I check the fridge. “I see bread. You want some toast?”

Yes. Diesel barks sharply.

Diesel has always known that word. I stare at him for a moment. Has he always understood everything? Is it just me who hasn’t listened to him? I take the butter and jam out of the fridge, then slide some bread into the toaster.

When Morgan starts nibbling at the breakfast I’ve made her, I suggest she give some of the crust to Diesel.

“Shake,” she says, offering him a red corner. “Shake.” She holds out her hand.

Oh fine. I will do this for you. He lays his paw on top. Now food?

She lets him have the crust.

Jammy. Good.

The next one she balances on his nose, holding out her finger and counting. On three, she tells him, “Okay, go,” and he snaps it up.

“Wow. I wish I had started training him earlier.”

“What difference does it make? You’re training him now.”

“Maybe I just wish I’d paid more attention.” I glance at my watch. Even though the numbers and date never change, I feel like my time might be running out. I shake my head. Depressing thoughts.

“You still wearing that thing? I thought we agreed that eating chocolate gives you bad dreams. Period,” Morgan says.

“You agreed. I told you, my dad gave it to me. I can’t just throw it away.” There’s a catch in my throat like I want to cry, but I don’t want to, really I don’t.

She pats my back. Sympathy pat. I’m embarrassed. “Don’t worry. In just two days, your watch is gonna have its moment.” She chuckles.

Two days, two days. Exactly why I worry. My thoughts jump on a hamster wheel as I think about Thursday. I drowned at the time flashing on my watch. But in that other life Diesel died, too, so that’s changed, gone a different way, whatever the watch does or doesn’t do. We trained Diesel. He shouldn’t chase after cars or squirrels anymore. Besides, I take him wherever I go and I pay closer attention to him, too.

Now, all I have to do is learn how to swim and not jump off any docks. Better yet, not go near any lake at all.

“Let’s clean up here and get going,” I tell Morgan. “Maybe with the knock-’em-dead red on I’ll finally be able to swim.”

She grins, big white teeth showing. Then she gathers up the plates. I wash and she dries while Luanne pitches Cheerios for Diesel to catch.

Afterward, we snap the leash on a dog who sits so calmly, he looks as well trained as the agility dogs on television. As we step out the door, carrying Luanne’s stroller over the steps together, I feel almost as safe as I did before hitting my head. Plus, I like having a friend to help with this stuff. Maybe I don’t have a sister like Mom, but I do have Morgan. Which makes two friends, counting Diesel. And all this time I thought I liked being alone.