“Better.”

I lie down on the cushions and Diesel does a few circles on the towel bed Uncle Leo made him, finally slumping down. I sigh again. I think about what Mom would say if she were here.

She would blame this all on Dad. The illegal fire and not cleaning up all the food scraps and that huge bag of garbage stuffed into the shed — Mom would probably be right. Dad and Uncle Leo are two laid-back marshmallows. Lazy, Mom would call them.

But they are fun. Cooking and sleeping outside was great. Even the skunk thing was kind of a hoot. When that skunk turned around and blasted Diesel and the look on Dad’s and Uncle Leo’s faces as they woke up to that smell — all too funny.

I drape my arm over Diesel and his heartbeat lulls me to sleep.

12

Sunday, June 27:

Bleach Bath

Sunday morning, when everyone finally rolls out of bed, Dad makes pancakes with chocolate chips. I pile on the syrup and enjoy the sugar buzz. Dad forgot to buy dog food, so after I pick out the chocolate, Diesel gets the last pancake.

He downs it in two bites. Good. Sweet. He licks his chops. More?

I shake my head. Sorry.

Dad washes and I dry the dishes until he picks up a call.

“Yeah, hello.… This afternoon?” Dad looks at me and shrugs. “Sure, I can come in.” He clicks off.

“But you promised you’d teach me to swim today!”

“We have all summer.”

“No, we don’t! Dad, I need to know how to swim by Canada Day.”

“Come on, Naomi. What’s so special about July first? With the bus driver training taking so much time, I need to pull all the extra shifts I can to pay your mom.”

I could drown this Thursday. My lip buckles, but I don’t tell him. I finish drying the last fork and toss it in the cutlery drawer. Somehow I knew Dad would never teach me. Instead, he borrows money from me to fill up the gas tank and then drives me and Diesel straight home.

Apart from the pink spots on the dog, the skunk adventure seems over, the smell blending with the everyday air.

Not for Mom, though.

As Diesel runs into the house, Mom yells, “Good god. Where has that dog been!” Her eyes tear and she grabs for a tissue from the box on the counter. “You don’t smell so good, either.”

“A skunk got him.”

“And your father didn’t give him a bath?”

“Of course he did. With all kinds of tomato sauce, too. You should have smelled him before.”

“Well, we’re going to have to wash him right this time.”

No! Diesel whimpers. Then he tears off toward my room, toenails scrabbling against the floor. Clunk! I presume he’s made a direct dive under the bed.

Mom picks up the phone. For a second I think she’ll dial Dad and blast him over all this. But she says, “I’m calling the animal shelter. They’ll know what to do.”