. So to Charlie Perkel, my esteemed, ever-insensitive halfbrother, and to his weary, long-suffering, lovely wife, Karla, I now say, adios and thanks for all the opportunities you provided for me to fresco my tonsils with the cardinal brush: that is to say, to drink your beer. Mainly, however, this communiqué is for the birthday girl.
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    “Gracie, you won’t remember this, but when you were an infant, six long years ago, I used to read the encyclopedia to you. It always lulled you to sleep. Especially the volume containing the Z ’s.
    “I don’t know if I’m exactly gaga over children, but I do respect them. I respect their deeper feelings and deeper thoughts, layers to which many adults, even the most doting of parents, too often seem oblivious. At any rate, my dear—and this is the point—I’ve never ever talked down to you, and I have no intention of starting now.
    “Here ’s the deal. Madeline Proust and I have fallen passionately, wildly, crazily in love. A great many birthdays will surely come and go before you’ll experience anything remotely resembling this. Indeed, some people never experience it, although they’re pretty good at fooling themselves that they do. I can’t explain this love, I couldn’t explain it to you even if you were twenty-six or thirty-six. The fact that it ’s totally irrational is part of its appeal.
    “This much I can tell you. We ’re so nuts for each other that Dr.
    Proust is abandoning her medical practice and I’m skipping out on my apartment—although the postcard collection I’m leaving behind should more than compensate the landlord for 54
     
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    any back rent—and in less than an hour we ’ll be flying off to Costa Rica, where we ’re intending to permanently reside.
    “Costa Rica is downstairs from Mexico. With your mother’s help, you can locate it in Volume C of that old encyclopedia that used to provide your bedtime stories. What the map won’t tell you is that Costa Rica has done more to preserve its natural environment than any country on Earth, and that it has no army. No navy. No air force. It ’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that any modern government could be that enlightened or any modern population that civilized? Since their government also guarantees free health care, and since it ’s reasonable to assume that they aren’t tying