Diesel stops chasing the light and jumps up on the couch. We are not dead. I’m sure. I know.

My stomach growls; Diesel has to be right. Dead people don’t get hungry, do they?

Must be time for lunch. I check my watch. No steam or moisture now, but the readout has returned to THU July 01 4:30.

No, no, no. I’m sure I set it right before. You said it would start again.

It will, when we are safe.

But we are safe, aren’t we? My fingers tremble as once again I press the buttons on the side of the watch to bring the date back to June 25. The time on the television screen reads 12:30. I fix the time readout, too. Do I have to save my change somehow? Like on a computer?

“Rouff.” We must stay alive.

What do you mean? I’m breathing quickly, hyperventilating. But Diesel doesn’t answer. My stomach rumbles again. Hunger’s making me dizzy and panicky. “C’mon, lunchtime, everybody!”

Diesel springs up the stairs at the L-word, and I scoop Luanne into my arms and follow. I set her down in the kitchen, take bread from the cupboard, and stick four slices in the toaster. This is taking too long!

Calm, calm. Diesel pants at me, holding my eyes with his for a moment. Drool with me.

I take a breath. Humans don’t drool to relax. Instead, I grab some baby carrots from the fridge, stick one in my mouth, and chew quickly, hoping a vegetable will stop my panic. We must stay alive. But how?

Breathe slowly! Diesel bows into downward dog.

I inhale long and let it out shakily. The bread pops, and Diesel barks. Toast!

I spread the slices with peanut butter and slam them together in a sandwich, then stuff one corner in my mouth. I break off another for Diesel.

He snaps it up. Mmm. Better?

My breathing slows down. I chew more slowly. Another deep breath. A little.

I cut the rest of the sandwich into triangles and sit them on their sides like sailboats. But the sandwich boats make me think of the beach. My heart starts knocking at my ribs. I didn’t see any sailboats on that day at the lake. Stop it, I tell myself. Stop imagining things. But the images keep returning and feel so real. Déjà vu, or as my smart dog calls it, déjà vécu?

Stop it. Pat my head!

He makes me smile and that makes my heart stop knocking. Will patting you make me feel better, or you? I leave the food for a moment and touch his warm fur, spread my hand open, and pat him from his head down his neck.

Both. Ahhh, that is much better.

Baby Luanne joins in and hugs Diesel a little too hard.

We have a booster chair for Luanne, so I hoist her away from Diesel and into the chair. My hands shake as I buckle her straps and pass her a plastic plate with two sailboats on it. The mangled rest of the sandwich goes on a regular plate for me. I pour us each some milk, Luanne’s into a sippy cup. Maybe I should save that and put it into a bottle so she can fall asleep with it. Which makes me stop again. I put the milk into a bottle that day.