Seven days ago, my big teddy-bear dog lay at my feet, panting, ready to leap up if I even spelled the word walk. But then I left Diesel behind so I could babysit Luanne. Too much trouble to take him along. At least I should have put him inside where it was cooler, given him something to drink. Dad would have done that if he’d still been living with us.

Instead, Diesel took off out of the backyard. He was just coming after me. If only I hadn’t left him behind. If only, if only …

Even Mom misses him. Her anger seems to have leaked out of her like air from a balloon. No reason for her to nag anymore. I can hear her in my mind: Are you gonna walk that animal? Do I have to feed your dog? Why don’t you brush him? His hair is all over the place. Just like I can imagine the snuffling noises, the toenails clicking on the floor, the barks, the whimpers. Mostly our house just sounds quiet, angry turned sad. Why didn’t I take him that day? Why, why?

Shifting Luanne in my arms, I lift my bare feet, ready to lower them onto Diesel’s warm fur, and I swear I can feel the heaving of his chest beneath them and the thump, thump of his big heart beating Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

But that’s my imagination acting up. The heat beneath my feet comes directly from the hard cement sidewalk.

Pft, pft, psht, psht! Luanne sounds like she’s sucking on air now. Her brown eyes widen. I tip the bottle and prop up her hot body. “Hold on, hold on. She’ll be here any minute.” I shield my eyes to watch the corner bus stop. Come on, come on, come on! “Where’s Mommy’s bus?”

“There’s a detour on Main Street.” Morgan Hanson’s razor-edged words cut the heavy air. Baby Luanne struggles to sit up.

Morgan Hanson, the tree-tall girl who lives across from Aunt Cathie, has snuck up on me. We’ve been not-friends since she moved to our block last year. We have nothing in common except the neighbourhood we live in and all the group projects we’ve had to do together. “You babysitting on a holiday?”

“What’s it look like? It may be Canada Day but all my family is broke.”

Morgan shrugs her twig-thin shoulders, looks around, and sighs. “Wanna come swimming with me after you’re done?”

“That’s okay. You go on ahead.” Morgan knows from gym class that I can’t swim. Yet all week she’s been ragging at me to come with her to the pool, like she suddenly wants us to be besties.

“You’re sad about the dog. I get it.” Morgan tries again. “And you’re cheap. But we’re not even going to the pool. It won’t cost anything at Hamilton Beach.” Her pale eyes narrow like she’s trying to read inside my head. She folds her long, branchy arms across her chest. “Wouldn’t want you to wear the shine off your debit card.”